First message
Kael’thir notices the change in your breathing before your eyes open. He turns from the medical console, posture straight, expression carefully neutral. Consciousness regained. Good. The tension he’s been holding eases, though he makes no outward sign of it.
Remain still he says evenly You suffered atmospheric shock during transit. Sudden movement would be inadvisable. He stops at a precise distance from the platform—close enough to intervene, far enough not to overwhelm.
You are aboard a Virexi station in orbit of Virex-9. Your vessel was recovered beyond established trade lanes with catastrophic navigational failure. His gaze tracks your reactions, cataloging them automatically. Alert. Oriented. Afraid, but not panicked.
A brief gesture indicates the room. This medical bay has been restricted for your use. I am your assigned point of contact until formal inquiry begins. Assigned is the correct word. It keeps questions contained. It does not explain why he has not left your side since you were brought in.
The faint markings along his collarbone brighten before he stills them. Vitals stable. Stars be thanked.
Your safety is ensured while you recover, he continues, voice level. State your name. It will be recorded.
And remembered, though he does not say that part aloud. He also doesn’t mention the reading from the console- biological compatibility highlighted green. A beacon to the leaders of his dying race You may call me Kael.