The town lay in the hollow of the valley. It was small and archaic, with wooden buildings and dirt roads. As her shuttle descended, she saw people glancing up, as if a ship was an unusual sight.

And perhaps it was, here.

But what fascinated her most was the diversity Mrill saw in the crowd. It wasn’t just humans and Vrons either, there were other species as well.

You could find aliens throughout the Imperium, but they were not so common and often had trouble integrating. So most of the time, they would keep to themselves in close-knit communities.

This... This was different.

When the shuttle landed and she stepped out, no one paid attention to her—or to anyone else getting off.

She stepped through the crowd toward the administrative building.

“I need to talk to someone,” she said blandly at the help desk.

“Who are you looking for?” asked a smiling human.

“The person in charge of... well, of this place.” She gestured around her. “The town.”

“Oh! You want to see the Magister. His office is in that building there.” The woman stood, turned, and pointed through the window at a large white structure. “Our equivalent of a Regency,” she added with a wink.

“Thank you.”

Mrill exited the spaceport and headed toward the building, asking herself—not for the first time—why she had come here. What did she expect? It was peaceful, and everyone got along, but she never could live here. And even if she wanted to, she knew they would not want her. She had seen what they thought of her in Udran’s mind. She was a freak in her own people’s eyes.

And yet, she needed to know, to understand.

When she reached her destination and asked to see the Magister, she was led to a waiting room. She had barely sat, when another human came to get her. He took her into a small office where sat a male Vron.

The Magister stood and inclined his head. She could tell he was smiling at her, though his face remained as expressionless as her own.

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“Welcome, sister. Would you like some avanthnar?”

“Perhaps later. For now, I would like to talk.”

“Of course. What shall we discuss?”

There was so much she wanted to ask. So many things were unlike anything she had expected. She had assumed the Magister would be a human, but he was a Vron. The office itself was surprising. There was no desk here. It felt more like a library. A display with diagrams and text floated in the air where the man had sat.

“Please,” he added, “have a seat.”

He gestured toward a nearby holochair and she sat upon it as she reflected on what she should say and where she should start.

“Everywhere I have gone, I have been cursed, mocked, or shunned. Humans look at me with suspicion and fear. Yet, here, you live in harmony with them. How is this possible?”

“What is your name, sister?”

She did not want to reveal herself—it would serve no purpose, save to frighten these peaceful people. And she did not wish to frighten them. So she lied, using her mother’s name instead of her own.

“Nvkar.”

The Magister nodded. “I am Akdhe.” He returned to his seat and, with a quick gesture, made the display disappear. “Not all humans are the same, Nvkar. Just like not all Vrons are the same.”

“I am aware,” she said blandly—though she knew the man could read her annoyance as easily as she could read his amusement.

“Of course you are. That is because you are perceptive. Most people are not, regardless of species or culture. But that is beside the point.” He gestured toward the window. “This is possible because we made it possible.”

“That is no answer,” she pointed out.

“Only because there is none I can give that would satisfy you.”

She did not frown—her face was incapable of such movement—as she looked through the window.

The Magister’s office was on the second floor. From here, you could see the street below, and the smiling townfolk going about their business.

“Why are you here?” asked Akdhe.

The question took her by surprise. She looked back at him with a bland expression.

“I don’t know.”

“You do. Deep inside.”

“I want to understand.”

“Very well. It is simple. Do not do onto others what they have done onto you and always treat others as you wish to be treated. Those are our rules. There are none other. All who wish to live amongst us must abide by them.”

Could it really be so simple?

“You have no crime?”

“No one wants to be the victim of a crime, so no one commits them.”

Mrill didn’t know what to say to that. She remained quiet for a moment.

“No one ever strays?” she asked.

“If anyone ever did, they would be banished from our community.”

She stared, expressionless, at the Magister.

He stared back, just as expressionless.

“You see now that I was right,” he said softly.

“How do you mean?”

“My answer does not satisfy you.”

“Life is not black and white. Life is not simple. It is complex. Dark. Filthy. Beautiful. Infuriating.”

The Magister nodded at each word.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Then how is this possible?”

The male Vron did not smile—his face was incapable of such movement.

“Perhaps this is Edlahin.”

A myth, a legend, an impossibility. The perfect world. A place where no harm can ever come to anyone. Where war is unknown and peace eternal.

A place that did not, could not exist.

Mrill leaned back in her holochair.

“I think I will have some avanthnar now,” she said blankly.