Chapter 3: Our Neighbors.

  At 3Johns Bar & Grill the lunch rush was now a memory. The kitchen was finally quiet. Not silent, the hum of the fridge, the low sizzle of something still cooling down, and the occasional clatter of a dish in the sink kept it from feeling empty but compared to the lunch rush it was practically peaceful.

  Sophia wiped the sweat from her forehead, dropping onto a stool near the service counter. “God,” she muttered, “I’m gonna start seeing burgers and the ‘trio’ in my sleep.”

  Kiko didn’t answer. They were busy humming—a soft, rhythmic tune as they wiped down the drink station.

  Sophia squinted. The melody was familiar, tickling something in the back of her mind. Where have I heard that before?

  Then it clicked.

  She sat up. “Wait. That’s from a really old kids’ cartoon. Daniel Tiger.”

  Kiko flicked an ear, tail lazily swaying behind them. “Hmm?”

  Sophia pointed. “That song. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? It’s from Daniel Tiger.”

  Kiko stopped wiping, head tilting so fast it was almost comical. “No,” they said, with the tone of someone politely correcting an idiot. “It’s a hymn. My younger sibling sung it with the choir at temple last night.”

  “It’s not a hymn.”

  “It’s a hymn written well over a hundred years ago by a human named Fred Rogers. A human that met High Priest Softpaw, may they be blessed, before my babas were born. Before my grandparents immigrated! Back when they were back in the ‘Old World.’”

  Sophia stared. “Wait. Wait. You’re telling me Mr. Rogers is a religious figure?”

  Before Kiko could argue back, the door to the back office swung open, and Jonno emerged—all girth, fur, and authority, stretching with a deep rumbly sound. Their eyes, half-lidded with age, still carried the sharpness of someone who had once stood against extinction but chose kindness. Their massive paws rested on their belly as they surveyed the two younger workers with amusement. Their weight was rare for a Felivar but was a testament to a connoisseur of good food.

  “Kittens,” Jonno said, voice like a purring engine, “yer both rrright.” Jonno’s accent was like many first old Felivar, lots of R’s and syllables that slid together. At 146, they were ancient to humans but middle aged to Felivar.

  Sophia turned in her seat, looking between them. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

  Kiko’s ears perked and they placed a furry hand on a hip. Sophia leaned forward.

  Jonno grinned, sharp but warm, like an old soldier about to spin a tale that could last the rest of their shift.

  “Now then,” Jonno rumbled, settling into a comfortable lean against the counter, “lemme tell ya about the Journey… ’cause back in my day, I werrren’t just some fat old cook—I was a warrior underrr Protector Oorow.”

  And with that, the old solder’s story began.

  The escape pods trembled as they drifted through the wormhole’s collapsing edges, hurtling toward the unknown. Everything behind them was gone.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The warriors had fought. The elders had guided. The priests had prayed. And yet, in the end, all that remained was this—a fleet of survivors, carrying ashes and memories into a future that had never been promised.

  Inside one of the larger pods, Ekoko Tornclaw sat cross-legged on the floor, their tail curled around their feet. Around them, cubs huddled close, their ears twitching at every distant creak, every shift of the vessel’s hull.

  They were scared.

  Ekoko had spent their last years on Beshtal as an Advisor and Educator. They had spoken to young Felivar about the importance of remembering their history, their ancestors, their people. Then the blockade became a siege and the siege became a war of extermination.

  Now there was no history. No home. Only them. If the old chain of command meant anything Ekoko would’ve been chancellor but there was no question about who their leaders were; Protector Oorow Bobtail and High Priest Niikri Softpaw.

  “Protector” was not a rank. It was a title. And if there was any justice, it should have been “Hero.” But Niikri knew Oorow would loathe such a word. The truth was undeniable though; Oorow had stood alone atop the ruins of the last great city, gripping an anti-aircraft cannon meant for a team of warriors, and brought down a Gray battleship.

  That single act had bought the time needed for the survivors to flee. It had cost them everything and now, what remained of their people hurtled toward a planet spoken of in old myths, one last chance at life among their distant cousins: humans. Tailless, hairless, flat footed and known to treat each other the way the Grays treated the Felivar.

  Inside the vast escape flotilla, a voice broke through the intercoms—steady, unwavering, the voice of faith itself, Niikri Softpaw.

  “We will arrive on Earth. Our ancestors walked side by side with their people, the humans.

  They will not know us.

  But we must remember… we know them.

  So be patient with our new neighbors.”

  Ekoko sat back, their ears twitching as they listened. Ekoko flicked their tail, trying to ease the tension in the air. Then, slowly, they began to hum. A low, soft vibration at first. Just enough to steady the cubs, to distract them from the weightlessness, the fear. Then, in that moment of silence, they had an idea. A fantastic idea.

  They rose to their feet, shaking out their fur, stretching their arms in an exaggerated motion to catch the children’s attention. Then, with their best false smile, they began to sing.

  ?? It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood… ??

  A song they had learned years ago, during a scientific excursion to Earth. A human melody, from an old television broadcast.

  The cubs looked up, ears perked. Some recognized the tune—their caretakers had sung it to them before sleep, in quiet moments of comfort.

  One by one, they joined in.

  ?? A beautiful day for a neighbor…

  Some voices were soft and hesitant. Others, braver.

  Across the pod, a tall, battle-worn figure shifted. Protector Oorow Bobtail sat against the far wall, their infant cub curled up against their chest. Oorow did not sing. They only rocked their child, their eyes fixed on the darkness outside the viewport.

  They had not allowed themselves to grieve. Not when the fleet was falling.

  Not when the final battle raged. Not when entire cities were being erased.

  Not when they held their partner’s hand as the light left their eyes.

  They had been the last to stand. The last to fight. Here, in the quiet, Oorow took a shuddering breath. They rocked their cub, their grip tightening not in fear, but in something deeper. Something they had held back for too long. Their eyes burned, but they refused to shed tears. They had already lost too much. They would not lose this, too. For the first time since Beshtal’s fall, they allowed themselves to be still and listen.

  ?? Would you be mine? Could you be mine? ??

  The cubs weren’t the only ones singing anymore. The elders joined in next, their voices cracked and weary. Then the caretakers, those who had survived with cubs clinging to them, the ones who had lost cubs and carried only ghosts.

  The warriors, Jonno among them hesitated. This wasn’t a warrior’s song and yet, Jonno’s ears flicked as they watched Oorow finally let their shoulders sag, finally breathe. They had known the Protector since the war began had fought beside them and had watched them defy the inevitable.

  To see Oorow let themselves feel, even for a moment caused Jonno to swallow, then added their voice to the hymn. One by one, the remaining soldiers followed.

  ?? Won’t you be… my neighbor? ??

  And then, at last, a final voice joined them all, High Priest Niikri Softpaw. Softpaw hadbeen a different kind of warrior. They rallied spirits and wielded the power of prayer. They had not met the legendary human named Rogers but they had seen his broadcast when they were younger. They had watched his gentle lessons, his unwavering kindness. They had carried his words across the stars. They had sung to cubs like Rogers sang to human children. Now, here in the cold of space, they sang along with their people once more.

  ?? Won’t you please… won’t you please… please won’t you be… my neighbor? ??

  The last note lingered.

  The pod was silent.

  Then, from a cub, a tiny voice murmured a Felivar blessing. The first prayer spoken after the fall of their world, with Earth in sight.

  “O Moons, guide our path.”

  Softpaw closed their eyes. “Yes,” they whispered. “O Moons, we rise again.”

  And that night, for the first time since their home burned, the Felivar did not feel alone.

  ?

  Back in the Present, at the 3Johns Kitchen; Jonno leaned back, their tail curling lazily.

  “That,” they rumbled, grinning at Kiko and Sophia, “is why it’s both a kids’ song and a damn fine hymn.”

  Sophia blinked, processing all of that.

  Kiko beamed, ears flicking proudly. “See? Told you Curious Georgette.”

  “Ok Garfield ok,” Sophia just exhaled, shaking her head with a stunned laugh. “Man. History is weird.”

  Jonno let out a deep chuckle, pushing themselves off the counter. “That it is, kitten. That it is.”

  “I can’t believe a children’s song became a religious hymn,” Sophia said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

  Jonno shrugged, gesturing lazily with their tail. “Stranger things have happened. Ain’t that how Bastet Graycloaked ended up a deity?”

  Sophia nodded, remembering elementary school as she restocked the napkins and condiments with Kiko. Kiko smiled at her and said “thanks neighbor.”

  Sophia smiled and looked at the two of them, an ape and a cat working together. Even their jeans and boots were the same. Doc Martens 1460’s for Sophia and 1460DL’s for Kiko. DL for digitigrade legs. Levi’s 505 and Levi’s 505FF, Felivar Feet. To top it off, the same black polo shirt with the same logo of the restaurant founded by Juan, Jonathan, and Jonno; three Johns, three neighbors.