Page 4 of Alien Healer's Touch

"Your focus wanders today, Kavan."

The pestle stilled in my grasp. Elder Shyla stood in the doorway of my healing chamber, her silver-blue form seeming to absorb the light around her. Her golden lifelines, more elaborate than any other Nyxari's, pulsed with gentle rhythm. Age had not diminished her presence; time had only distilled her essence to something potent.

"Elder." I bowed my head in respect.

"The human healer has departed," Shyla observed, her ancient eyes missing nothing. "Alone."

"She believes my presence would provoke her leader," I explained, resuming my work with unnecessary force. My tail swished behind me, betraying the agitation I couldn't conceal from her perceptive gaze. "She intends to assess the situation and return."

"A logical plan," Shyla conceded, moving to the window to gaze at the growing clouds on the horizon. "Yet logic rarely accounts for the currents that flow between souls." She turned, her gaze settling on my hands, then drifting to the lifelines pulsing beneath my emerald skin. "Your own currents seem... unusually strong today."

I set aside my mortar, abandoning pretense. "The connection is undeniable, Elder. My lifelines respond to her markings in ways I do not understand."

"Understanding comes with time," Shyla said softly. "And sometimes, action must precede comprehension." She moved closer, her presence filling the small chamber. "A healer's concern often extends beyond settlement walls, does it not? Especially when a... patient... walks willingly toward danger."

Her words resonated, offering justification for the impulse I already felt. "The journey is hazardous, particularly with storms approaching. And Hammond..."

"Is a variable outside our control," Shyla finished. "But a healer's duty remains constant." She paused, a knowing glint in her ancient eyes. "Sometimes, the greatest dangers are faced alone. But sometimes, even the strongest need a guardian shadow they do not see."

She produced a small object from the folds of her robe—a tracking crystal, attuned to the energy signature of Nyxari healing compounds like those I had prepared for Selene. "Should you find yourself... observing... from a distance, this might prove useful."

I accepted the crystal, understanding her subtle encouragement. Its warm pulse matched the rhythm in my chest—steady, determined, alive with purpose. "Elder, I..."

"Go," she said gently. "Follow the path your lifelines illuminate. Ensure the human healer survives to continue her work."

As she departed, I clutched the tracking crystal. The decision, once fraught with conflict, now felt clear, inevitable. Selene faced dangers she could not possibly anticipate—an unknown disease, a volatile leader, and the unpredictable fury of Arenix itself.

I quickly gathered additional supplies—those I had not intended to share but now reconsidered essential for a discreet journey. I gathered the travel pack I kept prepared for journeys beyond the settlement, checking its contents methodically. I would give Selene a half-day's head start before following her trail, close enough to intervene if necessary, yet distant enough to respect the independence she fiercely guarded.

The seismic storm season approached, and with it, dangers beyond her comprehension. I would ensure she survived to return—to her people, to our settlement.

To me.

SELENE

Istaggered back at the sight before me. The medical ward—a hastily repurposed storage facility—reeked of fear and fever. Bodies lay across every available surface, some thrashing against makeshift restraints, others unnervingly still.

"You didn't tell me it had spread this far," I said to Phillips, who'd walked me from the settlement perimeter.

He wiped sweat from his brow. "It's accelerated in the last twelve hours. Nothing like I've ever seen."

Blue-black veins crawled across exposed skin in grotesque patterns that reminded me of the silver markings on my wrists—except these branched with malevolent purpose, carrying infection rather than healing. I tugged my sleeves lower instinctively.

"Dr. Carter." Hammond's voice cut through the moans of the sick. "I see you've decided to grace us with your expertise after all."

I turned to face him. The commander maintained his impeccable uniform despite everything, his posture stiff as ever. But new lines etched his face, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

"I came as soon as I heard," I said, moving toward the nearest patient. "How many?"

"Forty-three cases. Eight—" His voice faltered for a fraction of a second. "Eight dead since yesterday."

My stomach plummeted. "I need to examine them all."

Hammond nodded once. "Dr. Frakes has documented the progression. Coordinate with him." He remained at my side as I approached the first bed.

The patient—a woman from hydroponics—burned with fever. Her skin scorched my fingertips as I checked her pulse. Rapid, thready. The blue veining across her neck pulsed with each heartbeat.

"How long since symptoms appeared?" I asked, checking her pupil response.

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