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VAREK

T he clash of practice blades rang across the training grounds, a sharp, rhythmic counterpoint to the grunts of exertion and the shuffle of feet on dusty earth. Metal struck metal with a precision that satisfied my ears, even as the swirling dust irritated my nostrils with the familiar scent of Arenix soil and Nyxari sweat.

I circled the young warriors, my gaze sharp, noting every misplaced foot, every grip too loose or too tight on the dulled practice weapons.

"Tekran, your stance is weak," I snapped, my voice cutting through the clangor. "A child could topple you."

The young warrior stiffened, his emerald skin flushing slightly as he adjusted his footing. Not enough. I stepped forward, nudging his back foot with my own boot until it aligned properly with his center of gravity.

"The form exists for a reason," I stated, my voice low but carrying. "It has protected our people for generations. Discipline is survival."

He nodded, eyes forward, properly respectful but clearly unnerved. The others continued their drills, the dance of blades cutting through the air a familiar rhythm I'd known since my own childhood. Sweat glistened on midnight-blue and emerald skin, golden lifelines pulsing faintly with their exertion.

"Again," I commanded, my voice sharp. "From the beginning."

They moved in unison, a wave of controlled aggression. I tracked each movement, catching subtle errors, offering quick, barked corrections. When Mekvar's grip slipped on his blade hilt, I stepped in immediately, halting the drill.

"Incorrect." I took his practice blade, demonstrating the proper hold, the precise angle of wrist and elbow. "Your ancestors survived the Great Division through discipline, not carelessness."

His lifelines dimmed slightly in acknowledgment of the rebuke. Good. The young needed constant reminding of what was at stake, especially now. The planet grows restless, I thought, though my expression remained impassive. These tremors, the erratic weather… they were warnings.

A subtle vibration rippled through the ground beneath my feet. I continued my instruction without pause, but my tail twitched involuntarily, a betraying sign of unease I quickly suppressed. Third tremor today. The warriors hadn't noticed, too focused on their forms, their breathing harsh in the dry air.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint, sharp scent of ozone from the western ruins. My lifelines tingled unpleasantly, a discordant note beneath my skin. Something was wrong with Arenix itself, the very ground rebelling.

The Council moved too slowly, discussing and debating while danger grew like a shadow. The humans complicated everything with their reckless curiosity, their disregard for tradition, their insistence on poking at wounds best left undisturbed. Their methods invited chaos. Lazrin might have found common ground with one of them, but Mirelle Duvane possessed a certain gravity, a sense of responsibility. This other one, the engineer Rivera, seemed different—more volatile, less predictable.

I corrected another warrior's form with perhaps more force than necessary, earning a startled grunt. Focus, I commanded them, though the order was partly for myself. Discipline. Control. "The blade is an extension of your arm, your tail balances your weight. Feel the connection, the flow of energy."

Another tremor, almost imperceptible this time, a mere flutter beneath my boots. I kept my expression neutral, a mask of command honed over years, while my mind raced. The settlement needed protection. The old ways, the rigid disciplines, had preserved us this long. They would preserve us still. If the Council would only act decisively. If the humans could be contained.

The Council Hall's living stone walls rose around me, the vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows far above. The air here felt still, ancient, carrying the faint scent of ozone and something else—the subtle energy of the Elders themselves.

Elder Rylis stood near the central hearth, its low flames casting a soft golden glow across his weathered features, illuminating the intricate web of lifelines across his dark skin. Beside him, Elder Shyla's platinum braid caught the light as she turned to face me, her silver-blue skin seeming almost translucent.

"," Rylis acknowledged my entrance with a slight nod, his voice echoing slightly in the resonant chamber. "We've summoned you on a matter of great urgency."

I straightened, my tail settling into a formal, still position behind me. "I am at the Council's service."

"The tremors grow stronger," Shyla said, her voice carrying the weight of her many cycles. "You've felt them during your training sessions." It wasn't a question.

I inclined my head. "Three today alone, Elder. The warriors didn't notice, but the pattern is clear."

Rylis stepped forward, his ceremonial staff tapping softly against the stone floor. "What isn't clear to all is the source. The energy readings from the western ruins have become erratic. Dangerous."

"Similar patterns appeared in our ancestors' records," Shyla added, her silver-flecked eyes fixed on mine, sharp and perceptive. "Before the Great Division. Before the catastrophe."

My lifelines prickled along my spine. "The ancient technology is destabilizing."

"Yes." Rylis circled the hearth, his expression grave. "Our instruments detect energy spikes consistent with failing containment systems. Systems our ancestors warned should never be disturbed."

Shyla's lifelines brightened subtly as she spoke. "The ruins hold knowledge we've lost, but also dangers we've forgotten. The technology that tore our civilization apart still sleeps there, unstable and unpredictable."

"What would you have me do?" I asked, though I already anticipated the answer. My role had always been clear: protect the settlement, enforce the Council's will.

Rylis stopped his pacing, turning to face me fully. "Monitor the site. Contain any immediate physical threats—collapses, energy discharges that might reach the settlement." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Most importantly, prevent any human interference." The order struck a dissonant chord within me. Prevent interference, yes—that was logical. But the underlying implication, the dismissal of the humans, chafed against a deeper Nyxari principle, one rarely invoked but fundamental: the duty to protect all life within our established territory, regardless of origin. A reckless human was still a life under our implicit protection, however frustrating that responsibility might be.

"Especially Rivera," Shyla specified, her voice losing its usual softness, pulling me back from my internal conflict. "Her technical skills make her particularly dangerous in this situation. Her curiosity will lead her to the ruins if she senses the energy fluctuations."

My jaw tightened. Of course, the human engineer. It confirmed every reservation I held. Their kind couldn't resist meddling with forces beyond their comprehension. "I understand."

"She must be kept away at all costs," Rylis continued. "The energy signatures respond to the human markings in ways we don't fully understand, ways that could accelerate the instability."

"And what of the technology itself?" I asked, needing clarity on the boundaries of my orders. "If containment requires intervention?"

Shyla's expression turned stern. "You are explicitly forbidden from interacting with any ancient systems. Observation only, . Containment of immediate physical threats. Nothing more."

"The consequences of interference could be catastrophic," Rylis added, his voice low. "Like our ancestors before the Division, we risk destruction through ignorance and arrogance."

The prohibition chafed, felt dangerously limiting. What if observation wasn't enough? What if the human had already interfered? But orders were orders. I bowed my head in acceptance. "I will follow my orders precisely."

"Do you?" Shyla's piercing gaze seemed to read the conflict within me. "Your duty is to protect, not to intervene. The ancient systems are beyond our current understanding. Resist the temptation to believe otherwise."

"I understand, Elder," I assured her, keeping my voice steady, my tail straight and still behind me.

Rylis nodded, apparently satisfied. "Go now. Time grows short."

As I turned to leave, Shyla spoke once more, her voice a quiet warning. "Remember, . The ruins call to those with markings, Nyxari or human. If Rivera approaches, she will not be thinking clearly. Her actions will not be entirely her own."

The warning did nothing to soften my opinion. Humans always found excuses for their recklessness. It was their nature.

The air changed as I approached the ruins later that day. It grew heavy, charged with static electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end and my skin crawl. Each step closer sent uncomfortable vibrations through my lifelines, a discordant hum resonating deep in my bones—a warning as old as my species. The ground felt subtly wrong underfoot, unstable in a way that defied easy description.

A sharp ache spread across my chest where my lifelines concentrated, resonating painfully with whatever chaotic energy pulsed from the ruins ahead. Ancient stone arches rose before me, partially collapsed, their surfaces etched with faded symbols our scholars still struggled to fully translate.

I scanned the perimeter, looking for signs of disturbance, my senses on high alert—and froze.

Footprints.

Clear, fresh tracks pressed into the soft earth near a section of collapsed wall. Human boots. Small size, distinctive tread pattern I recognized from settlement observations. Rivera's. They led directly toward a damaged opening partially concealed by overgrown vines—an entrance not visible from the main approach paths.

Heat flashed through my lifelines, anger surging so quickly my vision sharpened to painful clarity. She ignored every warning. Every protocol. The human had walked straight into the most dangerous place on Arenix as if it were merely another broken machine to tinker with.

The sheer arrogance of it confirmed everything I'd believed about humans since their arrival. They touched without understanding, took without respect, questioned without wisdom. And now Rivera had trespassed on ancient, forbidden ground where even Nyxari feared to tread.

Faded, yes, I thought, my gaze catching on the warning markers near the opening she must have used, but the spiral glyph at the center—the Mark of Unraveling—was unmistakable. It was the specific warning his great-uncle, a historian dismissed by the modern Council for his focus on 'apocryphal lore', had drilled into him since childhood. A symbol designating sites where reality itself had frayed during the Great Division.

Another tremor rippled through the earth, stronger here, dust puffing from the cracks in the ground. A warning. Whatever instability plagued the ruins, her presence, her markings , would only worsen it.

I followed her tracks to the entrance, noting how they disappeared into the shadows within. The damaged doorway emitted a faint silver-blue light, pulsing in an irregular rhythm that sent sharp pains through my lifelines. If she triggered a catastrophe, the settlement would suffer. Our people. Her people. All because one human couldn't resist her damnable curiosity.

I unsheathed my blade, its familiar weight centering me despite the rising anger and the painful thrumming in my chest. The Elders had ordered me to prevent human interference. I was already too late for prevention.

Now I would have to contain the damage. Remove her before she caused irreparable harm.

I stepped through the entrance, the energy field washing over me like ice water. My lifelines flared in protest, pain spiking along my spine, but I pushed forward, following the only path Rivera could have taken.

Into the heart of the ruins. Into the legacy of our ancestors' destruction.