Page 3 of Alien Guardian's Vow
Faded Nyxari warning symbols marked the stone around it, their angular forms stark even beneath layers of grime and weathering.Danger. Forbidden. Death.The meaning was clear even without Varek here to translate. His warnings, Mirelle's warnings, echoed in my memory:Respect the boundaries. The ruins contain technologies our ancestors abandoned for good reason.
But my engineer's mind couldn't turn away from a system in catastrophic failure. Understanding the failure mode was crucial to preventing disaster.
If this energy source was degrading, its final collapse could potentially destroy not just itself but everything around it—including the settlement nestled too close in the valley below. I needed to see it. Assess the containment, if any remained. Understand the mechanism of failure.
I needed data.
The pain in my markings intensified as I approached the opening, silver light blazing beneath my shirt, hot against my skin. Each step felt both fundamentally wrong and utterly inevitable, like watching a system failure simulation in slow motion, knowing exactly what catastrophic outcome awaited but unable to stop the sequence.
At the dark entrance, I hesitated. The warnings were clear. The danger obvious. The pull from my markings undeniable. The air here felt even heavier, the ozone tang sharp enough to make my eyes water. The discordant hum vibrated not just through the ground but through the air itself.
Another tremor shook the ground, stronger than before. Debris rained down from the opening, widening it further. The scanner shrieked a continuous alarm, its readings spiking completely off the scale before the display went dark, overloaded.
Damn it.If I didn't go in, if I didn't identify the source of these energy fluctuations, the next tremor might be the one that brought the settlement down. Dozens, maybe hundreds, would die.
Clenching my jaw against the pain and the fear, I stepped through the opening, my markings pulling me forward like a compass needle finding magnetic north – a terrifying, painful, irresistible north. The wrongness of the energy signature intensified the moment I crossed the threshold—discordant, unstable, violently powerful.
The rational part of my brain screamed warnings. The engineer in me needed to understand the failure. And my markings... my markings simply demanded I continue.
Into the darkness. Into the unknown heart of the failing machine.
VAREK
The clash of practice blades rang across the training grounds, a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the grunts of exertion and the shuffle of feet on dusty earth. Metal struck metal with a precision that satisfied my ears, even as the swirling dust irritated my nostrils with the familiar scent of Arenix soil and Nyxari sweat.
I circled the young warriors, my gaze sharp, noting every misplaced foot, every grip too loose or too tight on the dulled practice weapons.
"Tekran, your stance is weak," I snapped, my voice cutting through the clangor. "A child could topple you."
The young warrior stiffened, his emerald skin flushing slightly as he adjusted his footing. Not enough. I stepped forward, nudging his back foot with my own boot until it aligned properly with his center of gravity.
"The form exists for a reason," I stated, my voice low but carrying. "It has protected our people for generations. Discipline is survival."
He nodded, eyes forward, properly respectful but clearly unnerved. The others continued their drills, the dance of blades cutting through the air a familiar rhythm I'd known since my own childhood. Sweat glistened on midnight-blue and emerald skin, golden lifelines pulsing faintly with their exertion.
"Again," I commanded, my voice sharp. "From the beginning."
They moved in unison, a wave of controlled aggression. I tracked each movement, catching subtle errors, offering quick, barked corrections. When Mekvar's grip slipped on his blade hilt, I stepped in immediately, halting the drill.
"Incorrect." I took his practice blade, demonstrating the proper hold, the precise angle of wrist and elbow. "Your ancestors survived the Great Division through discipline, not carelessness."
His lifelines dimmed slightly in acknowledgment of the rebuke. Good. The young needed constant reminding of what was at stake, especially now.The planet grows restless,I thought, though my expression remained impassive. These tremors, the erratic weather… they were warnings.
A subtle vibration rippled through the ground beneath my feet. I continued my instruction without pause, but my tail twitched involuntarily, a betraying sign of unease I quickly suppressed. Third tremor today. The warriors hadn't noticed, too focused on their forms, their breathing harsh in the dry air.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint, sharp scent of ozone from the western ruins. My lifelines tingled unpleasantly, a discordant note beneath my skin. Something was wrong with Arenix itself, the very ground rebelling.
The Council moved too slowly, discussing and debating while danger grew like a shadow. The humans complicated everything with their reckless curiosity, their disregard for tradition, their insistence on poking at wounds best left undisturbed. Their methods invited chaos. Lazrin might have found common ground with one of them, but Mirelle Duvane possessed a certain gravity, a sense of responsibility. This other one, the engineer Rivera, seemed different—more volatile, less predictable.
I corrected another warrior's form with perhaps more force than necessary, earning a startled grunt.Focus,I commanded them, though the order was partly for myself.Discipline. Control."The blade is an extension of your arm, your tail balances your weight. Feel the connection, the flow of energy."
Another tremor, almost imperceptible this time, a mere flutter beneath my boots. I kept my expression neutral, a mask of command honed over years, while my mind raced. The settlement needed protection. The old ways, the rigid disciplines, had preserved us this long. They would preserve us still. If the Council would only act decisively. If the humans could be contained.
The Council Hall's living stone walls rose around me, the vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows far above. The air here felt still, ancient, carrying the faint scent of ozone and something else—the subtle energy of the Elders themselves.
Elder Rylis stood near the central hearth, its low flames casting a soft golden glow across his weathered features, illuminating the intricate web of lifelines across his dark skin. Beside him, Elder Shyla's platinum braid caught the light as she turned to face me, her silver-blue skin seeming almost translucent.
"Varek," Rylis acknowledged my entrance with a slight nod, his voice echoing slightly in the resonant chamber. "We've summoned you on a matter of great urgency."
