Jace Strickland POV

  The air was buzzing with anticipation as the transport touched down just outside the hospital. The normally bustling city streets of D.C. had been cleared by security, allowing the Eova transport to land without interference. Even still, a small crowd had gathered just beyond the barriers, their faces a mix of hope, curiosity, and skepticism.

  I stood at the edge of the landing site, my arms crossed as I watched the doors open. The Klaro stepped out, their figures draped in white and silver garments, an almost ethereal presence against the steel and glass backdrop of the city. They moved with a quiet grace, their white eyes shining with an understanding beyond human comprehension. Leading them was Thriexa, who looked as composed as ever, though I could see the flicker of tension in her posture.

  “This is a big moment,” Sam murmured beside me, adjusting her earpiece. “The public knows about them, but seeing them like this? Helping our people? It’s going to change everything.”

  “That’s the hope, right?” I muttered, scanning the perimeter as Thriexa stepped forward. Behind her, Tocci and Trenal followed closely, always alert, always protective. They didn’t trust easily, and I understood why.

  As the group moved toward the hospital entrance, Sam stepped forward. “Thriexa,” she called, motioning toward the crew standing nearby. “I want the news to follow us inside. The people need to see this.”

  Thriexa hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Let them come. The world should witness what the Klaro can do.”

  The hospital doors slid open, and immediately, the smell of antiseptic filled the air. Inside, doctors, nurses, and patients had already been briefed on what was happening, but that didn’t stop the stunned expressions as the Eova stepped inside.

  A doctor in a white coat approached hesitantly. “I’m Dr. Peters,” he said, his gaze shifting between Thriexa and the Klaro. “I… don’t quite know what to expect here.”

  Thriexa smiled gently. “Then allow us to show you.”

  She turned to the Klaro. “Begin where you feel needed.”

  One of the Klaro, a woman named Lethis, moved forward, her gaze scanning the hall. She closed her eyes briefly, as if sensing something unseen. Then, without a word, she moved toward one of the patient rooms.

  We followed as she stepped inside, where a frail young girl lay in bed, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. Her mother sat beside her, clutching her hand. She looked up as we entered, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

  “Who—?” she started, but Lethis simply knelt beside the girl’s bed, placing a hand lightly over her chest. The girl stirred slightly but did not wake.

  A soft glow emanated from Lethis’s palm, a faint silver light seeping into the child’s skin. The heart monitor beeped steadily, then—almost imperceptibly at first—the rhythm grew stronger. The girl’s breathing deepened, her color returning.

  The mother gasped. “She—she hasn’t been able to breathe on her own for months.”

  Lethis removed her hand and opened her eyes. “She will still need rest, but she will recover. Her body needed a push to heal itself.”

  Tears welled in the mother’s eyes as she looked at her daughter, now peacefully sleeping. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  I swallowed hard, glancing at Thriexa, who watched the moment unfold with quiet satisfaction.

  The cameras captured it all.

  Thriexa and her group followed as the Klaro dispersed throughout the hospital, healing where they could. With every person healed, the smile on Thriexa’s face grew, a mixture of relief and deep satisfaction settling in her features. I watched as she moved through the halls with a quiet grace, acknowledging every patient and doctor she passed.

  She followed Lethis into another patient room, where a young child lay frail in his hospital bed, his small chest rising and falling in shallow, labored breaths. His father sat beside him, hunched over with exhaustion and grief, his face lined with worry. The moment Lethis stepped forward, the man shot to his feet, his stance immediately defensive.

  “No! No aliens will touch my son!” His voice was sharp, raw with emotion. He moved to shield his child, his arms blocking the way.

  Lethis halted, blinking calmly, but before she could respond, Thriexa stepped in between them, positioning herself between the Klaro healer and the father. I knew that look on her face—she had sensed his intentions before even stepping into the room.

  “Your concern is understandable,” she said, her voice even, soothing, “but please listen to me. We do not want to harm him. We only wish to help.”

  The father’s eyes darted toward the cameras that had followed us inside. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. “I don’t trust you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re not human. How do I know you’re not doing something worse?”

  I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Sam, standing beside me, subtly motioned for the news crew to keep rolling. This was exactly the kind of moment that would shape public perception.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Before Thriexa could say more, a weak voice broke through the standoff.

  “Dad…”

  The father turned immediately, rushing to his son’s side. The boy, pale and barely conscious, reached out with trembling fingers, grasping weakly at his father’s sleeve. His breath rattled in his lungs.

  “Dad… I’m dying. The doctors said… there’s nothing they can do. I don’t want to die.” His eyes flickered toward Thriexa and Lethis. “If they can help me, I want them to help.”

  The father’s face crumpled, his composure breaking as he looked down at his son. The helplessness in his posture made my chest tighten. He was a man grasping at control in a situation where he had none.

  Thriexa did not move, did not push further. She simply waited, allowing the man to make the decision himself. I watched him struggle, torn between fear and desperation, his mind racing through every doubt and every hope all at once.

  Finally, his shoulders sagged. He turned to Thriexa, his expression broken but pleading. “If you can save him… please. Do it.”

  Thriexa gave a gentle nod, then stepped aside, allowing Lethis to kneel beside the boy’s bed. The soft silver glow of her hands illuminated the room as she placed them lightly on his chest, her focus unwavering.

  I exhaled, realizing only then that I had been holding my breath. As I looked at the father’s face, I saw something change in his expression—fear being slowly replaced by something else. Hope.

  Beside me, Sam murmured under her breath, “That was the moment. That’s what’s going to change everything.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. And I had a feeling Thriexa knew it too.

  As the energy in the room shifted, the weight of what had just happened settled over all of us. The cameras caught every moment, the father still gripping his son’s hand as life slowly returned to the boy’s fragile body. But I barely registered the murmurs of the news crew or the quiet sobs of relief from the father. My attention was on Thriexa.

  She had stepped back, away from the center of the room, her usually composed features drawn tight. Her gaze lingered on the boy for a moment longer before she turned away, slipping out into the hall.

  I followed without thinking.

  She stood just outside the hospital room, her arms wrapped around herself, her breaths controlled but shallow. I had seen Thriexa being interrogated, in negotiations, standing before an entire world of skeptics without so much as a flicker of doubt. But this—this had shaken her.

  “Thriexa?” I kept my voice low as I stepped toward her.

  She didn’t look at me immediately, instead keeping her gaze fixed somewhere distant, somewhere I couldn’t follow. “Eova children are rare, Jace,” she finally murmured. “We do not see them suffer like this. To watch a child so close to death, to feel his pain, his father’s fear—it is… unbearable.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I had spent my entire life in a world where sickness, loss, and suffering were inevitable. But to her—to the Eova—it wasn’t something they had to face so often.

  She exhaled, her fingers tightening around her arms. “And for every child we heal today, there are thousands we will not reach. No matter how much we give, it will never be enough.”

  The raw emotion in her voice hit me harder than I expected. Without thinking, I stepped closer, reaching out. My hands found her shoulders first, grounding her, before pulling her into my arms. She tensed at first, but after a moment, she relaxed, her body melting against mine as she let out a long, shuddering breath.

  “You’re doing everything you can,” I whispered. “More than anyone could ever expect.”

  She didn’t answer right away, just rested her forehead against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I felt her fingers curl slightly against my back, holding onto me as if anchoring herself to the moment.

  “I just wish it was enough,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I tightened my arms around her, pressing my chin against the top of her head. “It is. And if it’s not yet, we’ll find a way to make it enough. Together.”

  She let out another breath, and this time, it wasn’t as heavy. Just for a moment, the weight she carried wasn’t hers alone.

  Thriexa Aizih POV

  The weight of the day still clung to me as I stood behind the curtain, listening to the quiet murmurs of the press waiting in the next room. The images had already been released—videos of the Klaro healing in the hospital, the moment the boy reached for his father and chose life, the raw emotion in the eyes of those who had witnessed the impossible.

  Now, it was time to speak.

  I took a steady breath and stepped forward. The bright lights of the press room momentarily blinded me, but I didn’t falter. The room was packed, cameras rolling, journalists eager to capture every word, every expression.

  I approached the podium, the images behind me still looping on the screens. The silence stretched for a moment longer before I spoke.

  “What you have seen today is only the beginning,” I said, my voice carrying through the room. “The Klaro nation has long dedicated itself to the healing arts. Their knowledge is vast, their ability to aid those in need unmatched by any known science. Today, you witnessed what we can do—not as an act of power, but as a gesture of goodwill. We did not come to Earth to take. We came to give.”

  A wave of hushed murmurs rippled through the audience. A reporter in the front row stood. “Aizih Thriexa, what are your plans moving forward? Will this be limited to one hospital?”

  I shook my head. “No. This is not an isolated effort. The Klaro and I have begun plans to extend this initiative across the country, to bring our knowledge to those who need it most. We will not stop there. Eventually, we will take this to the world.”

  Another voice rang out. “Do you have limits? Will you heal anyone who asks?”

  I hesitated, then answered honestly. “We will do all we can. But we are not limitless. Our healers are still living beings with finite energy. What you saw today was an extension of our ability, but not an endless resource. We must be mindful of sustainability. We must also ensure that our aid does not become a commodity to be controlled or restricted by those who would wield it unfairly.”

  A sharp voice from the side called out, “Some say this disrupts the balance of power. That giving humanity access to your healing could collapse industries, change economies, even shift control of entire nations. How do you respond to that?”

  I met the reporter’s gaze steadily. “We are not here to serve profit, nor to be claimed as assets of any one nation. We will work in partnership with governments to ensure fairness and accessibility. But we will not allow our aid to be weaponized or restricted for the benefit of the few while the many suffer. If humanity sees this as a disruption, then I ask—why does healing the sick threaten stability? What does that say about the world you have built?”

  The room went silent. The answer was not an easy one for them to face.

  A softer voice spoke next. “Aizih Thriexa, how do you feel about what happened today? About the boy you saved?”

  That question caught me off guard.

  I let out a breath. “I am grateful that we could help him. But I am also… deeply aware of the ones we could not reach. Of the ones we may never reach. The suffering I saw today is not unique to one hospital, one city, one nation. It exists everywhere. And while we cannot save everyone, we will not ignore them either. We will do what we can—for as many as we can. That is the promise of the Eova.”

  The press fell into a quiet hush as the weight of my words settled over them.

  I had done what I came to do.

  Now, the world would decide how to answer.