Effé explains to her granddaughter Isabelle that while knitting can seem boring due to its repetitive nature, each stitch represents a perfect moment such that when the blanket is finished it is a collection of perfect moments. Isabelle then wanders in the woods and rests by a river, listening to music, when her friend Ben wakes her up. Ben jokingly proposes that if they are both single at 30 they should get married, and Isabelle agrees on the condition that their wedding must include at least 50 tuxedo-wearing sloths. They then go to attend a local tribute event.

1. As the Clock Strikes Zero:
The Calm
Chapter One:
Introduction
“Doesn’t that get boring?”
“Oh goodness, yes.” Isabelle’s grandmother, Effé replied.
“Then why do it?”
Effé set down her crochet hook and looked up thoughtfully. She started to speak
and then paused as she often did. She knew the value of words and the importance of
their deliverance. “You see, how each stitch is the same?”
“I do.”
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It is.”
“Sometimes it is boring. The repetition. Monotonous even. But this, doing the
same thing over and over-- each stitch becomes a moment. If every stitch is perfect, when
it is done, it becomes a collection of perfect little moments.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And perhaps you shouldn’t. Not yet. You’re too young to think about perfection.
I remember when I was your age. The moments were so messy, but still so beautiful. A
different kind of beautiful.” Effé’s eyes seemed to shine with her reflection before
returning to their look of subtle determination as she refocused on her work. “So why do
something boring? That was what you were asking?”
“Yes.”
“Well, before you, before me, this boring consistency was more or less a dream.
And like a dream, it is always sweeter before it becomes reality. I sometimes dream of
wonderful blankets, keeping you and your brothers warm, and your mother before that.
Wonderful blankets, all of them. But they never turn out exactly how I want them to.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked. Effé was a masterful in her work, weaving
intricate patterns and designs. Visitors would often ask to purchase her blankets.
“Everybody loves them. Why don’t you like them?”
“Oh dear, its not that I don’t like them. Dreams are so fickle. You just have to
remember to enjoy them even if they aren’t what you always expected them to be.”
With that, Isabelle wandered off. It was simply another of a myriad of seemingly
symbolic discourses she had with her grandmother. Still, there was something soothing in
the ease of their conversations. There was never the judgment or criticism that she felt
around other people. Effé was the kind of person that, no matter what, always seemed to
know exactly what to say and exactly how to say it. That’s why it was on days like this
where Isabelle found herself unsettled for no apparent reason that her grandmother was
the best person she could talk to.
Restlessly, Isabelle ventured outside. The sun seemed to almost lazily to drag
itself across the sky as if tired from exerting its immense warmth. Wandering down the
beaten forest path behind her house she found herself realizing that her feeling of
restlessness was a blessing. Sure, she thought to herself, this is repetitive. But what else
would I rather be doing? The sense of melancholy was welcomed.

2. As she meandered throughout the woods she approached a common scene. It was
once a dam, but now found itself reduced to graffiti streaked rubble jetting out of an
indolent river. Hopping from jagged rock to jagged rock she made it to the highest
portion of the dam; a flattened surface where she often found herself on days like this
one. She proceeded remove an old iPod from her knapsack before laying it down to serve
as a pillow. As per usual, she listened to Pink Floyd. If she had anything else on her iPod,
it certainly didn’t take priority. Her day was set: lay here for hours removed from the
annoyances of the world and try to avoid sunburn.
Unfortunately, not everything goes as planned. In the midst of dozing off Isabelle
felt a nudging at her shoulder. She let out a venomous groan as if to say “do that again,
and I’ll drown you in the river.” Undeterred, the nudge persisted. Begrudgingly, she took
out her headphones and arose, unleashing a heated glare. Her gaze softened when she saw
who it was.
“Hey there sunshine.” It was Ben, one of maybe four people that Isabelle would
allow to wake her up without a fight.
“I hate you.” Isabelle hissed as menacingly as possible.
Her façade was useless. They had known one another far too long for him not
identify her dry sense of sarcasm. “Who peed in your porridge?” Ben said with a snicker.
“I just fell asleep, you jerk. You always ruin everything.”
“Well, we all have to be good at something.” Ben said maintaining his smirk. Ben
was, in many ways, the opposite of Isabelle. His enthusiasm knew no bounds. His self-
confidence was palpable. He always seemed to approach everything he did with what
Isabelle thought to be a sickening sense of optimism. She sometimes found herself
thinking about awful scenarios for him to endure just to watch him wither. It was all in
good fun, of course. There was just something contagious about him. He certainly wasn’t
the wisest or most charismatic person. Actually, he often flirted with the opposite. That’s
likely what Isabelle enjoyed the most about him. He was unapologetically authentic and
there was nothing that could be said or done to change it. “You look nice today. I like
your hair thing.” He mused.
“It’s called bangs.”
“Well, I like them. So what are you doing out here by your lonesome?”
“You know, just trying to sit here, by myself, take a nap, by myself, and listen to
music, -”
“By yourself?” Brain rolled his eyes. “Eh, sounds alright. What are you listening
to?” Without awaiting an answer he picked up the iPod. The song playing was Wish You
Were Here. “So you did want me to come, after all!”
“I told you I was sleeping. I didn’t even pick it!” She retorted. “It just so happens
that they don’t have a song called ‘Kill you so I can be Alone forever’.”
“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.” Ben sang
obnoxiously. “Come on, you know you think about me when that comes on.“
“Yeah I do – I think about you falling into the river and getting eaten by a
thousand piranhas.” Isabelle was now smiling. As much as she loved her stubborn malice,
it was becoming comical. Now fully awake she found it impossible to be angry. Life is
good she thought.
“Now there it is.”
“There what is?” Isabelle inquired.

3. “You’re smiling.”
“Shut up! I’m am not!” Isabelle defended. Her attempt to withdraw it, however,
was futile. It appeared the more she tried to hide it, the broader it got - a psychosomatic
effect of sorts.
“It’s okay, I understand. If a guy with a jawline carved by the hands of Zues woke
me up, I don’t think I could contain myself either.” With that, they both laughed as
Isabelle offered a playful nudge. Ben was no superhero in mentality or stature, but he did
have his moments. “So, I’ve been thinking” he continued. “Seeing how you’re a stunner
and I’m a hot slice of sex appeal, I have a proposal for you.”
“Oh jeez. Go on.” Isabelle said warily, in full recognition of Ben’s eccentric
disposition.
“Well my proposal is kind of a proposal.”
“Woah - ”
“Just hear me out” Ben interrupted. “Okay, so say I don’t get eaten by a thousand
piranhas and we are both like, thirty. I think we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get hitched.
What do you say?”
Isabelle burst out laughing. Admittedly, marriage was the last thing on her mind.
At the same time, the spontaneity of the proposition and her general distaste for societal
norms made it intriguing. Just imagining her mother’s reaction was laughable. It would
be like she saw lightening strike a litter of newborn puppies. That was all the motivation
Isabelle needed. “Alright, I have one condition. Well, actually two.”
“Shoot”
“First,” Isabelle ordered, “You have to be the house wife. I think we both know
I’m a disaster in the kitchen. Second, we need to have at least fifty sloths at our wedding
and they all need to be wearing tuxedos. Think you can live with that?”
“Deal. What about the girl sloths? Do they need tuxedos as well?”
“Yes. No exceptions.”
“Well, Isabelle,” Ben chuckled, “you drive a hard bargain. But I’m sure you’re
worth it. Besides, our kids will be physical specimens.”
“Who said anything about kids!?” Isabelle exclaimed with a look of feigned
shock.”
“Uhh, how about we cross that bridge when we come to it” Ben said, retracing his
steps with a wink. “Anyways, I couldn’t find you at the tribute, so I thought I’d check
here. We should go. It is always a good time.”
“More like a lame time.” Isabelle countered.
“Oh, come on. If for nothing else, do it for the free food.”
“Grandma Effé did always tell me to never turn down a free meal.”
The tribute is celebration like few others. After the last Great War, the world
found itself in shambles. The poor rose up, country by country, rebelling against
economic confines and those who sought to enforce them. Sickness festered as
weaponized carcinogens migrated through the air. Carcasses littered the streets and
victims of mass war were exposed to the fragile nature of their mortality. It was the single
greatest tragedy in documented history. Nobody was safe. The reason it started, and even
who fired first are muddled details at best. As it was, economies collapsed and
governments were toppled overnight. The struggle for power left only chaos in the midst
humanity’s darkest hour. Survivors sought safety in the crevices of the Earth, in the

4. shelter of the rubble, and the most remote and desolate expanses. Bloodshed continued
for over a decade. First, an eighth, then a third, and then a half; there still isn’t a clear
estimation of how many were lost. All that is known is that there is no going backward.
No amount of anger, force or hatred can substantiate the destruction.
It is, after all, only by the most unlikely circumstances that the Earth survived. For
that, one can thank the Ut’Arians, a nomadic race the elder of humanity by millions of
years. As journeymen of countless galaxies, many have settled on passing planets amid
intergalactic travel. Others continue their journey into the unknown, eyes searching for a
promised land upon which to start their civilization anew.
Ut’Arians as a whole are a peacefully communal people, humanoid in biological
and aesthetic nature. Few differences exist between them and the people of Earth other
than a reddish tint to the skin, a pointed elongation of the ears, and various evolutionary
advantages that accompany perseverance through millennia. Along with these, all
Ut’Arians, both male and female are given a tattoo on their palms at birth. There are two
sets of tattoos with one delegated to males and another to the females. Design between
the two differs very little. Both the males and the females have three separated segments
to the tattoo resembling slices of a pie, or what humans may see to resemble a hazard
symbol. Of these segments, those on the hands of males are angled differently in
comparison to that of a female. Isabelle’s father explained that this was done so that when
the hands of a male and female are pressed to one another, they create a complete circle.
“This,” he said, “displays the necessity for one another to distribute balance as well as to
maintain the continuity of life. We are all connected, we are all equal, and we are all one.
It shows our unity with one another; our love.”
It is with the evolutionary as well as technological benefits that the Ut’Arians
provided assistance to the human race. With superior antibodies and an advanced
understanding of medicine, a cure to the plague encompassing Earth was deduced. Mass
radiation was eradicated with an ionic mineral solution designed to dissipate radioactive
material at the molecular level. Providing cure and an outlet to peace, the Ut’Arians
found themselves openly welcomed and heralded as divine saviors. Many humans
adopted Ut’Arian ideals and lifestyle, absorbing knowledge ranging from the breadth of
the starts beyond to the depth of the living spirit within.
It is in this esteem that the Tribute is celebrated. There is likely no holiday more
endeared and certainly none merrier. Great fires are built all but touching the sky above.
The people consume alcohol and smoke heartily. Laughter and music wafts through the
air and carries for miles. Comedy routines are presented to appease the Ut’Arian love of
humor.
One comedian achieved roaring laughs in his jovial prodding at the unwavering
nature of Ut’Arian ideology. “Ya’ll Ut’s have so much respect for your elders, they tell
the kids to stay on their lawn. Wait, wait, here we go – Ya’ll Ut’s are so respectful, none
of ya’ll will take the last biscuit from the plate even if you’re still hungry as a dog. If my
grandmother tried to take the last biscuit I’d cut her!” With that, the crowd exploded.
“I’m just joking. But seriously though, if you take that biscuit, I don’t care how old you
are. You’re asking for an ass-whooping.”
Both Ben and Isabelle rolled back and forth with laughter “This guy is hilarious.
Supposedly generations ago, like his great, great grandfather or something was an actual
comedian. Or so people have said, anyways.” Brian quipped.

5. “What do you mean, an actual comedian” Isabelle retorted, obviously irritated by
the remark.
“Well, you know, like famous.” Ben attempted to explain.
However, this did nothing but further agitate Isabelle. “Famous? Does this man
not receive standing ovations? Does he not command the adoration and laughter of the
audience? Is his essence, unbeknownst to all those that watch him fading out of
existence? Is he some kind of hologram?” The sarcasm in her tone was palpable.
Ben quickly attempted to retrace his steps. “Don’t take me so literally. I just
meant he’s not recognized like famous people were back before the war, you know?”
“No I don’t know. And I’m glad I don’t. From what I hear things sucked pretty
bad back then.”
In a submissive tone Ben noted, “I don’t know if it was all bad –“
“No?” Isabelle responded hastily. “Well if you ever manage to go backwards in
time, let me know if you think Hitler and atomic waste are actually not that bad.”
“I didn’t mean it like that…” Ben helplessly reasoned.
It was too late. Isabelle was on a tangent and determined to be grouchy. “It’s
getting late, I’m going to go home and get some sleep. Ben tried to repent but before he
could say or do anything, Isabelle was on the move. Blinded by her sporadic behavior she
didn’t take the time to think about how the long the walk back was. While only about a
mile and a half from home it seemed dreadful at night without company. Perhaps she
shouldn’t have stormed off so impulsively. She simply couldn’t help it though. For better
or worse, she allowed a hot head and blistering passion to guide her far more regularly
that pragmatism and rationality. Her reasoning resembled: Life simply cannot be planned
out. If one isn’t caught up in a moment, then they are isolated from it. While the
reasoning was elegant, she also realized it was in part compensation for the times when
her disposition lead her wrong; times like the one currently at hand.
It was to her good fortune that the venture home was not fully draped in darkness.
A soft bioluminescent glow being provided by the hallowsparks illuminated her path.
Among the natural topography, the Ut’Arians added plant life that was calculated to be
beneficial to the wildlife and ecosystem. The bioluminescent plants, known as
hallowsparks were imbedded because of their ability to ability to absorb solar radiation
and harness energy. Along with the provision of light, Hallowsparks converted carbon
dioxide into oxygen at a very efficient rate while also creating a feast of pesky insects for
predators. When at a high vantage point, the hallowsparks make for a beautiful sight.
Isabelle always thought that from the sky it must look like the Earth harbors countless
miniature starts on its surface.
Comforted by the visual appeal of the journey home Isabelle attempted to
understand why she became so angry with Ben over the comedian. She couldn’t wrap her
head around why she frequently heard people reflecting positively about life before the
war. It just didn’t seem right to her. To her it seemed that the majority of people had
some kind of connection to the past that she was utterly unable to comprehend. During
times like this Isabelle felt divided; like she didn’t belong or that a piece of her was
missing. Self-consciousness triggered a defense mechanism and she found herself trying
to create blame as a utility to displace an inexplicable feeling of guilt. Why even bother
with the Tribute? She thought. If things were so good how they were before, why change?
Why even model the Ut’Arians to begin with? Isabelle always wondered if there were

6. fundamentally inherent differences between humans and Ut’Arians. After all, they aren’t
even of the same galaxy, much less the same planet. Who says we should even
acknowledge the similarities? Besides eyes, arms, and legs, what do we really know to be
the same between the two? She knew part of it though, was that in the midst of her
enjoyment, she felt Ben dampened it with a reference to another time. He seemed to view
it as a better time, she thought, and that was something she couldn’t make sense of.
All Isabelle was ever capable of is living within the current circumstances.
History never interested her. Not that of the humans or the Ut’Arians. She found it boring
and often times irrelevant. There were few sayings she had more disdain for than “those
that ignore the past are doomed to repeat it.” Nonetheless, she heard it consistently in
argument regarding her lack of intrigue to history but remained unable to dispute it.
Instead, she simply took solace in the fact that whatever happened previously had
culminated in what is happening now. The only absolute is within how each passing
moment is embraced and released. Indeed, she shared the same mentality for the future.
Drifting took priority to marching and indecision took preference over rigidity.
Lost rambling through her thoughts, Isabelle practically ran her face into the front
door of her house. Cruising on autopilot had become a hobby of hers. It seemed to signify
that she had achieved a desirable depth of focus. Upon entering the house, she took note
that her grandmother was asleep and that her parents were likely still at the Tribute as
they had yet to return home. Weary from the day of festivities she made her way to bed
without delay. Before slipping out of consciousness she recalled upon her internalized
philosophic discourse during the walk back. With her fading mental capacity she decided
to forgive Ben’s earlier trespass, but more importantly, to forgive that of her own. Her
last thought before slipping into the grasp of slumber: Embrace each moment openly,
release each moment with grace.

7. Chapter Two:
Heritage
“Do you have to go?” Isabelle inquired.
“You know how it works, it’s all very complicated. If just anybody could do it,
why bother keeping an old bag of bones like myself around?” Isabelle’s father attempted
to explain.
“How long will you be gone for?”
“The usual, a couple of days. Just monitoring the infinity core to ensure
everything is in order; nothing that you need to worry your pretty little head about. I’ll be
sure to bring you back something neat from the mountain.”
“You better!” Isabelle demanded.
The mountain, named Du’Ar was where the majority of the local Ut’Arians
resided. The name in translation means “land of the people,” derived from the root words
“Ar” meaning people and “Du,” which is roughly translated as land or place. As a
reference point, Ut’Arian can be deciphered as “peoples of the star,” or “star peoples.”
According to Isabelle’s history lessons the Ut’Arian race once went by a different name
before converting to a title that more appropriately coined their nomadic nature. As it
was, many preferred to carve their homes out of the natural constructs of the land as
opposed to erecting institutions of personal design. More or less some ideological
Ut’Arian hippy nonsense is how Isabelle categorized it. Her father commanded
significant respect within the community, regularly tending to local energy concerns and
maintaining the functioning of the infinity core. The core itself is the singular power
source of the surrounding people. Isabelle’s father provided explanation more than once
on the specifics of how it functions but she only ever pretended to care. In the end, all she
really took notice of was her father bringing back something interesting upon his
returning.
Living in a more human concentrated area a little ways from the mountain created
a civil communal divide. If one statement could be made of the Ut’Arians, it is that they
are quite particular. While all are welcomed to partake in their lifestyle, they are careful
to distinguish that this is a necessity in order to claim access to its technological benefits.
In all, the Ut’Arian perspective of technology was quite different from that of humanity.
Advancement resides in the realm of necessity while simplicity remains pertinent in less
prioritized aspects of life. Ut’Arian wariness of human application of technology is well
documented and its distribution and accessibility found its way into agreement through
Human-Ut’Arian law. It is because of this that the devices Isabelle’s dad risked to bring
back for her held so much value. Needless to say she found bending the rules to be quite
exhilarating.
Of the previous gifts from her father, Isabelle acquired a utility knife and
something known as a “jumper”. The knife was one composed of energy with a solid
handle and a retractable blade extending about the width of her hand. Through electrical
impulses transmitted from her brain to her fingertips, the shape of the blade could be
adjusted accordingly. Capable of cutting at a molecular level, the utility knife had little
issue making quick work of the strongest metals or the most brittle of glass.
The jumper is an interesting contraption capable of extracting energy, storing it,
and later releasing it. Within Ut’Arian domain, ports exist for the insertion of the device

8. to provide a charge to ignite lights, ovens, engines, and the like. However, within the
human-dominant communities, such ports did not exist and Isabelle found more
delinquent uses for the jumper. Chief among these applications was a taser used to
motivate Cattle, or Ben when she wanted a good laugh.
Mischief is a calling card of Isabelle’s. There was a time when she would
accompany her dad on his trips to the Ut’Arian domain. Such adventures were long
passed after her father was informed that her company was not preferred due to her so-
called defacing of the mountain. Isabelle preferred to term it “a work of art,” contrary to
public opinion. Overall, she had a hard time agreeing the reaction was befitting the crime.
In her mind, she simply added a personal touch to a rather visible portion of the
mountain. While never directly caught for her tampering, the name “Isabelle” did not find
itself common amongst the Ut’Arian people and the deliberation of judgment upon her
was without doubt.
“I’m home!” the familiar voice of Isabelle’s mother rang out.
“Wonderful. What’s for dinner?” Grandma Effé responded.
“Is that anyway to treat your daughter?” Isabelle interjected.
“Once you push ‘em out, you can say whatever you want.” Effé murmured under
her breath. “Did I ever tell you how big your mother’s head was? It hasn’t changed
much!”
“She needs some place to put all those wonderful brains of hers.” Said Isabelle’s
dad as he headed out the door. “Anyways, try to play nice while I’m gone. You know
what they say about three human women alone together!”
“Enlighten us.” Isabelle’s mother said with a raised eyebrow.
Avoiding the implications of his comically misplaced joke, Isabelle’s father cut
himself short. “I guess that’s my que! Hold tight until I get back my angels.”
“Not staying for a bite?” Isabelle’s mother interrogated.
“Sorry, I’m running late. And you know I hate –“
“…Running late, I know. Off with you then!” Isabelle’s mother said with an
endearing smile while shooing Toren off with her hands. After a couple of brief embraces
and a kiss to each of their foreheads, he was off.
“So, what is for dinner?” Isabelle inquired.
“Well, hello to you too!” Her mother retorted. “You could make yourself useful
when I’m out working and start things off yourself, you know.”
“I avoid the kitchen only for the safety of my loved ones!” Isabelle exclaimed.
“Excuses, excuses!” Grandma Effé commented.
“You’re right,” Isabelle jested. “What would you like me to prepare for you?”
“Ohh, I’m quite alright, thank you. My time is already ticking, no need to rush
anything.” Effé backtracked.
“That’s what I thought!” Isabelle answered triumphantly.
Isabelle’s mother took occupation in teaching the local children how to speak
Menna, the native language of the Ut’Arian people. As a leading spokeswoman of the
human community she took responsibility for communicating, negotiating and
maintaining relations with the Ut’Arians. This honor was delegated upon her due to close
ties with the Ut’Arian people through her husband as well as her aptitude to speak the
native tongue. Legitimacy in her field, however, could not be doubted. Fluency in the
language aside, Ut’Arians were generally quite proficient in English. Many even spoke

9. multiple human languages. Humans typically addressed Ut’Arians in Menna as a
formality or a sign of respect than for menial conversation.
In this way Isabelle’s mother commanded a profound respect from her. It was
widely known that behind their surface of kindness, Ut’Arians remained wary of humans.
Nonetheless, as a purebred human so to speak, Isabelle’s mother received as much trust
and respect from the Ut’Arians as anyone she knew. Some of this is likely attributed to
Isabelle’s father being Ut’Arian himself, but credit cannot be withdrawn from her mother.
A socialite by nature, she seamlessly transcended differences with a charm and level of
self-assurance Isabelle envied.
Isabelle’s genealogy was one not all together unique, but still rather rare.
Naturally, there were those that frowned upon her parent’s choice. Feeling misplaced
throughout her upbringing served as a catalyst for her thick skin and undeniable sense of
individuality as well as a variety of her sensitivities. With conviction it can be said that
her physiological disposition contributes to Isabelle’s tendency to keep an intimate circle
of family and friends.
By appearance Isabelle was clearly not entirely human or Ut’Arian. She lacked
the customary unity tattoo on the palms of her hands. Her hair was thin and tame like that
of her mothers as opposed to the thick locks that accompanied the heads of the Ut’Arians.
Her ears retained their human roundedness. The redness of her skin was pale and
inconsistent in comparison to her Ut’Arian brethren, seeming to fade into a more peach-
like color that casted lightly pronounced streaks of color across her face. Really, she was
quite beautiful; of which her grandmother would consistently remind her. As she would
say, “It takes open eyes to see something remarkable.” Like many young woman, though,
Isabelle found it much easier to nitpick her perceived differences and discrepancies rather
than be empowered by them. Such appeared to be her largest challenge and the
predominant sculptor of her mentality.
“Thanks, mom! Dinner was great!” Isabelle said as she slyly attempted to exit the
dinner table.
“Oh no you don’t! I didn’t hear anyone say you’re excused.” Isabelle’s mother
said, nixing the endeavor to slip away.
“All you’re going to do is force me into some boring conversation about things
that nobody ever cared about. Probably about some chump with a speech impediment
from one of your classes.”
“I’m going to let that one slide, young lady. So mom, what’s the talk of the
town?” Isabelle’s mother inquired, shifting focus.
“Well, I finished crocheting the most adorable blanket today. I sent it with Toren
to give to a child up the mountain. Perhaps he knows someone that can make good use of
it.” Effé deliberated.
“Oh God, I’m going to be sick.” Isabelle whispered.
Isabelle’s mother shot her a look, which she pretended to ignore by looking in a
different direction. “I think it’s quite nice she sends your father with good tidings. It
certainly can’t hurt. In other news, the word is that some pretty interesting things are
happening around out there.” Isabelle’s mother motioned with her finger in a circular
motion in an effort to conceptualize the ever expansive universe.
“Yeah?” Isabelle inquired, her interest slightly aroused.

10. “You know I don’t really follow that kind of thing. It is all a little too impersonal,
a little too far away. The Ut’Arians are making a big deal out of it, though. I didn’t
manage to catch the full story.” Figures. Isabelle’s mother finally has something of
interest to say and she doesn’t even know what she is talking about. Effé continued to
look on, absorbing every word with engaging eyes but remaining silent.
“Do you think it is another migration?” Isabelle asked. Since the initial arrival,
another couple fleets of Ut’Arain ships docked on Earth. Some settled and others
exchanged supplies and information before returning to the stars. Isabelle had yet to see a
new fleet during her lifetime but had always dreamed of having the opportunity to engage
anyone descending from beyond.
“I don’t know, to be honest. If I had to guess, I don’t think so. From what I’ve
heard the Ut’Arians are uneasy. In the end its all just gossip.” With that, Isabelle’s mother
collected the plates and took them off to the kitchen. “I suppose you may be excused.”
Isabelle could not have gotten up from the table any quicker. “Need help with
anything?” Before she could get a response, Isabelle confirmed for herself “Well, if you
say so! Thanks for dinner!” In an instant, she gathered her things and was out the door.

11. Chapter 3:
Good Tidings

12. Chapter 4:
Doubt
“Have you even asked her?” Isabelle’s mother spat in a harsh whisper.
Exasperated but undeterred Isabelle’s father responded, “I don’t have to. We
agreed that this is the right decision. She must learn what it means to be human as well at
Ut’Arian. There is nothing more important…”
“Nothing more important? To you or to her? What is she to gain from this?”
“She will come to know herself.”
“And if she fails?”
“She will not.”
“But what if she does?” Isabelle’s mother was determined to address her root
concern.
“If she fails, she will learn. I have confidence she can do what she believes in,
don’t you? In the end it will be her choice.”
This seemed to reassure Isabelle’s mother who appeared to withdraw her
combative verbal fangs. “Let’s hope she believes, then.”
Isabelle meanwhile, was at the bottom of the steps attempting to eves drop. Her
parents rarely argued and the aggression in their voices pierced her ears with a foreign
ring. It took little guessing to determine the subject matter. Many local Ut’Arians had
received notification that the time of evaluation was upon them. Still, Isabelle was never
completely sure if she would be invited, mainly in reference to the diversity of her
heritage.
Performing her most innocent of facial expressions Isabelle nonchalantly strolled
into the living area where her parents resided. “Another strange sky today. What do you
make of it?”
Settling his composure Toren answered, “We’ll see if there is word from the
monitors. Likely some travels irresponsibly bending space. Those types typically have
little regard for planetary impact be it large or small.” The monitors are a Ut’Arian
satellite outpost revolving around Earth’s axis. They offer the primary source of
interplanetary and galactic communication and news. A clearing of Isabelle’s mother’s
throat grasped Toren’s attention causing the two to lock eyes before she gestured toward
a small pyramid-shaped object lying on the table. All three upward facing sides bore the
same Ut’Arian character, which Isabelle’s mother said most closely translates to the word
ascend. “Isabelle, this came for you. Do you know what it is?”
“Is this what you brought back for me from Du’Ar?” Isabelle questioned,
attempting to maintain her clueless appearance.
“This? No. I did bring it back, but no. This is a gift of other sorts. Here, perhaps it
can explain itself better than I can. Hold out your hand.” With that, Isabelle felt an
adrenaline rush. Her arm trembled as she reached out. Toren placed it lightly in her hand.
“Now say the word.
“Ascend.”
“In Ut’Arian, you dope.” Isabelle’s father corrected.
“Oh, Uh, errar?” Isabelle’s voice trailed off with uncertainty. “Did I pronounce
that right?”

13. “You need to work on your Menna, young lady!” Isabelle’s mother mused. “Try
is again.”
Clearing her throat, Isabelle gave it another go. “Errar.” This time she offered
more diction, giving the “a” longer annunciation. She paused as she waited for the device
to take action. “I don’t think it is -” Her voice was cut short as she felt a sharp prick in the
palm of her hand forcing her to drop the trinket. Squinting, she finished her sentence “ –
working.” A small drop of blood trickled from her hand down her middle finger. Now on
the floor, the pyramid’s three sides opened outward, exposing an insect similar to that of
a beetle. Its body, however, was completely transparent providing a visual of the internal
midsection. Within the insect flowed what can best be described as a whirlwind of golden
ethereal energy, barely visible to the naked eye. The insect extended its wings as if stiff
from sitting for a long journey before finally standing to stretch its limbs. After shaking
the supposed cobwebs the beetle took flight. Isabelle, not particularly fond of bugs
extended her hand as if to smite it. Acknowledging the defensive positioning her father
quickly grabbed her hand, allowing the bug to fly to Isabelle’s eye level. She frantically
blew air at the insect, attempting to avoid making contact. Steadfast the beetle continued
its pursuit, lodging itself in the center of her forehead before unleashing a small stinger
and plunging it between her eyes. Upon the injection Isabelle’s consciousness faded
causing her body to fall limp as she cascaded to the floor.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Isabelle’s mother asked.
“No clue.” Isabelle’s father replied with a casual shrug.
“What do you mean, no clue!? Didn’t you do this before?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t really remember. Hopefully I stuck a better landing.” With
that Toren chuckled motioning toward Isabelle who lay awkwardly contorted on the
ground releasing strange and unpleasant groans.

14. Chapter 5:
Sleep talk
Where am I? Mom? Dad? Darkness. Engulfed by relentless, impenetrable,
incomprehensible, darkness. Unable to see, only silence accompanied the resounding
loneliness. Isabelle observed her breath becoming increasingly noticeable. She felt as if
she could hear the very blood streaming through her veins. While betrayed by vision,
sensation was present throughout her body, reassuring her of existence. Albeit, the realm
of said existence remained shrouded in mystery. Reaching her hand directly in front of
her face, she angled it trying to discern its outline. Now touching her face, she remained
unable to make out even the slightest visual. Do I walk? Isabelle thought to herself. “I’ll
probably fall and die,” she murmured sarcastically. The sound, even that of her own
production seemed shallow and inconsequential, as if being repressed by the endless
emptiness.
“Hello?” Isabelle’s voice once again fell dead. No response. Not even an echo.
The void was her only company. “Okay, Isabelle, what do you do now? Isabelle recalled
her mother speaking to herself as a strategy in strenuous circumstances to collect her
thoughts. Oh, Miriam, what am I to do with you? She would say. You’re not a super
hero; just get one small thing done at a time. We can work our way up from there.
Just one small thing. Isabelle rolled the phrase through her head trying to
determine a good place to start. First and foremost it appeared wise to determine what
exactly was transpiring. Is this real or imaginary? Am I conscious or dreaming?
Retracing her steps, Isabelle recalled her last memory - that of her parent’s bickering, and
finally that of the pyramid trinket. All signs appeared to point to the experience being
cerebral. Still, that offered no explanation regarding where she resided. The state was one
of familiarity, like a dream but with absolute awareness. There was no confusion or ill-
fitting pieces to accompany it nor constructs of the mind by which the dream was painted.
Nonetheless, Isabelle had a faded recollection of this place. Strangely, the recognition did
not belong to memory and too felt too surreal to find its bearing in experience.
“Open Sesame!” Isabelle jested. “Errar!” Still, she received no response. Crap, I
thought that one would work! She thought. The reality was that she really had no clue
what to do. Forced into problem solving, Isabelle made use of the power of deduction.
“Well, I didn’t put myself here. I know that… And things don’t usually happen without a
reason, so I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that someone else brought me here.
So, uhh, whoever you are, if you would be so kind, how about we get on with this?”
A voice, resounding from all angles cut through the abyss. “You can be placed
here no more than a tree can be placed within its seed, or water within ice.” The voice,
while comprehensible, was not of Human or Ut’Arian origin. There was a dizzying
complexity to it, as if the language consisted of overlapping layers to each word spoken.
It birthed a harmonic intricacy of over and undertones conveying a sense that multiple
entities were communicating on top of one another. The sound was beautiful, powerful,
commanding. This voice, unlike her own, which dropped with frailty in the darkness,
maintained an echo and resonated within Isabelle’s ears. Goosebumps traveled down her
spine while she felt a spiraling warmth within her stomach and chest resembling the
sensation of a warm drink on a cold winter’s day. “Do you understand?”

15. “Understand what?” Isabelle quivered, her words feeling feeble in comparison to
the reverberating blackness.
“Do you understand where you are?”
“Is it a dream?”
“No, and yes.”
“Really not all that helpful, crazy voice person.” Isabelle said, regaining her sense
of defiant humor upon determining the company did not intend to be threatening.
“A tree never loses its seed, its origin.” The voice continued. With those words, a
seed appeared just a few feet away from Isabelle, glowing faintly. Being quite small,
Isabelle squinted to try to ascertain its nature. Now splitting from the middle, the seed
sprouted a thin root branching out beneath her. She could see the roots extending down
into the floor upon which she was now sitting. While she remained unable to make out
the ground or any of her other surroundings, the roots sustained visibility. From atop the
seed, which was hardly observable due to its expansion, a feeble stalk could be seen
rising. Shortly after sprouting, others arouse to accompany it, binding to the central stalk
and reinforcing it. It grew at a remarkable rate, rapidly developing in front of Isabelle
before ceasing its growth as a fully developed tree. Energy coursed through the roots,
trunk and branches, maintaining a bioluminescent glow similar to the hollowsparks
Isabelle had become familiar with. “The tree may grow tall and reach its branches to the
sky, becoming physically strong, but it is always its origin; a tree is always a seed.”
“So your saying that where we are right now, that is my origin?”
“Yes, this is your seed.”
“Hmm, could we stick to origin? The seed analogy sounds a little… Suggestive?”
Ostensibly in response to her drollery, the tree unwound itself, rescinding back into the
seed before submerging itself under the figurative ground. Isabelle stood up in the
darkness to find a single iota of the enduring light peeking between her feet. Suddenly the
light exploded around her forming a spinning perimeter resembling a galaxy. Stars in
some areas shined particularly bright, but in all the galactic formation exuded a warm
radiance. “Is this the Milky Way?”
“It is.”
“It is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is.”
After pausing for quite some time to revel in the tranquility of the moment
Isabelle inquired, “The language you are speaking, it is like nothing I have ever heard
before. Where is it from?”
“This is the universal tongue, understood by all and spoken by few. Some may
say that it was created long ago by a race ancestral to the ancient. I believe it was
discovered; a divine secret unlocked from creation itself.”
“So not even you know…? I guess that forces the question then; who are you?”
“That is the question I have been awaiting. Now that I have found you, you will
soon enough find me. I will send for you.”
Not a fan of indirect answers, Isabelle found her patience being tested. “Send for
me? Enough of this ‘roses are red’ riddles crap, what’s the point of this?”
“The point will be yours to make. Now rise, rise back to reality, my child.

16. Chapter 6:
Anxiety
A letter arrived two days later confirming Isabelle was accepted for her
evaluation. Toren could not be more excited for his daughter. For him, the process
remained fresh in his mind, although he was forbidden to reveal anything to Isabelle
or anyone who had yet to complete the process. There was a time when he himself
achieved high acclaim for his performance, drawing admiration and prestige from
fellow Ut’Arians.
This was long ago, many years before he set foot upon Earth’s soil. Now 72 in
Earth’s years, Toren no longer exuded the fiery tenacity of his youth. His reputation,
however, already preceded him in Ut’Arian communities. Isabelle recalled children
of Du’Ar clinging to his legs, begging for stories of his adventures. Parent’s attempts
to restrain the youth were negated by Toren’s warm reception of the adoration.
Reliving moments of triumph and peril appeared to rekindle a deep energy from
within him. There was a time when he could only be known as Toren Rok-Sartu or
Toren, Fire Walker; a title gifted by an elder as tribute to his defeat of Rashak the
Cosmic Slave. Isabelle knew the stories by heart, often reenacting scenes she painted
with her imagination. However, this is the only story Toren had never shared with
her, and the one she wished most desperately to hear. Perhaps, she thought to
herself, perhaps this stupid evaluation is worth it, if only to finally hear the story. It
better not be a let down.
Why had her father become so docile, so anti inflammatory in his nature?
Isabelle wondered. All stories pointed to the absolute contrary. Am I too going too
become melancholy and boring? Word has it that it was her mother that inspired the
change of heart. So said Grandma Effé anyways. She told Isabelle “Never treat a man
as more than a man. Be like your mother.” She informed Isabelle that is how her
parents found one another. It was, apparently her Mother’s nonchalance and quick
wit that offered Toren perspective – something Effé inferred he sorely needed at the
time. “It takes extremes to become something great,” she said, “but it takes control
to be something special.”
Isabelle was forcibly shaken from daydreaming by the rampant squawking of
birds. She saw deer spring along the banks of the river and felt a strange chill.
Shadow crept across the shambles of the graffiti riddled dam she fancied, engulfing
her along with the river. Looking up, Isabelle bore witness to a massive aircraft, far
larger than any she had ever encountered slicing through the clouds. The bottom of
the vessel bore the Ut’Arain crest, suggesting it was friendly. That’s right, she
thought. She knew to expect a Ut’Arian fleet upon the time of evaluation, but never
pictured that it would be so unimaginably massive. The craft appeared to swallow
the sky with its bright metallic exterior. Aboard the craft were prestigious Ut’Arian
representatives along with the Sentinel Guard, the most elite and decorated soldiers
of the Ut’Arian armed forces. Isabelle knew of them, most notably, due to the honors
they bestowed upon her father for his accomplished time of service.
The situation brought a sharp upheaval of heat burning within her chest. She
felt a lump in her throat. This, she recognized, was a moment of undeniable
crossroads. In a single instant Isabelle felt the collision of her wildest ambition clash

17. blades with the fragility of her deepest fears. As long as she produced active
consciousness, she had the crazed desire to explore the universe. It was a notion of
Isabelle’s that a fragment of her being resided in the mystery of the beyond and that
it could only be discovered once unsheathed from the ignorance she felt binding
herself to Earth. Adversely, there was an unfathomable sense of intimidation. For
someone looking to discover themselves for their entire life, Isabelle certainly had
notable reservations as to what she may find. For her, grasping individuality and
understanding was just as suffocating as drowning in uncertainty.
As quickly as it had appeared, the gargantuan ship dissipated into the
horizon. She imagined it was on its way to Du’Ar amongst other Ut’Arian domains
across the planet. Isabelle had been informed that more than two hundred Ut’Arains
were approved for evaluation, ranging between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two.
On the later end of that spectrum, Isabelle knew that she was likely to encounter
Ut’Arians in their second or third evaluation attempt. Indeed, she found it strange
that this was her first invite. Her late entry was one of the several reasons she
doubted that she would be included at all. “The elders are very purposeful in their
timing.” Her father would say in his attempts to reassure her.
Seeing the ship provided a jumpstart to Isabelle’s system as it stimulated her
with the realization that this was all, in fact, really happening. The reality of the
circumstances began to settle in. She realized she wouldn’t see her family, her
friends, her cat, or even her favorite spot by the river for quite some time. While
ranges of the evaluation’s completion varied, those involved were often gone for
months and sometimes even years.
Choking down her distraught feelings of helplessness, Isabelle determined it
was best she didn’t wallow in one place. Ben’s house made sense. He wasn’t too far,
would love to be kept in the loop. It didn’t go without noticing that neither of them
had an extensive social circle.
And there she was: Knock, knock. Isabelle could here footsteps inside. “Who
the fuck could that be?” She heard a voice say. As she was about to knock again the
door swung open, inches from Isabelle’s face as she leaped backwards. “Oh,
Isabelle!” A wide smile cracked across the face of a middle-aged man, displacing
wrinkles misleading of his time alive. It was Ben’s dad. Truthfully, Ben’s father’s face
shared resemblance to a baseball mitt well worn from scorching fastballs.
Aesthetically blue collar, the man was a self-proclaimed field hand and cherished
every second of it. “It’s been a little while. Come in for something cool to drink. I’ll
call Ben.”
“Ben! Get your ass down here!” He beckoned, as he put a chilled glass of
lemonade down at the table. “Ben! I said get your ass down here!” His voice was
loud and gruff but not at all hostile. Turning to Isabelle he commented, “Where could
that kid have gone?”
“Perhaps her dreams?” It was Ben, appearing behind them leaning against
the wall in a relaxed stance
He must have slipped in from the backyard while we were talking. Isabelle
speculated. “Well, well, what do we have here?” She mused.
“Just your everyday ninja male model genius extraordinaire!”
“That’s my boy!” Ben’s dad claimed with pride.

18. “Guess we’ll agree to disagree,” Isabelle teased.
“Ooh, shut down!” Ben’s dad inserted once again. After receiving a look from
both Ben and Isabelle he retreated, bowing from the conversation. “Okay, I get it! No
words for the old man!”
They both engaged in a hearty laugh after he exited. “So that was pretty cool
right? You were all like ‘oh my goodness where is Ben? He is so good looking and I
need him in my life’ and then I was all like ‘boom! In your dreams, baby girl’ and
arose from the shadows.” The tone of voice he used when quoting himself and
Isabelle was comically distorted; an integral aspect of Ben’s humor.
Isabelle managed to maintain a straight face, watching the smirk slowly
crawl from Ben’s. “Yeah, that was just a kick in the crotch…” She said, displaying
enough dryness to zap the Pacific Ocean of moisture.
“And there was no sound, not even a laugh… as Isabelle snarled, on the
attack!” Again, there was no response. Ben cleared is throat. “So, what’s crack-a-
lackin’?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Effé is making sure the children of the world don’t
freeze to death. Dad is fixing Earth’s energy crises. Mom continues to bridge the
language barrier between civilizations. Hmm, and that’s right: I have to go prove I’m
not a loser amongst the Ut’Arian race by completing some kind of cosmic mission in
outer space. In all, I can’t complain.”
“That sounds good. Or terrible. Yeah, probably terrible.”
“Why do you say that?”
Ben furrowed his brow, compartmentalizing his response. “In regards to Effé,
she does knit some marvelous scarves”.
“- Crochet. She crochets them.” Isabelle interjected.
“Eh you say tomato, I say tomato.”
“You said the same thing twice.”
“Probably because they are the same thing. Just like knitting and crocheting.
You use sticks and stuff to make clothes and stuff with string and stuff. Really
doesn’t need more than one word to describe it.”
“You’re a dumbass, you know that?”
“Duh. Can you imagine if I had the brains to go along with all of this good-
looking? That would be trouble. Anyways, enough about me and being attractive,
and back to my original point, all that stuff sounds great, but…”
“But what?”
“But what about the galactic conquest thing that you are pretending to be
super calm about but actually seem terrified of? That seems like enough to make me
crap the bed. “
“I fear nothing!” Isabelle said part defiant and part sarcastic, the voice
inflection betraying her mellow demeanor.
“Not even giant space lizards melting your skin with their acid breath?”
“Nope.”
“Not even black holes made out of razor blades?”
“Nope.”
“What about interdimensional pirates with cut throat ambition and a bad
sense of humor?”

19. “Nope. Not even a little.”
“Holy cow, you are brave. I’m definitely afraid of pirates.
“Well, Ben, that’s why your pathetic butt has me! I’ll protect you!”
“My butt is actually pretty cute, thanks.. But what about when your gone
exploring the universe? Who will save me then? Uh oh, think the pirates will come
after my booty?
“Actually, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. “
“My booty?
“No, not this time.” Isabelle paused and looked down with a troubled
expression. She had spent quite some time determining whom to ask, and it was
only now, seeing Ben’s immediate fear of her journey that she contemplated
rejection. “So, I was wondering, because, you know, I’m allowed to bring one person
with me…”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes I’ll go with you. I’d like nothing more.”
“Really? Don’t you have to think about it? What about the space lizards?
“Isabelle, you’re pretty much my only friend outside of your cat and my dad.
The space lizards scare the shit out of me, but if they really wanted to kill me, Earth
is the first place they would look. So, yeah, lets do this. Let’s make something
amazing happen.