Page 9 of Alien Hunter's Prize

With that, he departed, leaving me to consider his words. It was the closest he'd come to acknowledging the validity of my research. Not full acceptance, but a beginning.

I gathered my pack and headed toward my quarters, the twin moons lighting my path. Tomorrow we would enter the mountains, facing physical dangers and ancestral failures. But tonight, I felt slightly less alone.

Iros's fears mirrored my own in unexpected ways. His ancestral dread of technology paralleled my trauma from Hammond's experiments. Different contexts, same concern—power without understanding.

As I prepared for sleep, I reflected on what lay ahead. The unknown in the western mountains. The Aerie Kin who might reject us. The ancient tech that might hold answers to the Shardwing distress—and possibly to my condition.

I still didn't know if Iros fully believed my theories about the Shardwing calls. But tonight, he had acknowledged the possibility. Tonight, he had offered not just assistance but understanding.

For now, that quieted the worst of my fears.

I laid my head down, listening to the settlement sounds. Tonight, focusing on what I'd learned from Iros, the noise seemed slightly less overwhelming.

Soon enough, Iros shook me awake, and we were on our way.The air was crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth.

I stood beside Iros near the settlement's western gate, packs secured, the weight both physical and metaphorical. The vast, jagged peaks of the western mountains loomed before us, ancient and imposing.

I took a steadying breath, tucking a small piece of the sorb-moss into each ear as Iros had shown me. The cacophony of the awakening settlement softened slightly, though the underlying hum remained.

Iros gave a curt nod. No fanfare, no ceremony. Just the quiet determination of a task begun.

He turned, his stride long and purposeful, leading the way out of the gate and onto the rough track that wound towards the foothills.

I followed, casting one last glance back at the familiar, noisy structures of the settlement. Then I turned my face towards the mountains, towards the unknown.

IROS

The journey began under the pale light of Arenix's twin suns rising over the eastern ridges, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape ahead. The air at this elevation was thin, crisp, carrying the clean scent of pine resin and damp earth.

Today, an undercurrent of wrongness tainted it, a faint metallic tang that grew stronger as we moved westward, away from the relative stability of the settlement.

We walked in a comfortable silence for the first few hours, conserving energy for the climb ahead. Jen moved beside me, her stride surprisingly steady on the uneven ground littered with loose scree and the gnarled roots of hardy mountain flora.

She was dressed practically in layers of reinforced human fabrics, her dark hair pulled back from her face, revealing the delicate silver tracery at her temples. I noted her focused determination, the way her eyes constantly scanned the terrain, absorbing details.

She possessed a resilience I hadn't anticipated, a quiet strength that seemed at odds with her smaller, non-Nyxari frame.

My own senses were fully extended, reading the language of the trail -- the subtle displacement of stones indicating recentpassage, the scent markers left by territorial predators, the shift in wind currents whispering of changing weather patterns higher up.

But beneath these familiar signals, the mountain itself felt... unwell. A low, dissonant vibration hummed through my hide boots, a discordant note against the deep, steady pulse of Arenix I usually felt.

As the suns climbed higher, casting shorter, harsher shadows, the wrongness intensified. The metallic scent grew stronger, catching at the back of my throat. The vibrations beneath my feet became more pronounced, almost jarring.

I glanced at Jen. Her pace hadn't faltered, but a slight furrow had appeared between her brows, and her head was tilted in that characteristic listening posture I now recognized. Her markings seemed more prominent, catching the light.

"You feel it?" I asked softly.

She nodded, her gaze sweeping the canyon walls around us. "The soundscape is shifting," she murmured, her voice tight with concentration.

"Layering. There's a low-frequency hum that wasn't there before, underneath everything else. And high-frequency static... it's building. It... grates." She winced slightly, touching her temple.

Her description mirrored the disharmony I felt through my feet and skin. Different perceptions, same underlying truth: the mountain was sick.

The path narrowed, forcing us closer together as we navigated a winding section between towering rock formations. Our shoulders brushed occasionally, a fleeting contact that sent a surprising jolt of awareness through me.

I was intensely conscious of her proximity, the subtle scent of her skin -- ozone and something uniquely human -- cutting through the metallic tang of the air.

Ahead, the air itself began to shimmer, distorting the rock face beyond like heat haze rising from sun-baked plains. But this was no natural mirage.

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