Page 22

I step out of the council chamber and back into the alien sunlight, but I feel no warmth. I am a variable in a long-term experiment. My life, my freedom, and the fate of the warrior-prince who is impossibly, inexplicably bound to me, all hang in the balance.

I have been granted a temporary reprieve, a stay of execution. But I am still a prisoner, trapped not by walls, but by the intricate, invisible web of Xylosian politics and a biological bond I am only just beginning to comprehend. The depth of the mire I've fallen into is vast, and I know, with a chilling certainty, that my survival is no longer just my own. It is inextricably linked to Jaro's battle for his future, and for the soul of his tribe.

Chapter 11: CAPTIVE GUEST

My new reality is a cage. A beautiful, spacious, and masterfully engineered cage, but a cage nonetheless.

From the highest window of Jaro's dwelling, I have a panoramic view of Vara-Ka. I spend my cycles here, my datapad my only confidant, meticulously observing the daily life of the Xylosians. I am a scientist, after all. Observation is what I do.

Log Entry, Cycle Seven. The social structure of Vara-Ka appears to be a highly organized caste system. The warriors, Jaro among them, adhere to a rigorous, almost ceaseless training schedule. Their movements are a brutal ballet of sparring and weapons practice in the central compound. The females, in contrast, seem to operate in spheres of knowledge and care. I see them gathering herbs, teaching the young, tending to the sick. Communal food preparation begins at first light, a hub of social activity from which I am excluded. Child-rearing is also a shared responsibility, with younglings moving freely between dwellings.

I watch them, document them, analyze them. And I feel the oppressive weight of their eyes on this dwelling, on me. I am the specimen under the microscope now. Jaro's Folly. The Bond-Curse.

My only visitor is Jaro's sister, Kyra.

She arrives on the third cycle of my confinement, her approach cautious, as if approaching a volatile chemical reaction. She is slighter than the other Xylosian females I've seen, her movements more fluid, less rigid. Intricate markings, like living circuits, flow down her arms. Knowledge-Keeper markings, my translator informs me.

“I am Kyra,” she says, her voice softer than Jaro's deep rumble. She holds out a set of thin, metallic plates etched with symbols. “The elders have tasked me with your assessment. And your education.”

“My education?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You must learn our language. Our ways. If you are to remain.” The unspoken threat hangs in the air between us.If you survive.

I should be hostile. I should be resistant. But I am a scientist starved for data, a prisoner starved for contact. “Alright, Kyra. Let's begin.”

Our lessons become the focal point of my days. We sit on the woven floor mats in Jaro's main chamber, the metallic plates spread between us. She points. “Kresh.”

“Stone,” I reply, repeating the Xylosian word. My tongue feels clumsy around the guttural sounds.

She smiles, a rare and brilliant thing. “Your vocal cords are not structured for our lower resonance. But you learn quickly.”

Her curiosity, I soon discover, is as insatiable as my own. The lessons become a two way street. She teaches me of Xylos, and I teach her of Earth.

“You have no beast form?” she asks one afternoon, her amber eyes wide with disbelief. “How do you... defend your territory? Or your mate?”

“We use laws. And technology. And sometimes, very primitive weapons,” I explain, sketching a diagram of a courtroom on my datapad. The concept of abstract justice is difficult for her to grasp in a society where disputes are settled by ritual combat.

Her initial caution melts away, replaced by a genuine academic fascination that I find deeply relatable. It is during one of these lessons that she reveals more about the heart-bond.

“It is not a curse,” she says quietly, tracing the crescent symbol on one of the metal plates. “It is a gift. The rarest of gifts. The legends say it has not been seen in our tribe for five generations.”

“Jaro said it was a fated connection,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, analytical.

Kyra looks up, her gaze piercing. “The bond is biological, yes. But our ancestors believed the choice to complete it was sacred. It is not simply possession, as our modern traditions teach. It is... equilibrium. A perfect balance of two souls.” She hesitates, glancing towards the dwelling's entrance. “The old texts are very clear. The bond is a source of immense power, but only when it is a partnership. Not a claiming.”

Partnership. Choice.The words are a lifeline. “Why doesn't Jaro know this? Why don't the elders?”

“Some knowledge is... restricted,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Our tribe has valued strength and dominance above all else for many generations. The idea of an equal partnership, especially with an outsider, is seen by some as a threat to that strength.” She looks at me then, her expression a mix of warning and hope. “Be careful, Kendra. You represent a change many are not ready for.”

Jaro is a fleeting presence in my gilded cage. He is consumed by his duties, by the political storm I have unleashed. He returnslate, his broad shoulders tight with tension, his amber eyes clouded with a frustration he tries to hide from me. He brings me things. A set of soft, practical Xylosian clothing that feels like spun silk against my skin. Portions of the communal meal, always the choicest cuts. He never fails to provide for me, the reluctant zookeeper for his prized, problematic specimen.

We eat in a tense silence, the unspoken chasm of our situation between us.

“The council meeting was... long,” he says one evening, his voice rough with exhaustion. He runs a hand through his long, black hair, a gesture of profound weariness.

“Did it go well?” I ask, my voice carefully neutral.

He gives a short, bitter laugh. “Vex continues to argue that I am compromised. That my loyalty is divided.” His eyes find mine across the table, and a flicker of gold ignites in their depths. “He is not wrong.”