Page 7

I am alive.

For a long time, I just stand there, shaking. My body is a wreck of trembling muscles and frayed nerves. The adrenaline crashes, leaving me weak and nauseous. I sag against the buckled wall of my shelter, my legs giving out.

What was that?

I slide to the ground, my back against the cold metal. My scientific mind, battered and bruised, slowly reboots.

Acoustic event. High amplitude, low frequency. Source: distant. Effect: immediate flight response in local predator species.

But that clinical description is a lie. It was more than a sound. It was a statement. It was a declaration of power that established an entire ecological hierarchy in a single, terrifying moment.

Those creatures, so intelligent, so deadly, were nothing more than frightened scavengers in the presence of whatever made that sound. They weren't the apex predators of this forest. They were middle management.

And I have no idea what sits at the top of the food chain.

A new kind of fear takes root in my chest, colder and deeper than the panic of the attack. It's the fear of the unknown, of a power so immense it can command terror with its voice alone.

I force myself to my feet, my movements clumsy and robotic. I have to be rational. I have to adapt. My survival strategy is obsolete. It was based on the assumption that I was dealing with predictable, understandable threats. I was wrong.

I spend the rest of the night reinforcing my defenses, my hands raw, my body screaming with exhaustion. I drag more heavy panels into place, sealing the breach. I double-check the perimeter alarm, recalibrating its sensitivity. I ration my remaining energy blaster pack, knowing it's a pitiful defense against... whatever is out there.

The clear, present danger of the pack attack has done something to me. It has broken down the wall I built between Dr. Kendra Miles, the scientist, and Kendra, the terrified woman alone on an alien world. The two are now one and the same. My scientific curiosity is no longer a detached, professional pursuit. It is a tool for survival, a way to understand the things that want to kill me.

I retrieve my log recorder. Its tiny green light is no longer comforting. It feels... inadequate. I activate the audio playback, isolating the recording of the roar. I run a quick acoustic analysis on my wrist-comp, its small screen displaying the sound wave.

“Log entry, cycle two, post-incident,” I say, my voice a strained whisper. “Encounter with predator pack terminated by intervention of an unknown biological entity. Auditory signature suggests a creature of immense size and lung capacity. Frequency is subsonic at its lowest range, creating psycho-acoustic effects. Correlation with seismic sensors... inconclusive. Further data is required.”

I listen to the recording again, the sound tinny and small through the tiny speaker, a pale imitation of the reality. It's not enough. The data is not enough.

I am a scientist on a world of gods and monsters, armed with a multi-tool and a handful of theories.

I look out through the gap in my wall, into the dark, silent forest. It is no longer a place of scientific wonder. It is a kingdom. And I have just been made aware that I am trespassing.

My place in the food chain of Xylos has just been brutally, irrevocably defined.

I am at the very, very bottom.

Chapter 4: THE CALL

The drone of the council chamber is a familiar weight, a blanket of murmurs and debated words that usually settles my beast. Today, it chafes. It is a cage of sound I wish to tear apart.

“The blight spreads from the northern fields, my Prince,” Elder Malek says, his voice a dry rustle like dead leaves. He gestures with a gnarled hand toward the holographic map shimmering in the center of the room. “The healers' remedies have failed. Our harvest will be a fraction of what is needed to see us through the dry season.”

I stare at the map, at the creeping sickness represented by a pulsating red haze. I should be analyzing crop rotation patterns, considering the controlled burn protocols, ordering a tactical response. My mind, however, is not on the blight. It is in the forest.

A scent.

It has been tormenting me for two cycles, a ghost on the wind. Unfamiliar. Intoxicating. It is a scent that speaks of rich soil, sweet nectar, and something else... something uniquely female and utterly alien. It hooks into my senses, pulling me eastward, toward the deep woods.

The beast within me stirs, a restless predator pacing the confines of my control.Find. Go.

“Jaro?” my father's voice cuts through the haze. Chief Torq sits on the high seat, his gaze sharp, missing nothing. “Your counsel is sought.”

I force my attention back to the red blight on the map. “The soil is tired. We have over-farmed the northern sector. We should have rotated to the southern fields two seasons ago, as I advised.” My voice comes out deeper than intended, a low rumble that makes several of the younger council members shift uneasily.

My cousin Vex, seated across the circle, smirks. It is a subtle expression, barely a twitch of his lips, but I see it. He sees my distraction. He thrives on any perceived weakness.

“A sound observation, cousin,” Vex says, his voice smooth and laced with false deference. “Though perhaps hindsight is a luxury we cannot currently afford. The tribe needs a solution fornow, not a reminder of past debates.”