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Then he turns and follows the elders towards the council chamber, his back straight, his stride once again that of a prince marching towards his destiny. Or his doom.

The two warriors move to stand on either side of the entrance to his dwelling, their massive forms blocking the doorway. They do not look at me, but I can feel their presence, a constant, silent reminder of my new status.

I am under guard. I am a possession to be protected, a problem to be solved. I entered this settlement as a survivor, a scientist. I am now... a liability.

I turn and look at Jaro's dwelling. It is a home, but it feels like a cage. A gilded, beautifully carved cage.

My hand goes to the datapad in my pocket, my fingers itching to record, to analyze, to impose some kind of scientific order on this spiraling chaos.

Log entry, cycle six. Have arrived at Xylosian settlement designated 'Vara-Ka.' Initial assessment reveals a complex, hierarchical society with advanced bio-architectural capabilities. Subject Jaro's social status is confirmed as high-ranking, likely heir-apparent. The heart-bond has been publicly observed, triggering significant political and social instability. A rival male, designated 'Vex,' has been identified. I have been placed under protective custody pending a tribal council hearing regarding Jaro's... and by extension, my own... fate. My strategic options are limited. Probability of maintaining autonomy: decreasing rapidly. Probability of survival: unknown.

I step into the shadows of Jaro's home, the heavy wooden door closing behind me with a sound of deep, resonant finality. I amalone, and for the first time since the crash, I feel truly, utterly trapped.

Chapter 10: THE COUNCIL

The two guards who flank me are silent, their massive forms a constant, unnerving presence. They escort me from Jaro's dwelling, through the settlement of Vara-Ka, towards a fate I cannot predict. My scientific mind tries to catalog the details: the architecture that is a fusion of organic growth and sophisticated engineering, the complex social strata I can only guess at, the way the very air seems to hum with a life force my instruments could never measure. But fear, a cold and logical variable, keeps overriding my analysis.

The guards lead me to a structure in the center of the settlement, one that seems to grow out of the very earth. It's semi-subterranean, its entrance a gaping maw of dark, carved stone that descends into the ground. Ancient symbols, glyphs I don't recognize, are etched into the lintel, a silent testament to the weight of the history contained within.A council chamber,my translator had supplied when Jaro was summoned.A place of judgment.

My heart, that traitorous organ, hammers against my ribs. The crescent mark over it pulses with a faint, anxious heat.Is Jaro feeling this too? This cold dread?

The air grows cooler as we descend. The atmosphere is heavy, thick with the scent of damp stone, burning herbs, and the collective tension of a tribe at a crossroads. The chamber opens up into a vast, circular space. The walls are smooth, carved with millennia of history. Glowing crystals embedded in the stone cast a low, solemn light.

I see them then. The council.

They sit in a tiered semicircle on carved stone thrones. In the center, on a slightly elevated dais, sits a Xylosian even larger than Jaro. His navy-blue skin is a roadmap of scars and intricate leadership markings. His amber eyes, though dimmed with age, hold an undeniable power. This must be his father, the chief. Torq. To his right and left sit elders, their faces wizened, their expressions grim. Below them, an array of ranking warriors watch with crossed arms and stony faces.

And there, standing alone in the center of the chamber, is Jaro.

His back is to me, but I can see the rigid set of his shoulders, the formal, defiant posture. He is a prince before his people, a warrior facing a tribunal. And I am the cause of it.

The guards escort me to a designated spot near the edge of the chamber, a place for an observer, an outsider. I am a specimen to be examined, a variable in their political equation. No one looks at me, yet I feel the weight of every gaze in the room.

The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. Then, a voice cuts through it, sharp and cold.

It's Vex. Jaro's cousin. The warrior whose eyes held nothing but challenge. He steps forward from the ranks of warriors, his posture a mockery of deference.

“Chief Torq, honored elders,” he begins, his voice ringing with false piety. “I come before you today with a heavy heart, for the honor of our tribe and the stability of our leadership are at risk.”

He turns, and his amber eyes, so unlike Jaro's, land on me. There is no warmth, only cold calculation.

“Our warrior-prince, Jaro, who is to be our future, has fallen victim to a bond-curse. He has been bound to an alien.” He points a clawed finger at me. “An unknown entity with unknown motives. Our ancient laws are clear: a leader cannot be bound to an outsider. Such a bond divides loyalties. It weakens the will. It invites contamination.”

Contamination? He's calling me a disease. A parasite.

Vex turns back to the council. “How can Jaro lead us, protect us, when his very heart is tethered to a creature from another world? A creature whose biology we do not understand, whose presence here is an anomaly. The heart-bond is a sacred, powerful thing. But when it binds our prince to a foreign body, it becomes not a strength, but a poison. I challenge Jaro's fitness to lead. For the good of the tribe, he must be set aside.”

The chamber erupts in hushed, angry whispers. I see warriors nodding in agreement. I see others looking to Jaro, their expressions conflicted.

One of the elders, a female with skin the color of a twilight storm, raises a hand for silence. Ancient texts, bound in some kind of hide and etched on thin metal plates, are brought forward.

“The law is not so clear, Vex,” she says, her voice like stones grinding together. “The heart-bond has not been seen in generations. The ancient texts speak of it as a great omen, a sign of a new age.”

“An omen of what?” Vex shoots back. “Destruction? The end of our bloodlines? The texts also warn of outsiders who bring ruin.”

Another elder, this one with braids threaded with polished teeth, speaks up. “The warnings speak of those who come with malice. This female came in a broken sky-vessel. She fights for her own survival. She has shown no malice.”

“Her very existence is a threat!” Vex argues, his voice rising. “She has already changed him. He is distracted, his judgment clouded. He defies tradition for her. Is this the leader we want?”