Page 11 of Alien Hunter's Prize

From the narrow ledge above, I watched Jen begin her ascent. She moved carefully, methodically, but lacked the innate climbing instincts of a Nyxari, her smaller hands struggling slightly to find purchase on the wet rock.

Seeing her hesitate on a loose patch, her boot slipping slightly, my hand shot out instinctively before conscious thought could form.

"Here," I said, my voice perhaps rougher than intended. I offered my grip, my forearm braced against the rock wall.

She looked up, her face smudged with dirt, her eyes meeting mine. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second -- pride warring with practicality -- before placing her hand firmly in mine.

Her fingers were slender but surprisingly strong, her skin warm against my cooler temperature despite the chill air. I held her a breath longer than necessary, letting the heat of her skin bleed into mine. For a second, the mountain disappeared, replaced by the silent thunder of her pulse pressed against my palm. I pulled her up the final few feet, easily absorbing her lighter weight, the strength in my arm barely tested.

The contact sent an unexpected jolt through my system, a current of awareness that traveled up my arm and settled low in my belly. Her eyes widened slightly as she found secure footing beside me on the narrow ledge, her breath coming slightly faster.

"Thanks," she murmured, pulling her hand away, though the spot where her skin had touched mine seemed to retain a phantom warmth.

"We move faster this way," I replied, stepping back slightly to give her space, needing to regain my own equilibrium, unsettled by the intensity of my reaction to the simple contact.

We continued onward, the shared climb creating another subtle shift in our rapport. When the path narrowed again along a precipitous ledge, my hand found the small of her back to steady her as she navigated a particularly treacherous step.

This time, the contact felt less like a calculated assistance and more like an instinctive gesture. I let my hand linger for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the rhythm of her breathing through the layers of her clothing, the surprising resilience in her frame.

This human, Jen, was proving far more capable—and far more compelling—than I had anticipated. I found myself listening for the cadence of her breath, memorizing the rhythm. She was no longer just my charge—she was the force I moved in orbit around. The mountain tested us, certainly, but perhaps its greatest test was forcing us to rely on each other, to see beyond our differences.

JEN

The small fire Iros had built cast flickering orange light against the stone walls and pushed back the encroaching chill of the high-altitude evening. Outside, the twin suns had dipped below the jagged western peaks, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and fading crimson.

The wind howled mournfully through the passes above, a counterpoint to the unsettling whispers and low-frequency hums that seemed to emanate from the very rock around us.

My skin tingled with a persistent ache, a constant reminder of the dissonant energy saturating this region. It wasn't the familiar burn of strained muscle or the sharp sting of a cut; this was deeper, the cost of sensing what others couldn't.

Despite the discomfort, a part of me felt strangely alive, attuned to this alien world in a way I never was back in the relative sensory chaos of the settlement. Here, the patterns were clearer, the disruptions more distinct against the backdrop of natural mountain sounds.

I watched Iros across the small fire. He sat with the stillness of a predator at rest, yet every line of his body spoke of coiled energy, constant awareness.

He was cleaning his blade with a piece of oiled hide, the firelight gleaming on the honed edge and catching the intricate golden patterns beneath his emerald skin. He was fundamentally different from anyone I'd ever known -- Nyxari, warrior, hunter.

"The patterns are still chaotic," I murmured, breaking the silence, needing to anchor myself in the present. I stared into the flames, trying to visualize the disruptive energy we'd encountered.

"But that energy field... it felt structured. Deliberate. Almost like a security measure, but degraded, malfunctioning."

"Ancient technology is often structured, even in failure," Iros replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the small space. "Its patterns persist long after its purpose is lost or corrupted. Not random, as you say."

"It felt like it was trying tointerface," I continued, unable to shake the unsettling feeling. The memory of the intense pressure against my markings, the way the field seemed to probe and resonate...

It brought back flashes of Hammond's cold, calculating eyes, the sterile horror of his lab. "Like it recognized the markings."

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, cold despite the fire's warmth. "I'm worried about what happens when we get closer to the source. If itistechnological, interacting with it... I don't know if I can handle that, Iros. The last time..." I trailed off, the memory of Claire's screams too raw to voice.

He held my gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment, then softening with understanding. "We will face that challenge when we reach it, Jen," he stated, his conviction absolute.

Something in his voice soothed the raw edges inside me. I wanted to lean into it, to trace the lifelines on his arm like a map to somewhere I might finally belong.

"I did not bring you this far only to see you harmed by failing machines of our ancestors." The subtle emphasis, the possessiveness in his tone --Idid not bringyou-- sent an unexpected thrill through me, tightening my chest.

"Thank you," I said softly, the simple words utterly inadequate.

Later, after we'd shared the simple meal of dried rations, he offered me the pouch of kirna leaves had provided. "A small amount of tea may help clear your perception before sleep," he suggested, his voice carefully neutral, though his eyes held a hint of concern. "It might ease the strain of the background dissonance."

I accepted gratefully. The sharp, clean scent of the crushed leaves was a welcome contrast to the metallic tang that still permeated the air.

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