"Huh?"
Mila's eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above her wasn't metal anymore—it was made of smooth, dark wood-like material that shimmered faintly, as if alive.
She blinked hard, sitting up. She wasn't in the cell.
She was lying on a massive bed, soft and woven from something that looked like thick vines. The room around her was enormous—everything oversized, from the arched doorways to the window frames. Whoever built this place was at least twice her height.
The air smelled earthy, faintly sweet, and somewhere outside she heard low, rhythmic chanting mixed with the crackle of fires.
She pressed her hand to her head. What happened?
The memory hit her—being thrown into the cave, that man who looked human but wasn't, the golden light, her body floating…
Before she could piece it together, the heavy door creaked open with a deep groan.
"Ugh—this thing weighs a ton," came a familiar voice.
"James?"
He squeezed through the doorway, looking both relieved and exhausted. His hair was a mess, and his usual space suit was gone—replaced by a loose dark-brown fabric tunic, clearly not made for humans. Only the small anti-gravity device still clung to his chest.
"Oh hey," he said, smiling weakly. "You're finally awake."
Mila swung her legs off the bed. "What happened? Where are we?"
James rubbed the back of his neck. "So, uh… turns out that magic man from the cave? He did something to us. I don't know how to explain it, but now we can understand the people here. Their language just… makes sense in our heads."
Mila blinked. "What do you mean?"
"They're not exactly advanced," James said. "More like… an ancient tribe. But they're people—real alien people. As soon as I woke up, a few of them were waiting. They brought food, water, and asked who we were. So I told them the truth. That we came from another world, that we didn't mean harm."
"And?"
"They didn't freak out," he said, almost surprised. "They said we could stay here for now. There's a 'feast' tonight, some kind of welcoming thing. They told me to bring you once you were up."
Mila exhaled slowly, still trying to process everything. "So we're… safe? For now?"
"Yeah," James said. "For now." He gestured to her suit. "Oh—and they wanted us to change. Keep your anti-gravity on, but the rest of the gear? They said it's not needed. I think they're trying to make us look less threatening."
Mila looked down at her sleek, scuffed suit. "Guess blending in is the smart move."
She pressed the button on her chest, and the suit shimmered—then dissolved into a stream of quicksilver, retreating into the anti-gravity module at her core. Beneath it, she wore a simple white shirt tucked into faded blue jeans, clothes that somehow felt both fragile and human against this strange, alien world.
"Definitely," James said, a small grin tugging at his lips. "You look like someone who could actually survive here—and somehow still make it look good."
Mila gave him a quick side-eye, but couldn't help the faint smile that followed.
James walked toward the door, motioning for her to follow. "Come on. They're expecting us at sunset. And trust me—you'll want to see this place for yourself."
Mila hesitated for a moment, glancing out the large window. The alien village stretched across the plains, filled with strange huts, flowing banners, and glowing fires. Dozens of tall figures moved gracefully through the streets.
It was beautiful. And terrifying.
She took a breath and stood. "Alright," she said softly. "Let's go meet our hosts."
They stepped out through the towering door, light spilling over them.
"Woah…" Mila breathed.
The village stretched before them—massive structures carved from dark, stone-like material and reinforced with wooden beams thicker than tree trunks. The buildings curved upward, connected by hanging bridges and ropes that shimmered faintly with glowing blue lines. Fires burned in deep metal bowls, giving off warmth and a faint sweet scent, like wood mixed with fruit.
All around them, the inhabitants moved gracefully through the wide streets—giant beings two to three times their size. Their skin ranged from deep bronze to grayish-brown, and each wore simple, handwoven garments adorned with bone and beads. Their faces were long, with deep-set eyes that glowed faintly in the sunlight.
David stared, trying to take it all in. "Anyone know why these people—or alien people—are so much bigger than us?"
James looked up at one of the giants carrying what looked like a tree trunk over his shoulder and exhaled. "I'd say it's because their planet's larger. Gravity's stronger. Their bodies had to evolve to handle it."
David nodded slowly. "Yeah, that… makes sense."
They passed fenced enclosures filled with creatures that made Mila stop in her tracks. A few resembled the same horned bear-like beast they'd seen in the forest—but smaller, with ridged shells across their backs, like armor. Others looked stranger still—four-legged lizards with feathers that shimmered like oil.
"It's like we're walking through a living museum," whispered Stacy, unable to look away.
Soon they reached a massive wooden platform in the village center. A dozen giant tables had been set up, though the meal wasn't ready yet. The air was filled with the smell of smoke and spices.
"Looks like the feast isn't starting yet," said David, glancing up at the orange sky. The alien sun was still hanging halfway down. "Guess we're early."
"Well," Mila said with a small grin, "a little exploring wouldn't hurt, right?"
Before anyone could argue, she turned and noticed a large sign carved into a stone slab. The strange symbols etched across it shifted in her vision—until suddenly, she understood them.
"Library →," she read aloud. Then, pointing the other way, "Dining hall ←."
She turned to the others, wide-eyed. "James was right. Whatever that man did to us—it changed something in our brains. I can read this."
"A library?" James raised an eyebrow. "Now that's something I didn't expect here."
"Could be useful," Mila said, already walking toward the direction of the arrow. "Come on."
The path led them to one of the largest structures in the village—easily three or four stories tall, though it looked carved from a single colossal tree trunk. Vines hung down from its roof, and the faint hum of energy vibrated in the air.
As they stopped at the entrance, David tilted his head back. "Okay… this place makes me feel like a literal ant."
"Only one way to find out what's inside," said James.
Together, they pushed on the massive door.
It groaned in protest, the wood rough and cold beneath their palms.
"Ugh—ouch—it's so heavy!" Mila gritted her teeth as the hinges screeched, the sound echoing through the giant corridor beyond.
Light spilled through the opening, catching on dust motes that drifted like tiny stars.
And what lay beyond made them all fall silent.
The library was enormous.
Rows of towering shelves stretched into the distance, each one crammed with massive books — three times the size of any they'd ever seen on Earth.
"Holy…" David muttered.
The air smelled faintly of dust and minerals, like wet stone and ink. Every book looked old — leather bound, faded, and etched with symbols that glowed faintly whenever Mila's eyes brushed across them.
"Shit," whispered Stacy, awe and disbelief mixing in her voice.
Mila looked up and read the sign carved high into the archway. "History, Legends, and Many More."
"Legends?" she said, glancing at the others. "They've got their own mythology."
"Yeah," James said, stepping forward. "Let's check it—"
He didn't get to finish.
One of the tribesmen entered through a far doorway, the ground shaking slightly under his steps. The alien's massive eyes fixed on them, narrow and distrustful. He didn't speak, didn't move closer — just stared for a long, silent moment before turning and walking out again.
The door thudded closed behind him.
"Woosh. That was close," David whispered.
"Alright," Mila said, exhaling. "Let's see what they've got."
They wandered deeper into the section marked Legends. The shelves here were darker, the books covered in strange markings — symbols that looked almost alive, glowing faintly red.
David ran his hand along the spine of one. "Legends of the Frozen Hole."
"Legends of the Magic Being."
"Legends of the Dead Night."
That last one caught Stacy's eye. Its cover was marked with red wax.
"'Legends of the Dead Night,'" she read aloud. "That sounds… not great."
She opened the book carefully. Dust fell in soft clouds, and the faint smell of ash filled the air. Together, they leaned in and read.
It began long ago, before our oldest ancestors remembered.
On every moonless night — the Dead Night — it comes.
At first, we thought the cries were those of lost animals, calling for help in the dark. But they were not.
The sound was human, desperate… hollow.
When we went to find the source, what we found instead was far worse.
Its body was black as ash, its veins glowing faint red, its eyes bright and burning — like fire trapped behind glass.
Its scream was not just a sound. It was a curse that clung to the soul, a cry that echoed long after the night had passed.
It tore through our fences, devoured our beasts, destroyed everything in its path. We fought — but no weapon could harm it.
So we fed it.
Our livestock, our offerings, anything to make it go away. And once it had eaten, it vanished back into the forest.
The Dead Night comes once every two months, lasting three to four nights. Sometimes it comes on the first night, sometimes the second, sometimes the third — but never has it failed to come.
Each time, the moonless sky grows darker, and the forest burns red with its glow.
We wanted to stop it. We tried. But we could not.
For as long as there is a night without a moon, the beast will return.
The air around them felt colder.
"That's… horrifying," said David softly.
"Yeah," Stacy murmured. "Let's just hope it's only a legend."
"Guys," Mila said suddenly, glancing up from another table. "Look at this one."
She and James were hunched over another massive tome — its title read The Man of the Sky.
They read together:
It began during the Frost Years, when the ground turned white and the sky forgot warmth. The beasts hid beneath the frozen soil, and food was no more.
On the third moon of hunger, we found him — a stranger lying in the snow.
He was not one of us. Smaller, weaker in body, his skin strange, his face unlike any tribe we had ever seen. He was like those that were said to have vanished a thousand generations ago.
We brought him to the village, for he was dying. But when he awoke, he spoke words we did not know. And then — he lifted his hands, and the snow itself moved.
He could make things float without touching them. He could summon clouds of colored mist and light that shimmered like stars. He could bend the wind, make fire without flame, and heal wounds with a single breath.
He told us his gift came from the gods above — that he was sent to protect, not to harm.
But many feared him. They said his power was too great for flesh and blood. So he left the open sky and built his home below — in the sacred cave at the heart of the village.
There he remained. He who does not age. He who hears every voice.
Stacy blinked. "A man who can move things with his mind? Sounds like the cave guy."
Before anyone could reply—
A sharp ping echoed from Stacy's wrist display.
Her eyes widened as the AI's calm voice spoke:
"Spaceship location successful. Signal restored."
Everyone froze.
"What?" James said, rushing to her side.
The green holographic screen unfolded in front of them, lines of data streaming down. Then — a map appeared, glowing bright green.
"YES!" David shouted. "Finally! We can find our way back!"
Cheers broke the library's silence—until Mila's smile slowly faded.
She stared at the map. Every team member's locator — tiny blue dots — blinked in place.
Except one. Janet's was gray.
"Janet," Mila whispered. The others turned.
"Her signal's… offline," James said, his voice low.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The library around them seemed to hum — ancient, watching.
And far in the distance, somewhere beyond the village, thunder rolled.