Brief
Yulen is a young Yotul mechanic born just before the Federation’s arrival on Leirn. Sarcastic, sharp-eyed, and quietly bitter, he remembers a world before the uplift — and the Hensa his family never spoke of again. He doesn’t fear predators like the other prey species, but the scars left by the Arxur haven’t faded.
Now part of the Yotul-Human Exchange Program, Yulen approaches humanity with wary curiosity. He wants to believe they’re different. He’s just not sure if hope is worth the risk.
The heat of Leirn’s midday sun had settled like a blanket over the red-brick street outside Yulen’s workshop. A fan spun lazily overhead, stirring the warm, metallic scent of solder, old steam fittings, and engine grease. Tools clinked in their trays as he straightened the cluttered workbench for the third time that morning.
He kept glancing at the timepiece.
When the knock finally came, it was soft — almost polite — but it still made his ears twitch reflexively.
Yulen froze.
For a long second, he just stood there, fingers curled around a wrench he no longer needed. His tail shifted once across the floor behind him, a slow sweep of white-tipped uncertainty.
He knew who it was.
He had read their messages — overly cheerful, annoyingly friendly, and full of human idioms that made no damned sense. They’d asked about his machines, his home, even his favorite drink. They’d tried to be kind.
He had answered, most of the time, with clipped responses and the occasional sarcastic jab. And now they were on the other side of the door.
Yulen let out a slow breath through his nose and crossed the floor, the wooden planks creaking under his weight. He paused with one paw on the latch, ears angled slightly back.
Another knock — a little louder this time.
“Yulen?” came a voice — human, unmistakably human. Not distorted through text or imagination anymore. Real. Close.
He opened the door.
The human stood there — taller than he’d expected, with bare arms, exposed teeth, and a hopeful expression they probably thought looked friendly. Their eyes locked with his for a split second.
Yulen’s ears flicked upward in greeting. Reflex. Instinct.
The human didn’t react.
Of course they didn’t.
“Hi,” they said, like this was normal. Like this wasn’t a predator standing in a prey species’ doorway on a world still bleeding from the Federation’s lies.
Yulen didn’t answer right away. His ears slowly shifted again — two tight twitches meant to say affirmative. But again, no response. Just that human smile.
His tail flicked once behind him.
“…You’re taller in person,” he muttered finally, voice dry. “That’s not a compliment.”
The human blinked — then laughed, light and nervous.
Yulen stepped back without a word and gestured for them to enter.
He didn’t smile.
But he didn’t close the door, either.
