Page 1 of Alien Healer's Touch

SELENE

The moss pulsed in my hands, its soft light brightening as I unwrapped Teyrin's dressing. The young Nyxari hunter winced but remained silent. Two months since I'd moved into their settlement, and I still found myself caught between admiration and frustration at their pain tolerance.

"You know, it's okay to tell me when something hurts," I said, keeping my tone light. I adjusted the translation stone at my neck, its familiar weight a reminder of the miracle that allowed me to communicate with Teyrin. The pendant glowed softly as we spoke, bridging our different languages effortlessly.

Teyrin's golden eyes met mine, puzzled. "Why would I burden you with information that serves no purpose?"

I sighed. "Because pain indicates healing progress. And I'd prefer my patients didn't suffer needlessly."

As I spoke, the silver patterns beneath my wrists began to glow faintly in response to the fungi. The markings traced delicate spirals up my forearms before fading at my elbows—a souvenir from the Seraphyne crash that still startled me when I caught sight of them unexpectedly. The fungi's light pulsed again, and my markings echoed the rhythm. I froze, watching the synchronized dance.

Damn it. Not the first time my markings had responded to Nyxari healing materials. The autonomous reaction disturbed me deeply, even as the scientist in me documented each instance with clinical interest.

"Your lifelines respond to the vashtka spores," Teyrin observed. "Like Kavan's do."

I pressed my lips together. "They're not lifelines. They're... markers. Side effects of the crash." Something about calling them lifelines made them sound permanent. Made me sound like I belonged here.

"The sky vessel brought you to us for a reason," he continued, unfazed by my correction.

I didn't answer, focusing instead on applying fresh fungi to his wound—a nasty gash from a territorial shardwing that had swooped down during yesterday's hunt. The sliced flesh looked better already, thanks to the remarkable properties of the organism. On the Seraphyne, this would have required stitches, regenerative therapy, and weeks of recovery. Here, with these seemingly primitive but remarkably effective treatments, he'd be hunting again in days.

"Kavan says you learn quickly," Teyrin added.

The mention of the Nyxari healer sent warmth through me that I pushed aside. I pretended the praise didn’t affect me, but my pulse betrayed me. Whenever Kavan noticed something, it lingered in my mind longer than I liked to admit.

"I've been a doctor for my entire life. Adaptation is part of the job."

"Before your vessel fell from the stars, you healed many?"

I nodded, wrapping fresh dressing around his arm. "Chief Medical Officer. Fancy title for the person who stitches up anything that bleeds." I secured the bandage with swift movements. "The Seraphyne wasn't a military vessel, but supply runs through disputed territories meant we saw our share of injuries." And deaths. Too many deaths, despite my best efforts. The crash had only added to that tally.

Teyrin flexed his arm experimentally. "Your healer's touch was strong even before the markings."

"My surgical rotation supervisor called it a 'sixth sense for trauma.'" I shrugged, packing away the unused fungi into its clay container. "I could find internal bleeding others missed, infections before they fully manifested." What I didn't say: how that "sixth sense" had intensified since the crash, how I could now feel illness beneath the skin with disturbing clarity, how foreign yet familiar these new abilities felt.

As I finished Teyrin's dressing, the young hunter flexed his arm again, testing the bandage's flexibility. "Hunt Leader Lazrin says you learn our healing methods faster than any human," he said, watching my hands. "Even with only partial markings."

"The fundamentals aren't so different," I replied. "Though your medicines work more efficiently on Arenix."

Teyrin's golden eyes studied me with curiosity. "Will you join a healing expedition soon? Into the deeper territories?"

"If I'm permitted," I said, packing away my supplies. "I still have much to learn about local remedies."

"If you do, request Kavan as your guide," Teyrin advised. "He knows paths others have forgotten."

Something in his tone caught my attention. "Because he's a healer?"

A flicker of amusement crossed Teyrin's face. "Because before he chose the healer's path, he was one of our most promising warriors. He trained under Northern Huntmaster Vhrek—the most feared combat instructor in three territories."

I paused, surprised by this revelation. "Kavan? A warrior?" The gentle healer who handled delicate healing fungi with such care seemed an unlikely fighter.

"Not just any warrior," Teyrin continued. "A shadow striker—those who train in stealth combat. The most elite hunting method." He touched his bandaged arm. "Why do you think his stitching is so precise? Years of blade work translate well to healing needles."

I recalled Kavan's careful, controlled movements—the subtle grace that seemed unusual even among the naturally athletic Nyxari. "He never mentioned this."

"He wouldn't," Teyrin said, rising to leave. "When he chose healing over hunting, it caused... tensions. His bloodline has produced legendary warriors for generations. His decision was not well received by his family."

This new perspective on the composed healer intrigued me. What would drive someone trained for combat to abandon that path for healing? And what combat skills might linger beneath that calm exterior?

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