As I sat in my cham­ber, Taee, a child of the Vril-ya, vis­it­ed me. His pres­ence brought com­fort, as I felt less over­shad­owed by his inno­cence than by the com­pa­ny of more edu­cat­ed and mature beings. Prompt­ed by a desire to revis­it the spot where I first descend­ed into this nether world, I pro­posed a stroll out­side the city, to which Taee agreed, albeit with a seri­ous­ness uncom­mon to him.

In the street, we encoun­tered a group of young Gy-ei return­ing from the fields, their arms laden with flow­ers, their voic­es meld­ing in a har­mo­nious song—a tes­ta­ment to the Gy-ei’s pref­er­ence for singing over speak­ing. They greet­ed us warm­ly, with a par­tic­u­lar­ly respect­ful and chival­rous demeanor towards me, a con­trast to the behav­ior of ‘fast’ young ladies of the Anglo-Sax­on race. Despite their com­pli­ments, which flat­tered yet slight­ly dis­com­fort­ed me, their behav­ior was encap­su­lat­ed in the refined man­ners seen in high soci­eties above earth, offer­ing def­er­en­tial and pol­ished cour­te­sies.

Amidst our exchange, Taee’s sis­ter, a princess, descend­ed from the skies, ques­tion­ing my absence from their gath­er­ings with a stark direct­ness, yet still main­tain­ing a respect­ful chival­ry. Before I could respond, Taee inter­vened, remind­ing her of the pro­pri­ety expect­ed of their sex, sub­tly chid­ing her for her for­ward­ness. This exchange, though it briefly embar­rassed the princess, was met with approval from the oth­ers.

Sud­den­ly, the chief mag­is­trate approached, his pres­ence cast­ing a pal­pa­ble shad­ow. The sight of him filled me with an inex­plic­a­ble dread, his vis­age exud­ing an oth­er­world­ly seren­i­ty and a hint of a supe­ri­or­i­ty that seemed fatal to my own kind. His arrival marked a stark con­trast to the light­ness of our ear­li­er inter­ac­tions, remind­ing me of the pro­found dif­fer­ences between our worlds and the inscrutable nature of the Vril-ya.