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RIVERA

T he circuit board sparked under my fingers, sending a sharp jolt through my hand that wasn't caused by faulty wiring.

"Damn it." I dropped the soldering tool, the delicate instrument—its tip slightly misaligned from being dropped one too many times—clattering against salvaged hull plating. I rubbed my temples, hard. The pain started at the base of my skull, a familiar, insidious bloom, then spread outward like liquid fire. Beneath my shirt collar, my markings flared—a hot, prickling sensation that made my skin crawl. Not now. Not again.

I shoved away from my workbench, the legs of my stool scraping harshly against the polished stone floor. The sound echoed in my head, amplified to an unbearable, high-pitched screech that seemed to drill directly into my brainstem.

Every noise in the settlement—the distant, melodic cadence of Nyxari conversations I could never completely understand, though the small translator stone resting against my collarbone faithfully relayed their words, the rhythmic clang... clang... of tools from the forge down the corridor, even the subtle, pervasive resonance of the living stone walls that the Nyxari found so comforting—seemed determined to tear through my skull.

Faulty wiring, I thought bitterly, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. That's all these markings are. Faulty biological wiring picking up every damn energy signal in this place. It wasn't even consistent; the salvaged human tech I worked on created a low-level static, manageable most days, but the Nyxari systems—the living stone, the healing chamber energies—resonated differently, painfully, turning the background hum into a physical assault.

My vision fractured at the edges, static creeping in like television snow—a shimmering, gray haze that made the salvaged comm unit on my bench blur, double, then triple. Its display flickered erratically, a patchwork of salvaged parts barely holding together. "Piece of junk," I muttered, picking up the component again, trying to focus through the swimming visuals.

If I could just isolate the faulty transmitter array, maybe we'd have something resembling a working long-range communication system. Something better than runners carrying messages between settlements, something that might actually reach the other human camp, wherever Hammond had established it after the split. Assuming he hadn't shot down any attempt at contact, given his escalating paranoia.

A tremor shook the room. Small, but sharp enough to rattle my collection of tools—a mix of salvaged Seraphyne tech and crude Nyxari implements—and send several delicate micro-capacitors skittering across the workbench like metallic insects. I grabbed for them instinctively, catching most before they hit the floor.

The tremor passed, but the pain in my head intensified, pulsing in time with the thrumming energy of the settlement. The markings along my collarbone burned brighter, hotter, responding to something I couldn't see or understand. Useless. Worse than useless—a liability.

What good were these damn things if all they did was malfunction? Mirelle's danger sense had saved lives. Mine just turned me into a walking migraine whenever I got near anything with an energy signature stronger than a handheld scanner—which, in a settlement built from living stone and incorporating Nyxari energy systems, was everywhere .

The settlement hummed around me, a symphony of discordant energy only I seemed to perceive. The living stone vibrated at a frequency just beyond normal human hearing—but not beyond my markings' maddening perception. Add in the healing chambers down the corridor with their concentrated energy fields, and the whole place became an assault.

Another tremor, stronger this time. My tools jumped. A calibration meter I'd painstakingly repaired—its casing cracked, held together with adhesive strips—slid off the edge and crashed to the floor, glass shattering with a sound that lanced through my already overloaded senses.

"Perfect." I bent to pick up the larger pieces, ignoring the way my vision swam and nausea churned in my stomach. That's the third one this week, I thought, straightening slowly. Not normal seismic settling. This feels like... like system instability. Like a reactor approaching critical. Where was it coming from?

How was I supposed to fix anything, contribute anything, when I could barely function? The others were out there doing important work—hunting, scouting, building. I sat in this corner, playing with broken toys salvaged from our dead ship and fighting my own damned skin. A waste of time. A waste of skills. A waste of me.

Damn it... My own translator stone, resting beneath my shirt, offered no help here—it only bridged spoken words, not the raw energy signatures making my nerves fray.

"You look terrible."

The quiet words startled me. I looked up, squinting through the visual static, to find Mirelle watching me from the doorway. Concern etched her features, softening the usually composed lines of her face. The silver markings framing her eyes seemed to shimmer with empathy.

"Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear," I managed, trying for sarcasm but landing closer to exhaustion.

She crossed the room with her usual quiet grace and perched on the edge of my workbench, careful not to disturb the scattered components. "Headache again?" Her gaze flickered to my collar, where the markings still pulsed visibly through the thin fabric of my shirt. "Your markings are practically glowing."

I glanced down. She wasn't wrong. The silver light throbbed like a trapped pulse. No point denying it. "It's nothing," I started, then sighed, dropping the pretense. "Okay, it's something. They've been acting up all morning," I admitted, rubbing my temples again. "Worse with the tremors."

"That's actually why I'm here." Mirelle picked up one of my salvaged circuit boards, examining the crude repairs with interest before setting it back down gently. "I need someone to investigate energy fluctuations near the ruins."

I put down my stylus, my focus sharpening despite the pain. "The ruins? You mean the site from—" The place that had nearly killed Selene, where ancient tech was known to lie dormant. The place that hummed with a different, deeper energy signature, laced with the scent of ozone and decay even from a distance.

"Yes, the same complex. We've been monitoring it since... everything that happened there. Standard procedure. But something's changed recently." Her expression grew serious. "The tremors started shortly after our remote instruments detected unusual energy patterns emanating from that area. Spikes, drops, instability."

My engineer's brain kicked into gear, overriding the headache. A real problem. A complex system failure. A diagnostic challenge. My heart rate picked up. "Why me?" I asked, suspicion immediately returning. Is this just busywork to get the malfunctioning human out of the way? "Wouldn't Kavan or one of the Nyxari scientists be better suited? They understand this ancient tech better than I do."

Mirelle offered a small, knowing smile. "Two reasons. One, you have engineering expertise none of the Nyxari possess. They understand their ancient technology through tradition, not technical knowledge."

Tradition, right, I thought, stifling a scoff. Probably involves chanting at it. I briefly pictured Selene and Kavan back at the main settlement, recalling rumors about some ancient neural implant they'd found that bridged the language gap instantly. Sounds invasive as hell, sticking alien tech directly into your brain, but maybe better than trying to decipher energy signatures through a migraine.

"And two?" I prompted, pushing the thought away.

"Two," Mirelle continued, her gaze sympathetic, "I've noticed your discomfort increases significantly when you're in the settlement. The living stone, the healing chambers—they all emit energy signatures that seem to affect your markings more intensely than others'."

She wasn't wrong. The constant background noise, the energy hum I couldn't filter out, had been driving me slowly insane.

"So you want me out of the settlement," I stated flatly. It wasn't really a question.

"I want you somewhere your skills can be uniquely useful," Mirelle corrected gently, "and where you might get some relief from..." she gestured vaguely at the humming walls, "...all this."

I considered her words. Busywork or genuine need? Maybe both? Did it matter? Either way, it meant escape from this sensory hell. It meant a real engineering problem to solve.

"What exactly am I looking for?" I asked, already mentally cataloging the gear I'd need: wide-spectrum scanner (the one with the dodgy power coupling), portable energy detector (if I could recalibrate it again), geological stability sensors, basic diagnostic tools...

"Energy fluctuations, signs of structural instability, anything that might explain the tremors. Take whatever equipment you need from the salvaged stores." She paused, her expression turning serious again. "Just be careful, . The Nyxari warnings about those ruins exist for a reason. That technology is ancient, unstable, and not fully understood."

I nodded, meeting her gaze. "I'll be careful. And I'll find what's causing it."

"I know you will." Mirelle stood. "And ? This isn't busywork. If these tremors continue or worsen, the entire settlement could be at risk." She gave my shoulder a brief squeeze before turning to leave. "Let me know when you're ready to depart."

After she left, I gathered my equipment with renewed purpose, the headache already receding slightly at the prospect of focused work away from the settlement's energy soup.

Whatever was happening at those ruins, I'd figure it out. Engineering problems had solutions. They always did. And if solving this one meant I could think clearly again without my head splitting open?

All the better. The thought of escaping the settlement's constant energetic hum was almost intoxicating. I packed quickly, eager to trade the oppressive resonance of living stone for the potentially lethal but at least different energy signatures of the ancient ruins.

Truth be told, it wasn’t just the energy in the settlement I needed to escape from.

It was him.

Varek.

The way his eyes burned when he looked at me, like I was more than just a malfunctioning tool. Like I was a threat that he wanted to understand and subdue.

He was very respectful. Very courteous. Nothing outwardly I could call out.

But there was…a tension.

Something I couldn’t name.

Something that might be nice to think about once I got out of the settlement.

The air changed long before the ruins came into full view. It grew heavier, charged, carrying the sharp, metallic tang of ozone thick enough to taste. Above, dark clouds gathered, bruised and swollen, though no rain fell yet. The humidity pressed in, making my clothes stick uncomfortably to my skin. The very ground seemed to hum beneath my boots, a low, discordant vibration that resonated unpleasantly with my markings.

I paused at the edge of the jungle, surveying the landscape where it met the ancient site. The damage was worse than I remembered from previous brief scans. Cracks spread across the ground like spiderwebs, radiating outward from the crumbling stone structures.

The vegetation nearest the ruins looked diseased—once vibrant blue-green foliage now discolored to a sickly yellow, leaves curled and brittle as if leeched of life. The air itself smelled wrong—not just ozone, but decay, like metal rusting from the inside out.

My handheld scanner beeped insistently, its display struggling to make sense of the chaotic energy readings far above baseline even out here. I adjusted the settings, frowning at the erratic display. Spikes and drops, no regularity, no discernible cycle. Just raw, unstable power bleeding into the environment, interfering with my equipment.

A tremor rippled through the ground, stronger than those I'd felt back at the settlement. I braced myself against a tree trunk, waiting for it to pass, feeling the vibration travel up through the soles of my boots. The discordant hum intensified, vibrating through the rock itself.

As the shaking subsided, a sharp pain lanced through my chest, radiating outward along my collarbone. My markings flared with such sudden, burning intensity that I gasped, dropping to one knee. This wasn't the usual dull ache or sensory static. This was different—a focused, insistent pulling sensation, like invisible hooks embedded beneath my skin tugging me forward.

Toward the ruins.

Toward a specific section I hadn't explored before, partially concealed by slumped earth, tangled vines, and debris from older collapses.

I forced myself to breathe through the pain, sweat beading on my forehead. The scanner in my hand went haywire, readings fluctuating wildly off the scale. Whatever energy source lay within those ruins, it was degrading rapidly, becoming dangerously unstable. Like an engine tearing itself apart at the molecular level.

Dangerous. My training screamed warnings. I should report back immediately, tell Mirelle what I'd found, recommend a full evacuation zone.

Another pull from my markings, stronger this time, so forceful I staggered forward several steps before catching my balance. My teeth clenched against the pain and the unnerving lack of control.

I squinted at the section drawing me in. A new opening had formed in the ancient structure—or perhaps an old one had been revealed by the recent tremors. The edges looked freshly broken.

Faded Nyxari warning symbols marked the stone around it, their angular forms stark even beneath layers of grime and weathering. Danger. Forbidden. Death. The meaning was clear even without Varek here to translate. His warnings, Mirelle's warnings, echoed in my memory: Respect the boundaries. The ruins contain technologies our ancestors abandoned for good reason.

But my engineer's mind couldn't turn away from a system in catastrophic failure. Understanding the failure mode was crucial to preventing disaster.

If this energy source was degrading, its final collapse could potentially destroy not just itself but everything around it—including the settlement nestled too close in the valley below. I needed to see it. Assess the containment, if any remained. Understand the mechanism of failure.

I needed data.

The pain in my markings intensified as I approached the opening, silver light blazing beneath my shirt, hot against my skin. Each step felt both fundamentally wrong and utterly inevitable, like watching a system failure simulation in slow motion, knowing exactly what catastrophic outcome awaited but unable to stop the sequence.

At the dark entrance, I hesitated. The warnings were clear. The danger obvious. The pull from my markings undeniable. The air here felt even heavier, the ozone tang sharp enough to make my eyes water. The discordant hum vibrated not just through the ground but through the air itself.

Another tremor shook the ground, stronger than before. Debris rained down from the opening, widening it further. The scanner shrieked a continuous alarm, its readings spiking completely off the scale before the display went dark, overloaded.

Damn it. If I didn't go in, if I didn't identify the source of these energy fluctuations, the next tremor might be the one that brought the settlement down. Dozens, maybe hundreds, would die.

Clenching my jaw against the pain and the fear, I stepped through the opening, my markings pulling me forward like a compass needle finding magnetic north – a terrifying, painful, irresistible north. The wrongness of the energy signature intensified the moment I crossed the threshold—discordant, unstable, violently powerful.

The rational part of my brain screamed warnings. The engineer in me needed to understand the failure. And my markings... my markings simply demanded I continue.

Into the darkness. Into the unknown heart of the failing machine.