Supernatural, some used to call me. Unnatural, others.

Counting myself, there are five people alive that know the truth, and not one of these alien bastards is one of them.

"How do you do it ?" It's Aschuul again, he's of the Namia species, which is probably the most logical of the seven. Aschuul himself is the only one who dares talk to me in person at this point.

"Do what ?" I know exactly what he's talking about. It's a rouse, not a misunderstanding, it doesn't take me all of three weeks to learn a language.

"Walk in space like that. It must hurt without a suit."

"Maybe for you." It does hurt, I think to myself as I seal the airlock behind me, but I can't show any weakness. I may know I'm considered "tough", but as far as they know I'm just an average boy who hasn't even hit my prime yet. But I have to be careful not to give them anything worth studying, either.

"Do you hold your breath, or does your kind breath æther like the Raksha of old ?" I don't plan on answering. They don't need to know I breathe air. But these "Demons of old" sound interesting. "You won't relate to our fairy tales ? Do you fear nothing ?"

"No, I don't."

"So then why do you fear us ?" Fuck me. "Your wounds healed quite some time ago, and yet you make no attempt to leave. You stay here, to study us, to intimidate us. You've taken great care not to give us anything to study, not even a word of your native language. You're preparing for a war."

"That's all you want from me, isn't it ?"

"Good point, you're very clever, hard to fool." He turns and walks out of the dome, my residence for the last three weeks. Finally. There's only three kilometers between me and that ship dock, and I still haven't finished reading all the damn navigation how-to books.