And I was going to learn everything.
12 /LOR
The jungle murmursto me in a language older than stars, the air thick with damp heat and layered scent. I can taste her on the breeze—Miri. Bright, alive, sun-warmed and inquisitive. My mate. Mine. The vines part before me, recognizing my authority while simultaneously conveying their growing affection for the human female who has captured not just my heart, but the ecosystem’s curiosity as well. They guide me back toward our shelter with gentle urgency, suggesting through subtle neural impressions that something has changed. Something important. Something about the fugitive.
My pace quickens, boots silent against the moss-covered ground. The jungle shifts around me, its massive consciousness rippling with information it wants to share. I extend my awareness, letting the neural connection flow both ways, but the impressions I receive are fragmented, confused. The ecosystem itself seems uncertain, troubled by something it cannot fully comprehend.
Ahead, our shelter nestles between ancient trunks, the living architecture I’ve woven becoming more elaborate with each passing day. My claws itch to expand it further, to build something permanent, worthy of my kassari. The primal part ofme refuses to acknowledge that her time here is temporary, that soon she will return to her world of concrete and steel.
When I return to our shelter, she is crouched beside one of the snare vines, speaking softly, brows drawn in concentration. I don’t interrupt—there is reverence in her curiosity, a subtle grace in how she treats the wild around us. The jungle has taken to her fully, and she...she is blooming in return. Her skin has absorbed the essence of this place, taking on a subtle glow that matches the bioluminescent flora surrounding her. Her movements have become more fluid, more attuned to the rhythms of the ecosystem.
Her eyes light up when she sees me, that smile breaking across her face like sunrise. Something deep inside my chest uncoils at the sight. She is safe. She is here. She is mine.
“You won’t believe this,” she says, brushing hair from her flushed face. “Phil showed me something. Like...tunnels. A root system that’s not just roots. Caverns. Chambers.”
My body goes still, every sense suddenly hyper-focused on her words. The jungle has shown her the underworld. No Rodinian has ever been granted that level of communion, not even in old legends. Not even I, after months of deepening symbiosis with the ecosystem, have been permitted to see those sacred depths.
“The fugitive,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “That’s how he’s eluding me.”
She nods, excitement and concern battling in her expression. “Phil said they don’t like him. The vines. The jungle. But he hides deep. Where even they hesitate.”
The implications crash through me like a shockwave. Of course. The dead zones. The blackened scars that interrupt the jungle’s otherwise perfect network. Areas where even the most aggressive flora refuses to grow. I’ve avoided those regions instinctively, guided by the jungle’s silent warning. Somethingabout those places feels wrong, damaged at a fundamental level that makes even my predator instincts recoil.
“There is a region,” I explain, moving closer to her, drawn by an invisible tether that makes separation physically uncomfortable. “South of the primary rift gate. The jungle calls it the Burning. Nothing grows there. Nothing lives there.”
“Like a burn scar?” Miri asks, her quick mind making connections that impress me despite my concern. “From what? Fire? Weapons?”
I shake my head. “Older. Much older than my presence here. The jungle will not speak of it directly, even to me. It projects only...fear. Revulsion.” I press my palm against a nearby trunk, connecting deeper to clarify my thoughts. “As if the very soil is poisoned with memory.”
Phil undulates at her feet, confirming my assessment with a series of movements that translate into wordless agreement.
“And you think the fugitive—Vaskari, right?—is hiding there?” Her voice drops lower, taking on that tone she uses when piecing together a mystery. “That’s brilliant, actually. If it’s the one place the jungle avoids, it’s the one place your living surveillance network can’t see.”
I activate the comm node at my wrist, a rudimentary relay meant to bounce signals when the stronger transmitters fail. The uplink is quiet—no confirmation, no chirp of connection—but I transmit the coordinates anyway.
Dead drop protocol. Repeat every hour. High risk threat, potential jungle breach.
If Command has ears up, they’ll know where to come. And they’ll come fast.
“The atmospheric interference is still too dense for clear transmission,” I tell her, frustration tightening my voice. “But Legion monitors for emergency beacons even during blackout periods. If they detect my signal, they’ll investigate.”
Miri watches me with that penetrating gaze that sees too much, understands too quickly. “But you’re not waiting for backup, are you?”
“I cannot.” My tail lashes once, betraying my agitation. “If Vaskari has established operations in the Burning, he could be preparing to move. The weapons technology he stole—it’s not just destructive. It’s transformative. It could alter the fundamental nature of this ecosystem.”
“You mean kill the jungle.”
“Or worse.” I don’t elaborate. She doesn’t need the nightmares that come with knowing what bio-adaptive weapons can do to sentient systems.
Her expression shifts to determination. “Then we need to stop him.”
“I need to stop him,” I correct, already mentally cataloging the equipment I’ll need. “You will remain here, protected.”
The vines around us stir restlessly, sensing the coming conflict. Phil coils protectively around Miri’s ankle, while other tendrils begin gathering my weapons, my tracking gear, responding to my silent commands through our neural link.
Miri’s eyes narrow. “I found the answer to your mystery. I might be useful out there.”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than intended, but I don’t soften it. “The Burning is dangerous beyond your comprehension. Even I avoid it when possible.”
