Dican tucked his sword carelessly under his arm, humming a soft tune as he climbed the edge of the crater with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times. The fresh burns across his coat and blood on his sleeve didn’t seem to bother him. He moved like his injuries didn’t exist at all.
Behind him came the sound of stumbling footsteps—light, persistent. He looked back.
The boy was still there.
Dican squinted. "Weird... humans are usually scared of aliens, yeah?"
He paused on the incline, turned around, and suddenly made a twisted face, eyes wide and mouth sharp with mock menace.
"Boo!" he barked.
The boy blinked. Then let out a soft laugh.
Dican’s brow furrowed. "Tch..."
’I’ve lived too long in the human world, but I still don’t understand their kind,’ he thought, brushing dust off his coat. Still shaking his head, he trudged onward.
When he’d broken away from the main Farian fleet, he’d taken something important—something no one else had noticed. A trace. The last known signal ping from the Grayling tracking device embedded in Jian. It had been a gamble, but he’d found it near the crash site. The signal was faint now, likely damaged in the impact, but it was close. He could feel it.
Still, without his usual tools, he was navigating blind.
He glanced behind him. The boy was still following.
"Hey," Dican called. "You got a phone on you?"
The boy quickly patted his pockets, checking every one in mild panic before looking up and shaking his head gently.
Dican sighed. "Well, guess I gotta find one myself then."
Without another word, he walked toward the old school’s rusted gates, pushing them open with a familiar creak. He turned onto the cracked road leading toward a half-finished construction site nearby. He’d been there before. The workers knew him. They wouldn’t ask too many questions. If he was lucky, someone might lend him a phone.
Still, the boy followed.
Persistent little thing.
Dican stopped, turned around with a slight growl, and hissed, "Hey, I’m a scary alien, shoo! I’ll kill you if you get close."
The boy flinched a little, but quickly looked away and mumbled, "I-I’m not following you..."
Dican scoffed and turned again, stomping into the construction site without looking back. Dust swirled around him in low gusts. He gazed at the wheelbarrows, the cement bags, even the tarp that had half-flown off the scaffold last time he’d passed by.
He stopped.
Then slowly looked over his shoulder.
"Where’s your grandpa? Isn’t he with you?"
The boy froze.
His eyes widened with shock, lips parting in confusion.
’How... how did he know my grandpa...?’
A sharp jolt of panic struck his chest.
’What the hell... What does he know...?’
His eyes scanned Dican’s back, the sword, the confident gait, the strange ease with which he navigated this place.
’Have we met? No... I definitely haven’t met this man. I’d remember him. Maybe... maybe he met Jian...’
Bian bit his lip, anxiety knotting his stomach. He had no idea how Jian even knew a Farian.
’That bastard... damn it. I can’t let this one go,’ he thought, the corners of his mouth twitching. ’I need him. If I lose this Farian, I lose my protection.’
His fingers curled around the stone pendant tucked beneath his shirt—a small, jagged charm that pulsed with faint warmth against his chest. He clenched it tighter, already crafting a lie as his mind raced.
"M-My grandpa must be inside... I was just taking a night walk," he mumbled, voice soft and uncertain, hoping it passed as explanation for why he wasn’t with his grandfather.
The Farian glanced at him, unreadable for a moment, then nodded without a word. With calm assurance, he stepped into the construction site’s housing area, his long coat catching the wind as if it carried its own weight of command.
A mason in dusty clothes stepped out from behind one of the prefab walls. His hands were calloused, his brow furrowed with fatigue, but when he saw Dican, his expression lightened with familiarity.
"Oh! You’re back," the man said, surprised but glad. "Things are a mess out there. Half the crew left to search for family in the city. What’s happening... it’s devastating. Still, we’ll finish the site, even if it takes longer—"
"There’s no need," Dican interrupted with a wave of his hand, voice sharp. "The world’s under attack. No one cares if one building gets finished or not—construction or no construction."
Bian, who’d shuffled up beside him, frowned at that. He looked at the way the mason spoke to Dican so easily, the way the alien man fit into this space like he’d always been here.
’What...? How does a Farian even know these people...? How long has he been on Earth?’
He’d thought Dican was new here. Naïve. Maybe Bian could charm him, guide him around, maybe even twist that into feelings. But that idea was crumbling fast. Dican wasn’t new. He wasn’t clueless. He knew too much already.
Before he could spiral deeper into thought, the mason suddenly looked his way and broke into a wide smile. "Jian! Oh, thank god you’re alright. I heard you were adopted by the Wang family! How are they treating you? You good there? How’s your old man? Heard he went with you and living a lavish life huh..."
The man walked up and clapped him on the shoulder with warm, dusty hands. Bian blinked—caught off guard—but managed a practiced smile.
"T-The Wang family is very good to me," he said, carefully. "They take good care of me. Grandpa’s good too."
The Farian turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing just a touch. "You said your grandpa was here... in the construction site. Why?"
Bian froze.
His pulse jumped. His mind scrambled.
"G-Grandpa left home earlier," he stammered, "and said he’d come here to meet some old friends. That’s why I came looking..."
Dican held his gaze for a long moment, but eventually just nodded. "Oh. I see."
He didn’t push the matter further.
Instead, he walked toward the mason, whispered a few words, and borrowed a scuffed-up phone from the man. With practiced ease, he stepped away, lifting it to his ear.
"Hey, Xing..." he said softly, voice carrying just enough in the night air.
Bian’s heart skipped.
His spine straightened with a jolt. That name. That name.
Xing.
Xing Yu.
General Xing Yu of the Farians.
The man he’d seen once on a Farian broadcast—strong, brilliant, second prince of their planet, and commanding legions with a look sharper than blades. This Dican... knew him?
’Then... then... I can get to Xing Yu through him,’ Bian thought, eyes gleaming with a flicker of something sharp. ’If I can seduce him... if I can earn his favor, then I won’t need anyone else.’
A devious plan began to blossom in his mind, like thorns twisting under a velvet bloom. His hands tightened around the edges of his shirt as he stared at Dican’s back, voice still low and casual on the phone.
Bian smiled faintly, the curve of his lips hidden.