The Zynari and the Little Star-Walkers

Posted on Thu Apr 10th, 2025 @ 8:32am by Zyrani

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Ship School
Timeline: MD 2 10:30
884 words - 1.8 OF Standard Post Measure

The corridors of the *USS Elysium* pulsed with the hum of technology, a world of structure and precision. But in one particular section of the ship—the primary daycare and recreation center for the youngest crew members—the air carried a different energy. It was lighter, more vibrant. More playful.

The children of the *Elysium* were among the few who did not yet see the universe in rigid terms of logic and order. Their minds, unburdened by the need to explain every anomaly, remained open to the fantastic. And so, when the Zynari first appeared to them, it was not met with fear, but with awe.

Shalith and their kin drifted unseen through the recreation area, their forms dancing just beyond the edge of perception. The little ones—no older than ten—giggled and clapped as their blocks rearranged themselves into towering castles of shimmering light. A stuffed toy, long abandoned in the corner, suddenly wobbled to life, performing a wobbly little dance before collapsing into a fit of exaggerated snores. The children shrieked with laughter, hugging it tightly, unaware of the swirling presence that had given it motion.

One child, a bright-eyed Bolian boy named Rennik, held his hands out toward the shifting air. “I see you!” he announced proudly. “You’re all glowy and floaty!”

Shalith rippled with amusement, allowing a faint shimmer to coalesce in front of him. A swirl of light, like bioluminescence trapped in a soft, drifting mist, formed what could almost be called a face—though it changed every few seconds, shifting from one expression to another like the ever-moving clouds.

“Do you play with us?” Rennik asked, his voice filled with uncontainable excitement.

A collective hum of agreement resonated from the unseen Zynari, their presence moving like an unseen wind through the room. A stack of coloring books opened on their own, pages flipping until a blank sheet landed in front of each child. Crayons lifted gently into the air and then set themselves down, as if inviting the little ones to create.

A human girl named Elara gasped as her crayon began moving all on its own, sketching the outline of a great, feathery bird with sparkling wings. “It’s magic!” she whispered in delight.

“Not magic,” Rennik corrected with a grin. “It’s the glow people.”

The Zynari found this particularly amusing.

Shalith, curious, reached out through the room’s sound system and adjusted the frequency of the white noise generator ever so slightly. To the adults who monitored the children, it would be nothing more than a mild change, unnoticeable. But to the children—whose minds were still flexible and attuned to the unseen—it created a delightful effect. They began to hear soft, musical chimes when they laughed, as though the air itself was responding to their joy.

The effect was instant. Laughter and chatter filled the room, as the children began testing different sounds—singing, whispering, even clapping—just to see how the air would respond. The Zynari watched with a deep sense of satisfaction. The little ones did not fear them, nor did they seek to explain them. They simply accepted, and in doing so, they understood far more than the rigid adults ever would.

Then, one child had an idea. A Klingon boy named Morak, younger than most but fierce in spirit, picked up a ball and held it up high. “Play?” he asked.

A dozen pairs of small, hopeful eyes turned toward the shifting, unseen beings, waiting.

Shalith hesitated. The Zynari did not often engage in structured games—such things belonged to the rigid world of physical beings. But something about the way the children looked at them made them reconsider.

With a flicker of intent, the ball lifted into the air.

A delighted cheer erupted from the children.

And so the game began. The ball zipped across the room, moving in impossible arcs, bouncing from the ceiling at unpredictable angles before landing perfectly in waiting hands. Sometimes it split into three, only to merge back into one the moment someone caught it. Other times, it slowed down just enough for the youngest to grasp it, ensuring that no one was left out of the fun.

As the game continued, the air around the children shimmered with color—soft pastel hues that shifted with the rhythm of their laughter. The Zynari, unseen but undeniably present, wove play and delight into the very air.

Time, for the children, ceased to exist in that moment. There was only joy, only light, only wonder.

But eventually, as with all things, the moment had to end. The ship’s schedule was absolute, and it was time for the children to rest. As the caregivers came to gather them, the Zynari withdrew, their presence fading into the unseen currents of the *Elysium* once more.

Rennik, however, wasn’t ready to let go just yet. He turned, squinting into the air, and whispered, “You’ll come back, right?”

A soft shimmer rippled through the room. A single crayon, left behind on a table, lifted slightly before settling back down.

A silent promise.

And then, just like that, the Zynari were gone—leaving behind only laughter, memories, and the lingering feeling that, in this corner of the ship, something truly magical had just taken place.

OFF