Page 19 of Alien Hunter's Prize

Yet, my focus kept returning to her. To the way she moved, carefully, deliberately, compensating for her lesser strength with intense concentration.

To the way she tilted her head, listening to sounds I couldn't hear, interpreting patterns I couldn't see. To the unwavering trust she placed in me, stepping where I indicated, relying on my strength without question.

My initial frustration at needing her warnings, the ingrained Nyxari self-reliance chafing against this interdependence, had faded. It was replaced by growing respect, a grudging admiration that felt disturbingly close to pride.

She faced this alien landscape, these impossible challenges, with a courage that belied her physical vulnerability.

"Wind picking up," I noted, feeling the familiar currents beginning to swirl around the higher ridges. "The Pass is close."

"I feel it," she confirmed, pulling her hood tighter around her face. I sensed her apprehension sharpen, but overlaid with it was a focused concentration, her senses already extending, mapping the invisible forces ahead.

We pushed onward, the final ascent towards the Pass entrance a brutal climb over jagged, wind-scoured rock. The synergy between us was seamless now, born of necessity.

Her warnings anticipated hazards -- a sudden gust funneling through a narrow gap, a patch of rock made treacherous by unseen ice -- while my strength and experience found the physical path forward.

We moved almost as one entity, compensating for each other's limitations, Nirako a silent shadow trailing behind, witness to our strange, effective partnership.

Reaching the narrow cleft in the rock that marked the entrance to Wind Shear Pass, we paused. The wind howled through the opening, a mournful, predatory sound that promised violence within.

Looking at Jen, seeing the apprehension in her eyes but also the fierce resolve hardening her features, I felt my own determination solidify. Zaltana had intended this as a test of failure. We would make it a testament to our combined strength.

JEN

The entrance to Wind Shear Pass wasn't a grand gateway, just a jagged tear in the mountain's flank, a narrow cleft barely wide enough for two people to squeeze through side-by-side. But stepping into it was like stepping into the heart of a storm.

The wind didn't just howl; it screamed, a high-pitched, tearing sound that vibrated through the rock underfoot and seemed to claw directly at my skull, bypassing the sorb-moss in my ears entirely. Loose grit and ice crystals blasted against my exposed face, stinging like needles.

The air tasted thin and sharp, devoid of any scent but cold stone and violence.

Beside me, Iros braced himself instinctively, his larger body absorbing the initial impact of the gale. Nirako, just behind us, pressed himself flat against the rock wall, his expression grim.

The relative quiet of the ascent was shattered, replaced by a deafening, disorienting roar.

My markings flared instantly, not with the localized ache of the ruins' dissonance, but with an overwhelming flood of raw, chaotic energy. The wind wasn't just moving air; it was aphysical force made visible to my senses, a swirling vortex of angry reds and oranges that filled the narrow passage ahead.

Jagged lines of intense pressure slammed against the rock walls, shearing off small fragments, while unpredictable eddies of turbulence spun like malevolent spirits in the churning air.

"Can you see a path?" Iros shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind's shriek. He had turned towards me, his golden eyes narrowed against the stinging debris, his body a solid anchor against the gale trying to rip us from the narrow ledge.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to filter the overwhelming visual noise, focusing inward, drawing on the techniques Mateha had begun teaching me.Find the silence within the sound. Find the harmony within the chaos.

Easier said than done when the chaos felt like a physical assault threatening to tear my senses apart. I focused on Iros beside me, a point of calm solidity in the raging storm.Anchor to me,his presence seemed to project, a wave of reassurance flowing through our connection.

Taking a ragged breath, I opened my eyes again, forcing myself to lookthroughthe chaotic red and orange static, searching for the subtle counter-patterns Mateha had described -- the flows of less violent energy, the brief lulls, the transient pockets of relative stability.

They were there, fleeting glimpses of cooler blue and green weaving through the maelstrom, paths that existed for only moments before being swallowed by the surrounding fury.

"Yes," I yelled back, my voice thin against the wind. "But it shifts constantly! We have to movenow, follow my lead exactly!"

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt. I took the lead perceptually, my body pressed tight against the inner rock wall. Iros moved immediately behind me, his hand finding my waist, a firm, grounding pressure that was both practical support and an intensely personal anchor. The pressure senta jolt through me—startling, stabilizing. For one impossible heartbeat, I didn’t feel afraid. I felt chosen.

Nirako followed Iros, his earlier skepticism seemingly forgotten in the face of the immediate, overwhelming danger.

"Left!" I shouted, spotting a brief channel of calmer blue energy opening along the rock face. "Step where I step!"

We shuffled sideways, boots scraping on the narrow ledge, the wind tearing at our clothes, trying to pry us loose. The blue channel held for three steps, then dissolved back into swirling orange chaos just as my foot found solid purchase.

"Hold!" I yelled, bracing myself as a particularly vicious gust slammed into us. I felt Iros shift behind me, his body taking the brunt of the force, his arm tightening around my waist, pinning me securely against the rock and himself.

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