Page 42 of Alien Hunter's Prize

"Careful here—floor plating is buckled."

"Veer left—residual energy pocket against the right wall."

"Hold. Stress fracture overhead. Let it settle."

My markings hummed with focused activity, translating the facility's energy and structure into a detailed mental map. I relied on our link to monitor Iros, feeling the faint, steady pulse of his life force, the slow mending beginning within his damaged lifelines, fueled by his innate healing abilities but hampered by the severity of the trauma.

I pushed feelings of strength and endurance towards him, hoping it helped on some subconscious level.

The corridor we followed seemed less damaged than the main access route, perhaps a maintenance tunnel or secondary passage. It sloped gradually upward, confirming my sense of fresh air flowing from ahead.

Emergency lighting strips, likely powered by the facility's core systems, cast a dim but steady blue glow, illuminating worn steps carved into the stone floor in steeper sections.

Progress was agonizingly slow. We stopped frequently to rest, allowing Nirako and Pravoka to recover their strength, allowing me to check on Iros. During one pause, I knelt beside him where the Aerie warriors had gently lowered him against a wall.

I placed my hand over his heart, feeling its steady, if slow, beat. His lifelines seemed marginally brighter, the flickering less pronounced.

"He's fighting," I murmured, mostly to myself.

"He is Aerie-kin, in spirit if not birth," Nirako said gruffly from nearby, overhearing me. He offered me a waterskin."Strong stock." It was the closest he'd come to praise for Iros or acknowledgment of our shared Nyxari heritage.

I took a small sip, the cool water soothing my dry throat. "We all are, now," I replied quietly, realizing the truth of it. Human, Eastern Nyxari, Aerie Kin—our fates were intertwined, dependent on bridging the divides between us.

We continued the climb. The tunnel wound steadily upward, sometimes spiraling tightly, sometimes stretching into long, straight inclines that taxed our endurance. My own muscles burned with fatigue, the adrenaline long since faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.

Supporting Iros, even partially, while maintaining constant sensory vigilance was draining. But every time I felt his faint presence, his life force persisting against the odds, my resolve hardened.

I would get him out.

After what felt like hours, the air grew noticeably fresher, carrying the scent of pine and cold stone—the scent of the outside world. Hope surged through me.

"We're close," I said, my voice hoarse. "I can smell the surface."

The tunnel ended abruptly at a small, circular chamber. Above us, a heavy metal hatch was set into the ceiling. It looked ancient, sealed shut by time and debris.

"An emergency exit," Pravoka surmised, examining the mechanism. "Likely hasn't been opened in centuries."

It took the combined strength of Nirako, Pravoka, and myself, straining against the corroded locking mechanism, to force the hatch open. With a final, grating screech of metal on stone, it swung upwards, dislodging a shower of dust and small pebbles.

Sunlight poured in.

Glorious, natural sunlight. It struck the damp stone walls, illuminating the small chamber, momentarily blinding us after hours spent in the dim blue glow of the ruins.

Nirako peered up through the opening. "Clear ledge above," he reported. "Looks stable."

Getting Iros through the hatch was the final challenge. Nirako climbed out first, then reached down, bracing himself. Pravoka and I carefully lifted Iros, maneuvering his limp form upwards until Nirako could grasp his arms and haul him the rest of the way out.

I scrambled up after them, emerging onto a wide mountain ledge bathed in the golden light of late afternoon.

For a moment, we simply stood there, blinking in the bright light, breathing the clean, cold mountain air deep into our lungs. The contrast with the oppressive, humming darkness of the ruins was staggering.

The sheer relief of being out, of being safe, washed over me, making my knees weak.

I immediately went to Iros, who Nirako and Pravoka had gently laid on the sun-warmed rock. His color was slightly better out here, his breathing deeper. I checked his lifelines again; they were still dim, still irregular, but undeniably stabilizing now that he was removed from the facility's lingering dissonance.

He needed Mateha's expertise, but he was out of immediate danger.

"We made it," I whispered, brushing a stray lock of dark hair, damp with sweat, from his forehead. His skin felt cool now, no longer feverish.

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