In another space, in another place unimaginably far away and incalculably difficult to reach, the Xunca considered what had happened. They would not interfere, of course. They had fled for reasons that could not be compromised and in the quiet interval that resulted had raised their civilization to heights greater than even they had once thought possible.
Others were not so fortunate. The Xunca monitored them, and so knew. But they never interfered, limiting their concern to their own safety and well-being. They could do nothing for others lest they pique the interest of the thing. If that happened, they would be forced to move again, and that was no longer such a simple matter. Besides, they had grown fond of their current cosmos.
They were confident but frightened, assured but afraid. Perhaps some day their science would reach a level that would enable them to deal finally with the ancient nemesis. Until then they could only live, and strive, and hide. Lesser civilizations would have to fend for themselves.
In their observations they had made note of one exception. Unpretentious and easy to overlook, it was so extravagantly different even they failed to understand it. Whether it could affect the thing they did not know. It seemed unlikely, but it was such an anomaly that nothing could be ruled out. Or ruled in.
So they continued to watch and monitor and observe. Not out of concern for the survival of the anomaly's species, or out of any elevated sense of altruism, but because despite their grand and unparalleled accomplishments, they had not lost the curiosity that had raised them to their present lofty level of accomplishment.
Also, they were lonely.