I woke up beside my wife. She smiled, as always.

  A smile that reminded me of the Sekvens — constant, light, almost unshakable — but she was not one of them.

  Still, waking up like that on a quiet morning in Donna brought me a strange mixture of calm and restlessness.

  If you are from Earth, the official year would be 420 after the return of the Sekvens,

  or 722 since they took possession of the planet and built the Sekvens Castle.

  By the traditional human calendar, 7201 years after Christ.

  Here, in Donna, it is year 16.

  Sixteen years since I set foot on this planet — and I remember every moment as if it were yesterday.

  I arrived at the ship early, still carrying traces of sleep mixed with anxiety.

  The door was already open.

  A Xeranto waved at me, signaling the way with a wide and elegant hand — unhurried but authoritative.

  In the same room from the day before,

  the Sekvens waited for me, sitting on the floor in a gesture of silent intimacy,

  exchanging glances, smiles, energy.

  I could write an entire book about them, but this story is mine.

  Even so, it was impossible to ignore the aura that emanated from them:

  leaders without imposing, powerful without using force,

  capable of embracing the soul of anyone nearby.

  I sat and observed them.

  If I didn't know their history, I would never believe they were human descendants.

  In truth, they are not direct descendants.

  Milena — the first Sekvens, "The United One" — is the origin of everything.

  Human evolution didn't create them.

  And yet, the resemblance is striking.

  "Good morning, my love!" Melissa greeted,

  and her smile seemed to conduct the environment like an invisible maestro.

  I almost stood up to hug her, to kiss her.

  For a moment, the awareness that I needed to stay alive made me hesitate.

  "Good morning. I'm here as you asked."

  "Take one pill every morning," Kane said, offering me a small vial.

  "It helps you endure our energy."

  Sacha opened a playful smile:

  "You're so weak! Some humans don't even need that."

  I swallowed the pill, feeling the bitter taste

  and the strange heat sliding down my throat.

  Only then did I notice their clothes —

  simple, sensual, adapted to bodies that endure cold and heat differently from ours.

  My brain, distracted by their intense presence, had barely registered the thin fabric

  or the way they moved.

  Melissa sat in front of me:

  "Tomorrow we will go to Shoros. Two months.

  You will learn the language of Donna.

  You may train with sword and bow if you want,

  but here those weapons are more sport than lethal."

  "Are there lethal weapons on Donna?" I asked,

  curiosity weighing in my voice.

  "Yes, but you will only use the ones from Earth.

  The observer will be your shield.

  He does not kill.

  If you need to defend yourself... you will have to act alone."

  I felt the weight of responsibility.

  Melissa did not see Donna's inhabitants as worthy of attention;

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  not out of cruelty, but because they do not possess love —

  or rather, they do not know what it feels like.

  For the Sekvens, love is tangible energy — shared, vital.

  They measure life by the love they give and receive.

  "Strange," I murmured.

  "Everything has love.

  Even a plant, even a planet.

  But suffering transforms that love into negative energy.

  Conscious species are vulnerable, because they can choose — and fail.

  On Donna, not all lack love,

  but most truly do not feel,

  making them invisible to us."

  Melissa explained, practically decoding my thoughts.

  Sacha completed:

  "That planet will be yours.

  After completing your tasks, you may decide:

  colonize, return to Earth,

  try to save the species

  or even destroy them.

  Our gift."

  My heart raced.

  A planet?

  Alone?

  The absurd weight of freedom struck me —

  and the certainty that resisting was almost impossible.

  "We want to walk through the town.

  Will you come with us?" Sacha asked.

  As we left the ship, we walked side by side.

  I knew spherical observers followed us.

  Living machines, with feelings, capable of protecting us and interacting like humans.

  Invisible to the eyes, but always present.

  During the two-kilometer walk to the village,

  we spoke little,

  almost always about human relationships.

  "Did you choose me because I'm alone?" I risked.

  "Alone?" Melissa disliked the word.

  "Your parents are alive and well; they just live far away.

  You are here to stay close to the Castle."

  "You will never be alone," Sacha completed.

  "Remember that bench at the village entrance?

  You fell from it when you were six."

  I smiled, embarrassed.

  They had been watching my life for a long time —

  silent and precise.

  A little girl ran toward us, bright-eyed, hands wide open:

  "She's so pretty!" Sabrina exclaimed.

  I lifted her into my arms, preventing her from touching a Sekvens.

  She was covered in dirt — and radiant.

  "You can't touch them, Sabrina. They are Sekvens," I explained.

  "The emperors!" she shouted again,

  drawing everyone's attention.

  It is not common for Sekvens to interact with humans in groups.

  They absorb emotions — all of them, even those we don't understand.

  Only a few can handle such intensity.

  When people began approaching and kneeling,

  Melissa interrupted with a warm smile:

  "Don't do that.

  We are not better than you."

  I smiled inwardly.

  They believe in the value of every life,

  but it is hard for us to understand that, for them,

  love is nourishment — vital energy.

  I introduced them to the people around.

  Melissa looked for Sabrina's mother:

  "Are you well, Alice? Do you need anything?"

  "How do you know my name?" she asked, startled.

  "A mother doesn't forget the names of her children."

  Alice smiled, embarrassed and enchanted.

  I knew that, although different, their love was real —

  intense, deep, impossible to measure.

  Sabrina asked for a videogame,

  and Melissa laughed,

  promising new ones they could play at night in the community center.

  Sabrina left us with a big smile,

  running to share her joy with other children.

  We harvested what we planted, cooked over fire,

  and our routine was simple, almost primitive.

  And yet, we had access to technologies and information

  that defied all human logic.

  The peoples of the Known Universe had eradicated almost all diseases

  and acted with impressive speed when one arose,

  but to cut wood for the stove

  we were only allowed to use an axe.

  It was a shaped utopia —

  controlled, beautiful, and limited —

  a forced harmony between simplicity and sophistication.

  At the end of the day, we headed to the community center:

  a wide, welcoming space where people talked, ate, watched movies,

  played games, and exchanged information about our world and others.

  There was room for everyone,

  and each person seemed to find their place

  without hurry, without disputes.

  While I walked, my eyes never left the Sekvens.

  How could they interact so naturally with everyone

  even without sharing many of our most human emotions?

  They did not know greed, hatred, jealousy;

  they did not lie, did not kill, did not betray, did not manipulate.

  Or, rather,

  they could know all that,

  but chose to seal such impulses away.

  United, mentally connected, sharing thoughts and energy,

  any feeling we consider bad

  dissolved instantly.

  Human logic shattered in front of them.

  Why lie,

  if truth spreads in seconds

  not only to the deceived one

  but to the entire Sekvens collective?

  The absence of secrets, of malice,

  did not make them limited;

  on the contrary —

  every gesture carried transparency and power.

  And I, a human isolated in this universe of perfection,

  felt both fascinated and intimidated,

  unable to measure the vastness of their existence.

  It was almost impossible not to feel the immensity they represented.

  I burned with curiosity.

  Every gesture of theirs, every exchanged glance,

  seemed to hide a world I did not yet understand —

  and that hunger to understand only grew,

  pulsing under my skin.

  They noticed, of course;

  it was impossible to hide.

  When I finally left them back at the ship,

  Kane leaned toward me — his voice low, carrying honesty that always disarmed me:

  "You will have time to satisfy your curiosities.

  Now go. Tomorrow bring your things to Shoros."

  I smiled, anxious, not knowing how long this training would last.

  But I knew I was about to live something

  that would change my life forever.