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“I know it hurts,” I said, keeping my voice steady, though whether for his benefit or my own, I couldn’t say. “But you’ll thank me when infection doesn’t kill you.”

My fingers traced the golden lifelines on his undamaged arm, following their intricate patterns. Our connection strengthened, allowing me to sense his condition more clearly.

Fever. Pain. Disorientation.

But also...relief. Trust.

His consciousness recognized my presence, took comfort in it.

I finished bandaging the worst of the burns, using strips torn from my own clothing. His fever worried me—Nyxari ran hotter than humans naturally, but this was excessive.

He needed proper medical attention, Nyxari healing techniques beyond my rudimentary first aid.

I glanced up at the night sky, visible in patches through the forest canopy. Twin moons hung there—one silver, one blood-red.

Navigational references that could guide us toward the Eastern Settlement where Mirelle and Lazrin led the combined human-Nyxari community. Where Selene and Kavan could provide the healing Ravik desperately needed.

But it was so far. Too far for him in this condition.

And Hammond would be searching for us, his vehicles and trackers already deployed. We couldn’t stay here.

I assessed our situation through a haze of pain and fractured vision. My sight was improving marginally—I could distinguish shapes more clearly now, though everything remained fragmented like a shattered mirror poorly reassembled.

The static at the edges had receded somewhat, though light sources still produced painful halos.

“Ravik,” I said, squeezing his hand where the golden lifelines flowed weakly. “We need to move. Hammond will have search parties out by now.”

“Can you stand?”

His eyes opened, glazed with pain and fever. Recognition flickered there, followed by determination.

The Shadow Canyon warrior’s discipline reasserted itself through layers of pain and disorientation. He nodded once, attempting to rise.

I positioned myself under his uninjured arm, bracing for his weight. Even wounded, a full-grown Nyxari warrior was much to support, but I locked my knees and steadied myself.

His skin burned against mine, fever radiating from him in palpable waves.

“Careful,” I said. “One step at a time.”

He leaned on me, his breaths coming in controlled, measured intervals—a warrior’s discipline managing pain. I bore as much of his weight as I could, drawing on reserves I hadn’t known I possessed.

Energy flowed between us where our skin touched, not healing but strengthening, supporting.

“Which way?” I asked, scanning the dark forest with unreliable eyes.

Through the bond, I could feel him assess our surroundings, using senses I didn’t possess. A direction formed in my mind—east, away from Hammond’s compound, toward the distant Nyxari settlement.

We would never make it that far in his condition, but any distance was better than none.

We took our first stumbling step together. Then another.

Each one a victory against pain and disability. His tail dragged limply behind us, too weak to aid his balance as it normally would.

I felt his frustration at this, his warrior’s pride wounded by the dependency forced upon him.

“You can hate me for seeing you like this later,” I said, forcing lightness into my tone. “After we’re not being hunted by Hammond’s psychopaths.”

Something like a chuckle rumbled through his chest, quickly cut off as the movement aggravated his wounds. But I felt his appreciation through the bond—for the normalcy, for treating him as a person rather than an invalid.