Page 43 of Alien Hunter's Prize

Nirako and Pravoka surveyed our surroundings, orienting themselves. "We are high on the eastern face," Nirako determined. "Northeast of the fissure we entered. The Aerie lies that way," he pointed southwest, across several interveningridges. "A journey of several hours, perhaps longer given his condition."

I looked in the direction he indicated. It was a long way back. But as I scanned the vast panorama of peaks and valleys, something caught my attention—a sound, carried on the wind.

Shardwing calls.

I shut my eyes, focusing my hearing, filtering out the wind. The calls were clear, strong, complex. I visualized the patterns—elegant, flowing geometries of blue and silver light, intricate but perfectly harmonious.

The jagged static, the painful dissonance—it was completely gone.

"The calls..." I breathed, opening my eyes, tears blurring my vision—tears of relief this time, not pain. "They're clear. Harmonious. The interference is gone."

Nirako and Pravoka listened, their expressions shifting from grim weariness to dawning wonder, then profound relief. A slow smile spread across Nirako's scarred face. Pravoka actually let out a whoop of pure joy, the sound echoing in the mountain silence.

"The harmony," Nirako murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Restored."

We had done it. Against all odds, against ancient warnings and malfunctioning technology and lethal defenses, we had silenced the dissonance, healed the mountain's voice, saved the Shardwings.

The cost had been high, I thought, looking down at Iros's still form. But seeing the hope return to the Aerie warriors' faces, hearing the pure songs of the Shardwings echoing freely once more, I knew it had been worth it.

"We need to get him back," I said, my voice firm, my focus returning to the immediate task. "He needs Mateha."

Nirako and Pravoka nodded, their brief moment of celebration replaced by practical concern. We carefully fashioned a makeshift stretcher using spare cloaks and sturdy branches Nirako cut with his knife. Gently, we lifted Iros onto it.

The journey back towards the Aerie began, slower now, more careful. Nirako and Pravoka carried the stretcher, their strength essential. I walked beside Iros, monitoring his condition, my hand often resting lightly on his arm, offering silent reassurance, drawing comfort from his steady, albeit weak, life force.

The mountain felt different now. Peaceful. Welcoming. As if it recognized our passage, acknowledged the balance we had restored. The setting suns painted the peaks in breathtaking hues of gold and rose.

The air was alive with the sounds of a healthy ecosystem—bird calls, insect hums, the distant rush of wind through pines.

And weaving through it all, the clear, complex, beautiful songs of the Shardwings, flying free once more in harmonious skies. We were heading home.

IROS

Awareness returned slowly, like droplets of water trickling into a frozen stream. The first sensation was a burning ache centered along my lifelines, a feeling of deep depletion that left my limbs heavy, unresponsive.

This wasn't the familiar ache of battle-worn muscles or the sting of torn flesh; this exhaustion penetrated deeper, settling into the very pathways of his lifelines, a chilling echo of the chaotic energy he'd absorbed.

Sounds filtered through the haze—the sigh of wind across mountain stone, distant Shardwing calls now clear and harmonious. Closer, the soft rustle of movement, the low murmur of voices speaking the Aerie dialect.

My own breathing felt shallow, a struggle in my chest.

With immense effort, I forced my eyelids open. The bright afternoon light reflecting off the pale rock of the ledge was momentarily blinding. We were out. Out of the oppressive darkness, the crushing weight, the screaming dissonance of the ruins.

Jen knelt beside me, her familiar human scent cutting through the sharper tang of medicinal herbs. Worry etched lines around her brown eyes, but her hands moved with a surprisingconfidence as she applied a cool, damp poultice to the angry red burn marks along my arm where the energy backlash had seared through my protective gear.

Nirako and Pravoka stood nearby, their faces grim but focused, lashing sturdy branches together with fiber rope to create a makeshift stretcher.

"He's awake," Jen said softly. Relief colored her voice, a warm wave echoing through our connection, pushing back slightly against the cold ache consuming my lifelines.

"How... long?" My voice emerged as a rough whisper, my throat feeling scraped raw.

"Only moments since we emerged," she assured me, her hand briefly touching my cheek, her skin cool against mine. "We need to get you back to the Aerie, to Mateha. You need healing."

Frustration bit at me. I tried to push myself up, to regain some semblance of a warrior's posture, but my muscles felt like water, refusing to obey. Reduced to this—immobile, reliant.

Yet, looking at her, seeing the determination shining through the worry in her eyes, the capable way she tended my injuries without hesitation, a different feeling warred with my ingrained self-reliance. Pride. She had faced the core, channeled the harmony, saved us all.

Her strength was different from mine, but no less vital.

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