I step closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her. My fingers brush the back of her cheek in a touch so gentle it seems incongruous with my clawed hand. “Stay close to the heart of the jungle. Let it shield you. I will return soon.”
Her expression softens slightly, though the stubborn set of her jaw remains. “And if you don’t?”
“I will.” There is no alternative I’m willing to consider. Not when it comes to returning to her.
I begin gathering the additional weapons and tools I’ll need, securing them to my body with practiced efficiency. Blades that can pierce Cydarian armor. Sensors calibrated to detect the specific energy signature of the stolen tech. A vial of antitoxin in case the Burning holds more dangers than just Vaskari.
Miri watches me prepare, her initial anger giving way to something more complex—worry, yes, but also a kind of fierce pride that makes my chest swell with primitive satisfaction. She approaches as I finish, reaching up to touch the blade secured at my shoulder.
“This is stupid, but...be careful,” she says, her voice catching slightly. “I’ve gotten kind of attached to you, Furball.”
The nickname pulls a rare smile from me. “I will return before dawn.”
“You’d better.” She rises on her toes, pressing a kiss to my jaw that sears like a brand. “Because I want those Earth dates you promised. And Phil agrees you owe me dinner at the very least.”
The vine gives what I can only interpret as an affirmative wiggle. Traitor.
I pull her against me one more time, breathing in her scent, committing it to memory. The thought of leaving her, even for a few hours, creates a physical ache in my chest. But thethought of Vaskari’s weapons technology loose in this ecosystem—potentially threatening not just the jungle but Miri herself—is worse.
“Stay within the protective perimeter,” I instruct, drawing back reluctantly. “The vines will alert me if anything approaches.”
I turn to Phil directly, establishing a deeper neural connection. *Protect her with your life. If danger comes, hide her in the heart chamber. Alert the entire network to prioritize her safety above all else.*
Phil’s response is immediate and resolute—a series of impressions that translate to absolute commitment. The vine would die before allowing harm to come to Miri. The jungle has chosen her, accepted her, just as I have.
The knowledge brings me comfort as I prepare to face what lies ahead. The Burning waits, a scar in the perfect symmetry of this world. And somewhere in its blighted expanse, Vaskari hides with technology that could destroy everything I’ve grown to care for.
I steal one last glance at Miri—my improbable mate from another world, standing tall and defiant beside a sentient vine that adores her. The sight burns itself into my memory, fuel for what’s to come.
The jungle shifts behind me, leaves rustling like whispered encouragement. It will watch her. Shield her. And if I fail...it will avenge her.
But I don’t plan on failing.
13 /MIRI
Phil was nervous.I didn’t know how I knew, exactly—maybe it was the tighter curls of vine around my wrist, or the way the jungle leaves rustled without wind. But I’d learned to read him. The jungle didn’t talk so much as… nudge. And Phil was basically a jungle whisper translated into leafy body language.
Still, I followed.
He led me through a thinner section of the wild, where the canopy opened up just enough for light to pour in, dappling the moss and fern-covered ground. The air felt different here—lighter, less dense with humidity, though still rich with alien scents that reminded me of cinnamon and copper and something unidentifiable that made my skin tingle.
“Where are we going, buddy?” I murmured, ducking beneath a curtain of luminescent tendrils. They brushed against my hair with what felt like affection, leaving behind tiny sparks of blue light that clung to my curls like miniature stars.
Phil just tugged me forward, his grip firm but gentle. The longer I spent with him, the more nuanced our communication became. Today, his movements conveyed urgency without panic, purpose without fear. Something important, then, but not immediately dangerous.
I’d begun to map the jungle in my mind—not just physically, but emotionally. Certain areas felt joyful, others melancholy. Some regions hummed with energy while others remained hushed, reverent. This section felt... purposeful. Structured. The wild chaos of the ecosystem organized itself here with subtle precision, like a library of living information.
And then—there it was. Half-sunk into a slope, covered in vines like it had been swallowed and half-digested by the jungle: a bunker. Lor’s.
I could tell by the faint Rodinian glyphs etched into the entrance, worn and weathered but still functional. A military-grade survival shelter, just barely within the secured zone he’d mapped out for me.
Phil twitched at my side. I rolled my eyes.
“Oh stop it,” I muttered. “This is literally the safest place I could be. And look—tech.”
The entrance was partially obscured, but not locked. The door slid open with surprising smoothness when I pressed my hand against a panel that lit up at my touch. Something about the genetic mapping Lor had mentioned, perhaps—the jungle had integrated me into its network, and now Lor’s tech recognized me too.
Inside, the place was musty but dry. Functional. Lor had clearly used it before—there were dried food packs, tools, and a partially dismantled communication system humming faintly with dormant energy. The bunker was smaller than I’d expected, maybe fifteen feet square, with reinforced walls covered in more of those angular Rodinian glyphs. Some kind of power source in the corner cast everything in a bluish glow, highlighting dust motes that danced in the stale air.
