“Welcome, we were informed of your arrival. Glad to see you’ve successfully made it here,” a man greeted warmly when they appeared. His stance was professional yet inviting, an indication that he was well-trained for his role. “I know you were told not to bring any technology, but we need to check your belongings. Some people bring things they don’t recognize as technology,” the guard clarified with a patient tone. He clearly had given this spiel multiple times before, intending to reassure rather than intimidate. He led them into a building. “We don’t possess anything,” Willin told him. “We had to leave it behind.” “Bunny,” Jahree murmured with a tinge of sorrow tainting his voice. The guard was swift to respond, albeit with a touch of regret, “I’m sorry, but we allow pets either.” The guard talked funny. He said words differently, in a way that Jahree had never heard. He had trouble understanding some of what he said. “It was a doll, a stuffed toy,” Shima interjected to clarify, an edge of defensive concern in her voice. “He dropped it, but we were chased by a watchman so we couldn’t stop.” “So, you have nothing?” the guard inquired with raised brows. “Not entirely,” Shima responded as she carefully withdrew a small assortment of compressed nutrition bars from her pocket and presented them for the guard’s inspection. “We were told these were okay to bring.” Inspecting the items briefly, the man nodded his approval — a simple, but kind gesture. “Those are fine. Now, with that out of the way, let us help you in settling into your new environment,” he offered. As the stranger came into the room, his presence was as stark as the contrast between shadow and light. His skin lacked the warmth of natural color, evoking images of sun-bleached bone, and even his hair was absent of pigment, white as the frosted peaks of distant mountains. The air tensed as confrontation arose. “Where’s Midta?” the guard asked with a furrowed brow, his expectations unsettled by the appearance of this unanticipated visitor. “He had an emergency. He sent me,” the pale man replied with composure, his voice even and devoid of any discernable inflection that would betray his feelings about the last-minute change. “I assure you, I’m more than qualified to handle this task, even on my worst days, which, for the record, today is not.” He said some things Jahree couldn’t understand. He didn’t even hear real words. The guard, seemingly satisfied or simply resigned to the new arrangement, departed, leaving the room to the quiet sovereignty of the newcomer. Without a hint of hesitation, the pale man approached Jahree and his family with the controlled grace of a man well accustomed to the gravity his role demanded. He knelt before where they sat, bridging the distance not only in space but also in the apprehension that marked their faces. “I’m Keteel,” he introduced himself, his gaze steady and reassuring. “I’m a healer. Today, I’ll check your health. The spell to bring you here usually takes care of most problems. We want to make sure it didn’t miss anything. There are dangers in bringing new diseases to a new location.” Shima, a thread of concern lacing her voice, posed the question that hung like a specter in the room. “What happens if one of us has something?” Her eyes were intent upon the healer, seeking solace in whatever assurance he might provide. Keteel responded with a casual shrug that underscored his confidence yet belied the seriousness of the matter. “I’ll heal it,” he declared plainly, as though affirming something as certain as the rise of the dawn. Seeking clarity, perhaps driven by a cocktail of skepticism and hope, Willin inquired, “You can heal anything?” The healer’s eyes met Willin’s with unflinching candor. “Most things,” he asserted, not one to make empty promises. “If there’s something that falls beyond my capacity to heal, and it poses a significant concern, we’ll have to consider isolating you for a while to prevent any potential risk of contagion,” he elaborated with clinical detachment, his professionalism affording no room for sentimentality. In a gesture self-evident of his intent to begin, Keteel extended his hand towards Willin. “Just take my hand,” he urged, his voice imbued with the soft command of one whose hands had surely turned back the tides of many ailments. “I assure you, the process is painless.” His utterance was a velvet cloak, enveloping the room in a promise of healing and the hope that they all could emerge from the shadow of malady untouched. Willin quietly obeyed the unspoken command. After a brief moment, Midta finally nodded in approval. “Excellent, no problems,” he stated with an air of authority that seemed to put everyone at ease. His attention then shifted to Shima. “I’m going to need you to put the boy down for a moment so I don’t read both of you,” he instructed calmly. There was a noticeable pause as Shima mentally debated the request, the protective instincts of a mother warring with the trust she felt she should extend to the healer. Jahree’s hand gently grasped her arm, seeking comfort. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she assured her son in a soothing tone as she carefully lowered him to the ground. She extended a hand to Keteel. “Your lungs aren’t so great,” he noted matter-of-factly. “It looks like you may have been running on a cool night. It didn’t agree with you. It’s nothing contagious.” There was an implicit understanding of the harsh conditions they must have been through. “I took care of it for now,” he added, signaling that his healing skills had already mitigated the immediate concern. “If you have more problems, there’s a potion that you can take. I’ll write down the name for you,” he reassured, indicating a commitment to their continued well-being. His gaze then shifted to the young boy, indicating he was next to receive the healer’s attention. Jahree eyed the offered hand warily, his curiosity piqued but her trepidation holding a firm grip on his tiny heart. The man before him had the sort of pallor that he had only heard about in hushed tones when the adults spoke of spirits and phantoms. And yet, his demeanor was the antithesis of the frightening creatures from those tales. His voice had a soothing quality, and his eyes held a kindness that made him want to trust him. “What’s your name?” Keteel asked. “Jahree,” he replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Keteel quizzed him further. “How old are you?” In response, Jahree extended a hand with three little fingers raised. “Three? I bet tonight is a little confusing and scary, isn’t it?” Keteel’s words hit close to home, and all Jahree could do was nod in agreement, his eyes wide with a blend of fear and wonder. Seeing his agreement, Keteel continued to reassure him, “Your mom and dad want you to grow up someplace safer so they brought you here. We just need to make sure you’re not trying to get sick, okay?” He went on to explain, his tone gentle, “All you need to do is hold my hand for a moment. It won’t hurt. I’m a healer. I’ll heal any injuries or sickness.” With that, Keteel reached out his hand, palm open and inviting, waiting patiently for him to make his decision. Jahree stood still, the reluctance clear in his wide, cautious eyes. The thought of making contact with what might be an apparition filled him with a deep unease. He didn’t want to touch a ghost. Across from him, Keteel, perceiving the boy’s apprehension, smiled to put him at ease, although his pale features gave him an otherworldly appearance. “It’s too white, isn’t it?” Keteel asked, lifting his hand slightly, the color stark against the dim backdrop. Jahree nodded, his gaze fixed on what seemed to him like a spectral limb. “You think I look like a ghost?” Keteel questioned, his voice soft and understanding. Jahree nodded again, unable to shake the ingrained stories of spirits and hauntings from his young mind. “I’m not.” Keteel sought to reassure him. “A long time ago, someone did something that turned my family white.” His eyes held a mix of resignation and the fatigue of explaining his appearance more times than he probably cared to remember. “It hurt?” Jahree asked, curiosity piqued. He wondered who would do such a thing and why, his mind unable to grasp the cruel whims of those who wielded strange powers. “No. It’s okay. You can touch my hand. It doesn’t rub off.” Keteel extended his hand further, a gesture of trust and invitation. With a hesitant breath, Jahree reached out, his own hand trembling slightly as it approached the pale skin. He made contact, the flesh warm and solid beneath his fingertips. Keteel’s hand was real, not the cold mist of a spirit. Jahree withdrew his hand after a moment, staring down at his fingers, half-expecting to see a change. But his skin was just as it had always been—unaltered and its usual color. Reassured, he looked up at Keteel with new understanding and a tentative smile. “He’s healthy too,” Keteel assured Jahree’s parents. That news was a relief to Jahree after his dad’s claim that he was sick. He hadn’t felt sick before they had left but being out at night hiding from the watch his stomach had twisted making him wonder. Keteel stood and admitted the guard. Jahree pressed close to his mom. The guard reminded him of the watch. Noticing the boys’s discomfort, Keteel’s expression turned to a gentle frown. A protective instinct rising within him, he moved to stand between the guard and the new family. “It might be morning here,” he began with a firm yet courteous tone, “but on Tameria, it’s the middle of the night. They aren’t sick, but they are exhausted. You have them registered. Let them get some sleep. We can get them settled when they wake. I’ll talk to Mama Sai about helping them get settled.” His words were an anchor in the turbid sea of bureaucracy, each one spoken with an unwavering certainty that seemed to brook no argument. Turning to address Jahree and his family with a kind smile, Keteel’s voice softened. “Come, there are beds you can use.” His words were an invitation, a promise of the respite they so desperately needed. Jahree raised his head, a thought emerging from the haze of fatigue. “Bunny?” he asked with a tinge of hope and concern. His little companion, the soft stuffed animal that had been with him every night, would offer comfort in a world that was suddenly too vast and strange. His mother, already burdened with the loss of familiarity and the challenges of resettlement, scooped Jahree into her arms, her face a mask of compassion touched by sadness. “Jahree, the bunny’s gone. I promise we’ll find you a new one, maybe something else, but it won’t be tonight,” she consoled him, knowing the void that the loss of a cherished toy could create for a child. Seeking to understand, Keteel interjected, his tone laced with concern. “Is this a toy or a pet?” Clarity was necessary for him to provide the appropriate help. With a gentle nod, Shima reassured him. “A toy,” she said, recalling the moment of confusion and hustle where Jahree had dropped his treasured bunny during their journey. It was a minor loss against the backdrop of intergalactic migration, but in their child’s world, it was a loss nonetheless. “Jahree, it’s time to sleep now, I promise to find you something when you wake up. Can you do that for me?” Keteel asked. Jahree gave a sleepy nod in response. “I’ll also try to reach out to Ray to see if she’s had any luck on her end but contacting Tameria can be notoriously tricky.” With a gentle hand, they escorted Jahree to another room where he would spend the night with his parents. Unlike the high-tech sleeping pods he was used to, the room was simpler and featured a cushioned mat on the floor with a soft pillow. The setup seemed odd to Jahree, but his exhaustion overpowered any sense of curiosity or the will to question it. He lay on the cushion and felt the comforting touch of his mother as she tenderly tucked him in. Keteel gently patted his hand, offering a silent assurance. Within moments, Jahree was enveloped by sleep, drifting effortlessly into dreamland.