The observation lounge gleamed in the distant star’s golden light as Mellstoxx III turned slowly beyond the vast windows. The planet filled the view with shades of deep green and blue. Forests covered the rolling continents like moss on a stone. The weather on the surface appeared clear and warm. A few hazy clouds swirled lazily over open hills and long rivers that shimmered in the sunlight. Every few minutes a passing city glimmered with pinpricks of light. Glowing red shuttles popped with color as they passes between the thick atmosphere.

The Summer Flame Festival aboard Starbase Bravo as in full swing. The lounge no longer resembled its usual diplomatically bland form. Tables once set with clean dark linens now wore bold cloths in orange, red and hot pink. Red-gold metallic streamers stretched from corner to corner. Wide banners hung from the ceiling in layers that moved softly with the station’s air systems. Each table overflowed with Trill flowers arranged in fragrant piles on blooming trays. Crew from across the station gathered here. Some were friends of Trill celebrants. Others had come simply to see what the celebration was about. Everybody held a plant. Most had drinks. Some wore uniforms but many had changed into summer wear. Musicians were stationed along the back wall with stringed instruments and woven drums. The sound seemed to emanate from the floor itself thanks to embedded amplifiers.

Several young Trills moved through the crowd handing out flowers. Their hands were stained with aromatic petal oils. A few wore wide baskets on their backs filled with wild blooms from the arboretums. Guests exchanged flowers freely. Blossoming stems passed from between strangers and friends.

A traidition or many Trills was to gift flowers they had grown throughout spring and early summer.

the pace of the music quickened. Drumbeats thumped as string instruments formed a heavy bassline. Moody chords filled the air with an aggressive, moody atmosphere.

Caaral stepped forward at the head of a group of four male dancers. His sinewy body wound tight with thrusting movements at the hip. He wore a bright orange sarong that hung across his beltline. Beneath it were maroon short fitted trunks with burnt orange piping. Poised feet moved in soft leather shoes patterned in old world Trill style. They laced high and curled at the toes. The shoes were replicas of those worn when fire was a tool and forests still had to be cleared by hand.

The dance winded into aggressive movements. Each man moved with firm sweeping arcs of the arms and sudden bursts of kicks and jumps. Their bodies became flame. They crouched and struck low then rose in unison. Every motion blended elements of flowing waves with assertive action. Their spotted bodies told a story of how controlled fire clears landscapes. Growth was expressed as they rose from the ground, arms spread towards the sky like brown and pink plants. Movements of their limbs was coordinated as they spread into a pattern that made them appear like a roaring flame.

This was not a gentle dance. It was an expression raw and rooted in the story of survival.

Caaral led with quiet, powerful form. His tan-brown chest glistened slightly in the subtle lighting. The curve of his brown spots ran like twin ribbons along the edges of his ribcage. They climbed the bend of his sides and curled up his neck. They twisted as they followed the shape of his motion. The vertically bisecting rows coiled upward and broke across his temples before vanishing into his hairline. His light red-gold skin caught the red of the banners. Short black coils were cut into a low fade. Golden-brown irises sparkled as he smiled through the rhythm of the beat.

Around him the crowd clapped and gave space. Some swayed. Others stood still. One officer dropped her flower, too busy staring to pick it up. Another forgot her drink as she walked away from the bar to study the men. Their movements culminated in a final pose.

The lounge had been transformed from a dull station room to a cozy hearth.

Caaral took a suddenly shy bow as blush crept to his cheeks. He blended into the crowd.

Caaral drifted from the center of the lounge, breath warm and shallow from the dance. Applause faded behind him. A few lingering eyes followed. He tugged the corner of his sarong as he smiled to passersby.

Clusters of Trills laughed and leaned close in fast-moving conversation as Caaral cut a path through them. Bare shoulders and midriffs peeked beneath nearly sheer fabrics. Speckled skin in tones of soft sand and light bronze were dressed in colors matching the decor. Ribbons of bright silk were tied around swaying braids. Vine-like necklaces dangled above low cut cropped tops. The numerous floral displays that decked their bodies also exuberated the same vibrancy. A few people in uniform stood out plainly. Many of them just finished late shifts. Several non-Trill seemed almost overwhelmed by the room’s visual explosion. A Bolian helmswoman tried not to stare as one of the shirtless men passed wearing nothing but flowing magenta trousers and sandals.

Caaral inhaled the scent of petal oil and something bright and fruity from a nearby drink tray. He threaded past a group mid-laugh in the midst of a discussion. He turned to watch a couple slow-dancing in the middle of the frantic crowd. Someone threw a streamer into the air above them as cheers spread across the hall.

Beneath one of the wide hanging banners sat a low table covered in a bold red cloth. Caaral remembered unloading it with Kazjra when he felt groggy and frustrated. He tried to find her as he looked around, but the room was more crowded than he expected.

Caaral reached for one of the wide circular trays full of flowers that covered the table. Three flowers caught his eye as favorites he recognized.

The first was a periwinkle-hued feather lily. Its thin petals were nearly translucent. Each one streaked with veins of violet and dark blue. It was named after its delicate, fluffy petals. Although the flower looked paper thin, it was very resilient.

The second was a shimmering trailvine blossom. The bases of each flower’s stem were coiled. They grew around the stalks of other foliage in nature. Its heart was iridescent. Green, gold, and sunlit yellow flashed as the flower shifted in the light.

The third was a coral-tinted sangrel bloom. Its blossoms were tightly layered and shaped like a spiraled lantern. Its hue shifted from deep orange to rose-pink at the tips. A thread of white that sparkled faintly lined the edges.

The spotted science officer smiled and lifted the tray. He turned and stepped back into the crowd.

The first flower he offered went to a young Trill with fair skin and a splash of auburn curls. A headband of woven beads held back her hair. She took the feather lily with wide hazel eyes and tucked it behind her ear. Her cheeks glowed pink as she whispered her appreciation. “Thanks for the spring bounty. May the summer’s flame bring you new light.”

“And to you as well”, Caaral replied happily. “A new season brings room for new beginnings.”

The holiday evolved around the need to start controlled burns in an effort to clear dried growth. Ancient Trill knew that sometimes the best way to prevent uncontrolled fire was by burning away the fuel. The event grew to symbolize new growth. As the fields began to recover in mid-summer, new flowers were planted. Blooms from flowers grown throughout spring were gifted as a way to share the beautiful harvest. The festival grew into a celebration the represented the rebirth of the flame’s kiss.

The closest they were to soil was being in orbit of it. Yet nature’s touch was plentiful here.

Caaral moved to a tall man with peach skin and silver rings braided into his long black hair. His eyes were ice gray. Caaral gave him a trailvine blossom. The man bowed slightly with one hand to his heart.

He offered a sangrel bloom to a laughing woman whose olive-toned skin shimmered with gold flecks from a recent body-painting session. Her sleek, orange hair was pulled into a tight bun adorned with small flame-colored stones. She grinned wide and tapped the flower to her lips before twirling away.

The tray became lighter, flower by flower.

A soft-voiced lady with honey-colored skin and bright green eyes paused her conversation to accept a feather lily. She offered him a small flower from her own basket in return. This was a common tradition at the festival.

“Wow, are these otva berry blossoms? These flowers have such a short flowering cycle.” Excitement was written across Caaral’s face as he spoke. “Thanks so much!”

“I grew them myself”, she said. “It’s kind of a hobby of mine.”

He shifted on one foot as she did, subconsciously mimicking her body language. “Wow, are you a science officer too?”

“No”, she admitted. “I work on the station’s power systems. Flowers help me connect back to my homeworld. They remind me of life before Starfleet.”

“Plants are such powerful beings. They can bring back memories and grow new inspiration.”

A voice called to the woman. She turned. “I have to go”, she said as she looked deeper into his eyes. “Let’s talk later. I’ll find you.”

“I have to finish handing out these blossoms. We’ll meet up in forty minutes or so.”

“I’ll be done singing by then.”

“I’ll see you on stage. Good luck.”

The pair exchanged names and embraced before parting ways.

A man with skin the color of a bleached shoreline and short white-blonde hair accepted a trailvine with a playful wink. He spun it between his fingers and threaded it upright through a hole in his mesh shirt.

A woman with tight black curls and light-brown skin took the sangrel bloom Caaral offered next. With a passionate stare, she gently brushed her cheek against his in thanks. Silver eye-shadow sparkled as she laughed and ran back to her friends.

Lt. JG Topaz-Smythe spotted an older man he knew. The spots along his neck and face had dimmed slightly with age. Pale gray hair was pulled into a low knot behind his neck. Sharp blue eyes narrowed beneath furrowed brows as the man watched the revelry around him. A formal tunic was buttoned stiffly up to his collarbone. Hints of sweat along his dotted forehead hinted that it was likely too warm for the room’s current temperature.

Caaral approached without hesitation.

“Master Jirett,” he said warmly. He stopped just shy of the man’s personal space.

The elder Trill gave a quiet grunt and looked up with weary suspicion. “You’re one of those dancers,” he said dryly. “Too much hip movement. Young backs are all flex and no control.”

Caaral smiled, undeterred. He lifted the tray slightly. “May I offer you a flower?”

Jirett opened his mouth as if to decline, then paused. His eyes had locked onto the feather lily nestled at the edge of the tray.

His freckled hand moved almost without thinking to pinch its stalk between his fingers. It turned slowly in his hand to reflect the light.

“I haven’t seen one of these in decades,” Jirett muttered.

Caaral tilted his head. “Do you recognize it?”

Jirett didn’t answer at first. His eyes had gone soft and unfocused. “When I was seven, in my third life, I lived on the edge of a floodplain near Tevria. The fields flooded one spring. Everything drowned but these feather lilies. I used to lie in the mud and watch their blooms float. That color always reminded me of stars reflecting in water.”

His breathing was heavy as he studied in silence.

Jirett finally tucked the bloom into the fold of his tunic. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Caaral offered a respectful nod and smiled. The fact that the lilies he grew brought happiness to someone so stoic thrilled him.

“Enjoy the summer’s flame”, said Caaral as he turned. He stepped back into the sea of his people.