Page 20 of Alien Hunter's Prize

His warmth seeped through my layers, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the wind, the solid reality of him a shield against the invisible forces trying to tear us apart. The contact, born of pure necessity, sent an illicit thrill through me, a spark of heat amidst the icy fear.

For a heartbeat, the roar of the wind faded, replaced by the thunder of my own pulse, the overwhelming awareness of his body pressed against mine.

Then the gust passed, leaving a momentary, relative calm. "Okay! Forward three paces! Quick!" A narrow ribbon of green stability opened directly ahead.

We moved, synchronized, trusting my perception, trusting his strength. It was a terrifying dance on the edge of oblivion. My senses strained, visualizing the shifting energy patterns, calling out directions fractions of a second before the path changed.

My throat grew raw from shouting over the wind. My skin stung with the constant effort, a low-level ache building behind my eyes.

Iros was magnificent. He moved with a fluid power, reacting instantly to my guidance, his strength unwavering. His hand never left my waist, a constant point of contact, a conduit for the steady reassurance flowing between us.

He anticipated my stumbles, compensated for my lesser strength, his presence a bulwark against the storm. I had never felt so vulnerable, yet paradoxically, so completely safe within his immediate orbit.

We navigated around a sharp bend where the wind seemed to concentrate its fury, slamming against the rock in violent, unpredictable bursts. The ledge narrowed further here, barely wide enough for one boot at a time.

"Careful!" I gasped, visualizing a particularly nasty shear-line of red energy slicing down from above. "Low! Stay low!"

We crouched, inching forward, the wind screaming over our heads. Small rocks dislodged by the blast skittered past, missing us by inches. I felt Iros's breath warm against my ear as he leaned closer, his lips almost touching my hood.

"Almost through this section," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against the wind's roar, felt as much as heard.

Emerging from the narrowest point, the path widened slightly, offering a brief respite. We paused, leaning heavily against the rock face, catching our breath.

Nirako came up beside us, his face grim, dusted with ice crystals. He looked at me, then at Iros, then back at the howling chaos we had just navigated. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable -- grudging respect, perhaps even awe.

But the respite was short-lived. Ahead, the Pass opened onto a wider, exposed saddle connecting two peaks. Here, the wind had full reign, swirling in massive, complex patterns.

And directly across the saddle, perhaps fifty paces away, glinted the objective -- a smooth, sun-bleached stone pillar, the Sunstone Marker.

"The final crossing," Iros stated, his gaze fixed on the marker, assessing the swirling chaos between us and it.

"The patterns here are... bigger," I said, scanning the saddle, my visualization showing vast, slow-moving rivers of red interspersed with treacherous, spinning vortexes of orange. The pockets of blue-green stability were smaller, less frequent, and moved faster.

"More powerful. We have to time it perfectly."

"Guide us," Iros said simply, his trust absolute.

We started across the saddle, moving in short, calculated bursts from one fleeting zone of stability to the next. It required even more intense concentration, predicting the movement of the energy flows, judging the timing.

Twice, we had to drop flat as massive waves of wind energy roared overhead. Iros's strength was crucial, pulling me bodily into cover behind rock outcrops just before the worst hit.

We were halfway across, exposed, moving towards a small island of blue calm I'd spotted, when I saw it. A vast, spiraling vortex of incandescent orange energy forming rapidly to our left, sucking the surrounding air currents into itself, growing with terrifying speed.

It wasn't just a gust; it felt like a localized tornado, a focused manifestation of the Pass's fury.

"Iros! Vortex! Left!" I screamed, sheer terror lending power to my voice.

There wasn't any time for finesse, no time to find cover. The vortex was expanding too fast, its outer edges already tearing at us, threatening to lift us from our feet.

Iros reacted instantly. With a guttural roar that was momentarily louder than the wind, he lunged, not away, but towards the nearest solid anchor -- a low, jagged outcrop of rock protruding from the saddle floor. He tackled me low, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me down with him, shieldingmy body with his own as he slammed us both against the lee side of the rock just as the full force of the vortex hit. His tail whipped briefly in the gale before pressing hard against the stone, anchoring us against the vortex's pull.

The world dissolved into a maelstrom of roaring wind, stinging ice, and blinding pressure. I clung to Iros, burying my face against his chest, feeling the incredible strength in his arms as he held us fast against the rock, his muscles straining.

The rock itself seemed to vibrate under the assault. I felt the vortex trying to rip us away, felt the terrifying suction pulling at my limbs, felt Iros's body absorbing the impacts of flying debris.

It seemed to last an eternity, but was likely only seconds. Then, as suddenly as it had formed, the vortex spun past, its roar receding slightly as it moved across the saddle. The immediate pressure lessened.

We lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, pinned against the rock. Iros slowly eased his grip, pushing himself up slightly, scanning the area. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice rough, strained.

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