Chapter 4: The Visitor

The basin fell silent.

Even the wind, which had howled through the crags minutes before, now seemed to cower beneath the weight of what was happening.

The ship—if it could be called that—landed without a sound.

It didn’t rumble. It didn’t roar. It simply descended like a phantom, as if carried by invisible threads, until it settled gently onto the snow-covered rock with the eerie grace of something not made for this world.

Its surface shimmered faintly, not metal, not glass—something in between, like liquid crystal frozen in time. Soft pulses of light ran across its curves—no wings, no engines, just an elongated, asymmetrical structure that bent and twisted in defiance of all known aerodynamics. Its color shifted in hues of dark violet and silver, almost like it was reacting to its surroundings.

Dr. Cross crouched behind the cover of a jagged boulder, eyes narrowed, breath shallow. The others flanked him, lying still in the snow, weapons trained, fingers tight on triggers.

“Status?” he whispered into his comm.

Dr. Mercer’s voice came through, calm and sharp. “Stable. No emissions, no heat spikes. Visual is confirmed. Proceed with caution.”

She stood inside the control room, hundreds of miles away, her eyes fixed on the live feed transmitted from each soldier’s body cam. Her knuckles were white around the edge of the console as she watched the impossible unfold.

No one moved.

And then, without warning, a hiss.

A plume of white smoke vented from the base of the vessel, curling like mist across the basin. It didn’t spread like gas—it swirled, thick and deliberate, coiling as if it had its own sentience. Like it was searching.

Dr. Cross didn’t blink. “Do not engage.”

The mist moved between them, obscuring vision. Then, a vibration thrummed through the ground. Just a single pulse, faint but undeniable, like a heartbeat echoing from beneath their feet.

All eyes turned to the craft.

A seam split open along the side—quietly, seamlessly—as if the ship itself was breathing. Panels folded outward with mechanical precision, revealing a narrow doorway at its center. A soft golden light pulsed within, stark against the pale smoke now spilling freely into the cold air.

Mercer leaned in toward her screen. “Record everything,” she ordered her assistant without looking away. “Full spectrum. Audio, thermal, chemical.”

Inside the basin, Dr. Cross adjusted his earpiece and raised his hand in a tight signal.

Wait.

The doorway widened further, and something shifted inside. A figure—no more than a silhouette—stepped forward into the glow.

It was tall.

Humanoid in shape, but not human.

Not quite.

The way it moved—smooth, fluid—was wrong, and yet strangely graceful. Not mechanical, not stiff, but deliberate… like a predator emerging from a long slumber. Its skin—or suit—gleamed like the surface of the craft, absorbing light rather than reflecting it.

“Eyes on target,” Dr. Cross muttered. “No movement yet. Awaiting protocol clearance.”

But Mercer didn’t answer.

Her heart had stalled. Her screen flickered, just for a moment—static crackled across the feed—and in that second, the figure’s face came into view.

Not a mask. Not a helmet.

A face.

Sharp, ethereal features, pale skin with veins of light running faintly beneath. And eyes—luminous, silver, like starlight held in a gaze. Ancient. Knowing.

Mercer swallowed hard.

“What the hell is that…” her assistant whispered.

Mercer didn’t respond.

Because deep down, she knew.

This wasn’t just a visitor.

This was intelligent life.

And it had come willingly.

The figure stepped onto Earth’s surface with a silence that unsettled the watching team more than any roar could have.

He exhaled—slowly—as if testing the air. A gentle rise and fall of his chest. Then his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

Sunlight struck the silver strands of his long hair, casting a ghostly shimmer that danced over his angular features. His skin was pale, nearly translucent under the sun, and thin glowing lines—barely visible—ran like threads beneath it, pulsing with a soft rhythm.

He lifted his hands slowly, observing them with a furrowed brow, as though something was… off. A subtle shift, almost imperceptible, tingled through his limbs. His fingers flexed once, then stilled. He blinked, sensing the change within himself, the atmosphere’s foreign weight sinking into his cells.

And then—snap.

A branch.

Sharp and loud, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Dr. Cross cursed under his breath. “Damn it, Jensen…”

From behind a jagged ridge, one of the soldiers had shifted his stance—just slightly—but enough to give them away.

The alien’s head turned in an instant.

His eyes narrowed, scanning the cliffs around him with unsettling precision. Not afraid. Not confused.

Alert.

Predator alert.

Then, without warning, a strange bracelet on his right wrist began to shift—segments moving, twisting, unfolding with mechanical fluidity. In a matter of seconds, it transformed into a sleek weapon, alien and elegant, pulsing with energy at its core. He gripped it tightly, stance lowering, ready to defend.

Mercer’s voice sliced through the comms like a blade. “Do not engage lethally. I repeat, capture only. This is a sentient being. I want it alive.”

The soldiers moved, emerging from cover.

“Drop the weapon!” Cross shouted, rifle raised, every sense on high alert. “We’re not here to harm you. Stand down!”

They surrounded him, guns locked, forming a wide semi-circle. The alien's gaze shifted from face to face, reading every movement, calculating. But he didn’t comply. He didn’t raise his hands. He didn’t even speak.

The energy in the air thickened.

No sudden moves.

No one dared breathe too hard.

“Last warning!” Cross called, fingers tightening on his weapon. “Drop it!”

Still nothing.

The alien’s eyes flicked to Cross—sharp, aware—and in that instant, Cross made the call.

He fired.

him.hsyringe dart cut through the air like a whisper, hitting the alien squarely in the neck.

The figure jerked slightly, his weapon flickering uncertainly. His expression shifted—not pain, but confusion—as if surprised that anything could affect him.

He staggered.

Tried to raise his arm again—but it faltered. His knees buckled.

The weapon retracted with a hiss, morphing back into the bracelet around his wrist as he collapsed onto one knee.

Then two.

His silver hair fell forward like a curtain as he slumped to the ground in slow motion, eyes closing, breath shallow.

Cross exhaled.

“Target down,” he confirmed into the comms. “Sedated. Moving in.”

“Be careful,” Mercer warned. “Unknown physiology. Bag him, seal him, and get him here. Now.”

The team surged forward, already locking the alien in reinforced cuffs and placing him into the transport unit they’d prepped for worst-case scenarios.

Dr. Cross stood over the still form, heart hammering.

This wasn’t just history in the making.

It was a beginning.

A dangerous one.

He didn’t know what this being was.

But he was sure of one thing.

The real storm was only just beginning.

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