Page 2 of Alien Hunter's Prize

A hunter, based on his clothing and the blade at his side. He observed the scene with intense stillness, his long, emerald tail resting motionless against the back of his leg, the only sign of tension the slight rigidity at its base.

Our eyes met briefly. Unlike the chaos around me, his stillness was... noticeable. Less jarring. Different.

Lazrin gave orders for the messenger to be taken to the healing chamber and the crowd began to disperse.

I remained rooted, mind racing. The calls, this messenger, the "mountain groans"—all connected. I needed to know more.

I glanced again at the hunter with the silver-streaked braids. He was still watching, golden eyes thoughtful.

I had a feeling our paths would cross again.

As I turned away, determination formed. I needed to understand these calls, why they didn't hurt. Maybe understanding them held a key to managing my sensory hell.

Maybe, finally, I could be useful here.

The settlement alarm had ceased, but my personal one was just beginning.

IROS

The wind carried scents—resin of tashin pines, dry rock dust, but also that faint, wrong acrid undertone, stronger with each patrol.

I stood motionless on the western ridge, taking in every signal. The ground felt subtly off beneath my hide-wrapped boots, a vibration that didn't match known patterns.

Something was changing in Arenix. Something that shouldn't be.

I scanned the valley. Tashin pines showed muted edges, their green dulled.

My morning patrol revealed the same anomalies: the wrong scent like stressed metal, stressed vegetation, and most concerning, the erratic flight patterns of the Shardwings. They circled confusedly to the west, searching or avoiding.

The subtle ground tremors beneath my feet didn't match typical pre-storm activity. A discordant note. A warning.

The human, Jen, would likely attribute the Shardwing patterns to complex communication. I'd heard of her theories, her insistence on visualized patterns derived from her salvaged tech.

Flawed interpretations, colored by her strange perspective. Sound echoes, distorts. Physical signs—scent, leaves—do not lie. My fingers traced the faint ridges beneath my skin, noting their unusual warmth.

A distant Shardwing cry carried over the valley. To my ears, simply the call of a hunting creature affected by environmental changes. A reaction to planetary stress. Nothing more.

I noted disturbed kryll-moss—recent passage of large creatures, likely lurazi moving higher. Another sign of instability.

My duty was tracking tangible signs. The human could chase her sound patterns.

I turned back when the alarm sounded—the arrival alert, unheard in many cycles.

I descended the ridge quickly, body responding automatically despite the subtle wrongness beneath my feet.

Approaching the main gate, I saw the commotion—guards taking position, others gathering.

I pushed through just as a figure collapsed. Blood scented the air, fear-sweat, exhaustion.

The fallen Nyxari wore clothing from the oldest teachings—rough weave, earth tones. Fainter lifelines, different patterns. A worn Shardwing totem around his neck.

"Aerie Kin," I breathed. Legends made flesh.

I reached him as Lazrin and Mirelle arrived, Kavan close behind. "Aerie Kin," Lazrin confirmed.

The youth was pallid, breathing shallow. Bone showed through a leg wound; multiple lacerations marred his body. He'd traveled far, through great danger.

"Aerie... Shardwings... mountain groans..." Gasps between pained breaths.

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