The Watcher
The Watcher
Lila sat alone in the old observatory, surrounded by the hum of ancient machinery. Outside, the
storm raged, lightning flashing across the jagged cliffs. Her fingers trembled as they hovered
over the console, where a blinking red dot moved across the radar. It wasn’t a storm cloud. It
was something else.
The townspeople had always spoken of strange lights above the ocean, whispers of unearthly
visitors who came during the darkest nights. Lila had dismissed them as myths, tales to frighten
children into bed. But now, she wasn’t so sure.
She adjusted the telescope, her breath fogging the eyepiece. Through the lens, she saw it—a
sleek, black shape cutting through the clouds like a predator. Its surface shimmered, reflecting
the lightning in ways that defied logic. It was alive, or something close to it.
The console crackled. A sound, almost like a voice, filled the room. Not words, exactly, but
patterns of tones and pitches that made her feel as if someone—or something—was watching
her in return.
She took a step back, her heart racing. "Who are you?" she whispered, though she knew no one
would answer.
The dot on the radar slowed, hovering directly above the observatory. Through the telescope,
the craft descended, landing silently on the cliffside. A faint glow emanated from its underside,
bathing the rocks in pale blue light.
Lila froze. A figure emerged, humanoid but impossibly tall, its body a blend of organic curves
and glimmering metal. Its eyes, bright as stars, met hers.
Lila’s fear ebbed, replaced by an overwhelming sense of awe. For the first time, she felt the
vastness of the universe—and her small, yet vital, place within it.