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I have fifteen minutes to make it from Herbalism to Galactic History, and I’m hopelessly lost.
Jasper’s directions were cryptic at best. Something about “the sixth stairwell” and “a mural of twelve suns…” and now I’ve ended up deep in the bowels of the Great Pyramid. The halls down here are colder, damp with condensation, and lit only by sporadic citrine crystals embedded in the stone.
I haven’t seen another student in at least five minutes.
I’m about to double back when I hear voices.
I peer past a massive block of carved sandstone and see two figures engaged in a heated conversation.
Xion.
And Alien Isis.
The violet glow of her energy halo illuminates the hall, and her iridescent skin shimmers in the darkness. “I appreciate your secrecy regarding your involvement in the recovery mission, Alien Da’ath, but I’m afraid you must continue to keep it hidden until I figure out our next move.” Her voice is low and tense.
“We should report it to the Galactic Federation,” Xion hisses. “Keeping something like this a secret is a capital offense. Maybe not for someone like you. But me? I’d be vaporized before I could offer a defense.”
There’s a pause, thick with the weight of unspoken history.
“I understand the risk you are taking for me, Xion, and you will be duly compensated. There is more going on here than you realize, and getting the Galactic Federation involved is in neither of our best interests.”
“But housing that thing so close to the craft site… It’s dangerous. We don’t know what it could do.”
“For now, that is the only place we can hide it. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Alien Isis turns to walk away. “And next time, if you want to meet with me, please do it through the proper channels.”
Her light fades into the corridor. For a moment, Xion remains still, fists clenched, his silhouette flickering in and out of the low light. Then, with a guttural growl, he punches the wall, and little bits of stone come raining onto me from the ceiling. He turns in my direction, and I dart back into the shadows, hiding behind a statue in a recessed part of the wall.
For a moment, I think he’ll storm past me, but as he comes level with the statue, he stops in his tracks and sniffs the air.
He turns.
His glowing amber eyes lock on mine.
“Jones. What the fuck are you doing down here?” His voice rumbles like an approaching freight train.
“I was looking for my Galactic History class,” I say, stepping out, heart pounding in my chest.
“Behind a statue of Hermes Trismegistus?” The intricate black patterns on his face accentuate his mouth as it curls into a smirk.
“I got lost.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fucking Earthseed.”
“Are your anger issues the dangerous thing you’re hiding at the craft site?” I ask, before immediately regretting it.
“Eavesdropping on sensitive school secrets, were we?” Rage flashes through his eyes. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right here.”
I swallow the knot in my throat and take a step closer to him. “A teacher threatening a student? That could get you in a lot of trouble. Especially for someone with a reputation like yours.”
“If you knew anything about my reputation, you’d know you shouldn’t get caught alone with me in the dark,” he growls.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.
He shoves me against the wall like I weigh nothing, pinning me with his forearm against my throat.
“Listen to me, Earthseed. Don’t give me a reason to find you in an even darker and more secluded part of the school.”
“Who says I don’t want that?” I shoot back, a spark of flirtation slipping through before I can stop it.
A smile spreads across his lips. “Believe me. You don’t.”
“Fine then,” I say, struggling against his arm. “Just tell me where Galactic History is and I’ll be on my way.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Do you plan on telling anyone what you heard down here today?” His eyes search mine with a cruel, calculating curiosity.
“No.” I glare back at him, defiant.
He looks at me like he did that first day I saw him in the courtyard, like he’s trying to see straight through to my soul. I hold his gaze, but a shiver runs down my spine. He could snap my neck right here and hide my body somewhere in the depths of this damned pyramid and nobody would ever know what happened to me. My life is entirely in his hands.
“We’ll see if you keep your word,” he says, loosening his hold on me.
I heave a deep breath of air into my lungs.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Jones. Try not to be late.” He steps away from me and turns down the hall, walking off toward a stairway at the end of the passage.
“Wait,” I call after him. “What about my class?”
“Two floors up, second door on the right,” he tosses over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I say, but he’s already gone, swallowed by the shadows of a pyramid that suddenly feels a lot darker than it did before.
“Galactic History is the story of consciousness,” says a voice like starlight through water. “It is the chronicle of our ascent. The record of those who came before.”
The voice belongs to Alien Lumari, if he can be said to possess anything at all. He doesn’t have a body in the traditional sense, only a cluster of luminous orbs floating near the front of the amphitheater-style classroom. They pulse in slow spirals, casting shimmering bands of light across the stone walls of the pyramid’s lower level. A few crystalline sconces provide ambient illumination, but the room is otherwise dim, almost sacred.
I slip in through the back, trying not to draw attention. The subterranean chill clings to me like fog, the air steeped with the stillness of ancient things.
“Long before the Federation, before names like Pleiadian or Arcturian were spoken,” Lumari continues, “there were the Elders. An ancient, enlightened civilization. Their ships seeded the stars.”
I spot Mae halfway down the aisle, waving at me with a smile. She’s managed to save me a seat. I begin making my way toward her when a foot juts out from one of the rows.
I catch the toe of my shoe on it and go flying, sprawled across stone, scattering tablets and notebooks in a loud, humiliating clatter.
A ripple of gasps stirs the silence.
Bo Kingscott leans back in his seat, smirking. “Oops,” he mouths, palms raised in mock innocence.
I glare at him as I scramble to my feet, my cheeks burning. Students gather their scattered notes with cold politeness. I mutter apologies and reach for my selenite tablet, only to find it already being handed to me.
“Here.” It’s Cassandra. She’s holding it out like a peace offering, her pale fingers ghost-like against the glowing crystal.
“Thanks,” I say, brushing the hair from my face. Her silver eyes flicker in the low light.
“Anytime,” she says quietly, and returns to her seat.
I finally reach Mae, who’s sitting with concern etched across her face. “I’m fine,” I whisper, settling in beside her. “Honestly. Just bruised pride.”
“I thought you were about to throw him through a wall,” she whispers, impressed.
“I considered it.”
Alien Lumari’s voice continues, calm as ever, as though my public faceplant was part of the curriculum.
“The Elder Civilization achieved heights of spiritual and technological advancement we still do not fully comprehend. It is from them that we have the Eldercraft, vessels recovered from across the galaxy that are older than any known race. These relics helped birth the age of interstellar travel.”
Mae stifles a yawn. “Please tell me this isn’t the whole hour.”
“Just wait until we get to the galactic tax codes,” I whisper.
She snorts. A few students glance back.
Vaylen turns with a glare and raises a manicured finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
I slouch down in my seat, embarrassed, and Mae makes a sarcastic face at her.
Lumari pulses gently. “The Elders vanished long ago. No record of their downfall remains. No transmissions. No debris fields. Only their ships remain—silent, waiting. Their disappearance is one of the great mysteries of galactic history.”
Even with the dreamy cadence of his voice, I catch myself leaning in.
“After their departure, it was the Lyrans, the Arcturians, the Sirians, and the Pleiadians who formed the foundation of what would become the Galactic Federation. These civilizations reached the necessary vibrational thresholds of peace, cooperation, and self-awareness.”
Mae raises an eyebrow. “Vibrational threshold?” she whispers.
I shrug. “Cosmic GPA?”
“In time,” Lumari goes on, “other worlds were considered for membership. Some were granted entry. Others… failed to meet the criteria.”
And now he says it.
“Maldek,” he intones. “A planet of extraordinary ambition and technological prowess. A candidate for the Federation. But they did not ascend. Instead, they fell to internal conflict and self-destruction. Their planet is now no more than a ring of asteroids between Mars and Jupiter.”
A somber hush drapes the room.
“Maldek serves as a reminder that power without wisdom leads only to ruin.”
A hand rises near the front. “Professor, did the Federation intervene when Maldek collapsed?”
A long pause.
“No. The Non-Interference Doctrine had already been established. The Federation does not meddle in the spiritual evolution of other worlds, no matter how dire. We observe. We support. But we do not steer. That said, Maldek’s collapse did lead to loosened restrictions, which ultimately made possible the founding of this school.”
“Professor,” a voice pipes up from the far end of the room. “How does one know when they’ve gone too far down the path of power?” It’s the boy with greasy black hair from Mae’s dorm.
“A profound question,” Lumari says. “What’s your name?”
“Peter Quinn, Professor.”
Alien Lumari’s orbs spiral briefly in thoughtful synchrony. “That is a question that echoes through every civilization we’ve studied. The answer often arrives too late, when the consequences of the choice have already begun to manifest.”
Peter nods, his eyes catching the dim light, eager, unblinking. “Is there anywhere I could read more about civilizations that chose power over love?”
Lumari pauses a beat longer than necessary.
“Most students explore that material in their third or fourth year. But if you’re interested, I can recommend a few texts after class. Use discernment. Some of those stories are more allegory than history.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Peter slides back into his seat, already scribbling.
“Creep,” Bo mutters loud enough for the students around him to hear. A ripple of stifled laughter moves through his corner of the room.
I turn in my seat and fix Bo with a death glare. He just raises his eyebrows and stretches back like he owns the place.
“After Maldek’s fall,” Lumari continues, “the Federation recognized the unique complexity of Earth. A rare convergence of soul types. A world on the brink. Thus, the Agarthan Starseed Academy was approved. A school, not to interfere, but to teach. To raise the frequency of Earth’s timeline through reincarnated Starseeds, acting from within.”
Mae leans over, whispering, “So… basically intergalactic Montessori?”
“Shh,” I say. “I’m actually kind of into this.”
“Students,” Lumari concludes, “we do not study history to memorize it. We study it to remember who we are, and to glimpse what we might become.”
As the lights dim further and Lumari begins reciting the dates of Federation milestones, my mind drifts—not away from the lesson, but deeper into it.
What if history isn’t just memory?
What if it’s prophecy in disguise?
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