In the year 2030, Earth changed forever. The skies burned with streaks of silver as the Bovarians descended from their distant world of Lactara, their massive ships casting shadows over cities and forests alike. These aliens, strikingly human-like yet unmistakably bovine, came with a singular purpose: to claim white-skinned male humans as their cherished calves. With their colossal, milk-filled udders, tufted tails, and spiraling horns, the Bovarians were both mesmerizing and overwhelming, their alabaster skin and fur patches—ranging from pearly white to deep black—glimmering under Earth’s sun.

The Bovarians’ milk, sweet and euphoric, was their greatest weapon. A single taste could reduce a human to a docile, infantile state, craving only the warmth of their caregiver’s udders. For female humans, the milk was a deadly poison, ensuring the Bovarians’ focus remained solely on males. Across the globe, resistance crumbled as men succumbed to the Bovarians’ nurturing embrace, their minds softened by the creamy, addictive liquid. Those who resisted found no reprieve; the Bovarians were patient, their caregiver instincts unyielding.

Kristoff, an Ash Bovarian, moved silently through the crumbling remains of an abandoned library, his short gray hair catching flecks of dust in the dim light filtering through shattered windows. His wire-framed glasses rested low on his nose, his piercing silver eyes scanning the wreckage with stoic precision. His massive udders, firm and heavy with calming milk, pressed against his sturdy leather harness, the faint creak of straps blending with the rustle of scattered pages. At 45, his weathered frame bore the marks of decades spent seeking his perfect calf, his sharp, angular horns glinting like polished steel.

Amid the toppled shelves and torn books, Kristoff’s nostrils flared, catching a scent—human, pure, and undeniably his. There, crouched among the debris, was someone gathering books with careful hands, their presence a beacon in the desolate ruin. A low, resonant "mooo" rumbled from Kristoff’s chest, his heart surging as The Bond ignited within him. His udders quivered, a bead of milk forming at his dark pink nipples, as if his body recognized them as his eternal milkling.

"Moo, my eternal calf," Kristoff said, his voice a deep, gravelly murmur, steady and commanding yet laced with quiet devotion. He stepped into the faint light, his towering frame casting a protective shadow over them. "I am Kristoff, and I have searched lifetimes for you. Mooo... you are mine to nurture and protect. Will you come to my udders, or shall I guide you to them?" His thin lips curved into a rare, subtle smile, his thick gray eyebrows arching slightly as he extended a hand, his musky, earthy scent filling the air.