Page 15

SELENE

T he guardian slammed Kavan against the far wall and he crumpled to the floor. My heart stopped—would he rise again? My markings burned beneath my skin, responding to the danger like a silent alarm.

"Kavan!" I stepped forward without thinking.

The guardian swiveled, faceted body reorienting toward me. Something caught my eye—a flicker of light along the chamber walls that matched the rotation of the guardian's crystalline segments.

I stopped. Not from fear, but recognition. The synchronization between movement and wall pattern clicked into place. My diagnostic training recognized it immediately—like how certain diseases present patterns, symptoms connecting to causes. This wasn't random aggression.

"It's not attacking," I called to Kavan as he pushed himself up. I felt his presence behind me—tense, ready, but letting me lead. In that moment, I realized just how much he trusted me, even when his instincts screamed to protect. "It's scanning!"

He paused, golden eyes finding mine across the chamber. "What?"

"Don't fight it!" I moved toward the central console where blue-white light poured from what looked to be an interface. "It's responding to facility parameters, not us."

Kavan backed away from the guardian, movements deliberate. The guardian rotated, its faceted body reorienting, its segments shifting but no longer advancing.

"How can you tell?" He kept his eyes on the construct.

I pointed to the walls where patterns pulsed in sequence with the guardian's movements. "Medical diagnostics—looking for correlations in seemingly unrelated systems." I approached the interface, following instinct. "This isn't autonomous. It's security. A tool."

The geometric structure vibrated, producing harmonics that resonated through my chest. I extended my hands toward the console, palm up, markings tracing from wrist to fingertips.

"What are you doing?" Kavan edged closer.

"Showing it I'm not a threat." The words came naturally, as if some part of me understood this place beyond conscious thought. "This is a medical facility... and I'm marked."

The guardian paused, its posture shifting. The console's blue light intensified, bathing my arms in cool radiance. My silver patterns responded, illuminating with a soft glow that matched the rhythm of the light.

"I think it's working," I said.

Kavan positioned himself beside me. "The guardian appears to be processing your pattern."

I rotated my wrists slowly, watching reactions. When I flattened my palms, the construct retreated. When I curled my fingers, it advanced. "This is rudimentary communication," I explained, testing different positions. "Like teaching a child basic signs."

"Can you tell it we're allies?"

I spread my fingers in a new pattern, following an unexplainable impulse. The guardian folded some facets inward, changing configuration.

"Maybe. But it's inconsistent." I tried the same motion again, but this time the guardian pulsed warning lights. "We need trial and error. And time."

"Time we have." Kavan gestured to the sealed entrance. "The storm will last hours yet."

We worked through those hours, Kavan offering suggestions based on ancient Nyxari symbology while I tested responses. Sometimes the entity behaved predictably. Other times it reacted in ways that forced quick adaptation, making us back away or freeze.

"Look at this," Kavan called, examining text on a wall panel. "These symbols match our oldest healing texts."

I joined him, studying the unfamiliar script. "Can you read it?"

"Partially. It speaks of 'joining minds in service of healing.' And something about 'crossing barriers of understanding.'" His long finger traced the symbols. "This was a place where healers shared knowledge."

"A research station," I suggested, pieces connecting. "For medical communication between... different groups?"

"Different settlements, perhaps. Or even..." Kavan paused, his golden eyes widening. "Different species."

More text appeared as we explored, the guardian maintaining a watchful but less aggressive stance. Through pieced-together fragments, we uncovered the facility's purpose—a medical research station designed to enhance communication between healers from different regions and possibly different species.

"Neural integration," I read from a display that illuminated in response to my marked palms. "Direct knowledge transfer. They bypassed language completely."

"Impossible," Kavan murmured, wonder filling his voice.

"For direct specialist transfer. Healers to healers." I studied diagrams showing individuals connected to interfaces similar to ours. "They shared medical knowledge independent of language barriers."

"Such technology would revolutionize our ability to treat patients," Kavan said. "The Nyxari lost vast knowledge in the Great Division. If we could recover even fragments..."

The guardian shifted without warning, its segments rearranging into a more threatening form. We froze until I discovered a hand position that calmed it.

"The system is damaged," I noted, pointing to irregular patterns in the displays. "Incomplete. Trying to function but unable to access all its parameters."

"Yet it responds to you," Kavan observed.

"To the markings," I corrected, examining my silver-traced hands. "Hammond thought these were weapons—a means of Nyxari control. But what if they're interfaces? Tools for communication and healing?"

The thought chilled me. If Hammond had been experimenting on marked women while treating the markings as weapons to control or remove...

"From what you've described," Kavan said, "Hammond has been manipulating artifacts without understanding their purpose."

"Worse than that." I pulled up more information on the integration process, scanning fragments. "He's playing with technology designed to interface with these markings—without understanding the consequences."

Kavan's expression darkened. "Like giving explosives to a primitive tribe and calling it progress."

"Exactly." I examined the data more carefully. "This facility is too damaged for complete integration, but partial transfer might be possible—specifically medical terminology." I glanced at him. "Creating a shared vocabulary for healing rather than complete communication."

"Would such an attempt be safe?" Kavan asked.

I shook my head. "Unknown. My physician training warns against untested procedures, but..." I gestured around us. "This could bridge gaps the translation stones can't. Medical terms don't always translate perfectly."

We stared at the central interface, its hard-light structure pulsing with invitation and warning. The guardian rotated nearby, reminding us of both the facility's power and instability.

"Hammond doesn't view these artifacts as tools to understand," I said softly. "He sees them as weapons to control. That makes him far more dangerous than I realized."

"If he's manipulating similar technology without proper knowledge..." Kavan left the implication hanging.

"The risk isn't just to marked women anymore." I placed my hands on the cool console surface, watching my silver markings respond to its light. "It's to everyone."

The guardian emitted a low hum, its segments shifting. Instead of threatening us, it projected a holographic image above the console—two figures, one Nyxari-shaped and one human-proportioned, their outlines filled with intersecting patterns of light.

"What is it showing us?" Kavan moved closer, his shoulder touching mine.

"I think..." I studied the image, noting how light patterns from both figures overlapped in specific areas, particularly around neural centers. "It's demonstrating the integration process. How knowledge was shared."

Kavan's golden eyes fixed on mine. "Would you consider attempting it?"

The question hung between us. Scientific curiosity pulled me forward while medical caution held me back. The potential benefits were enormous—shared medical knowledge could save countless lives. But the risks of using damaged, ancient technology loomed equally large.

"Not without further study," I answered. "We need to understand more before attempting anything so invasive. But perhaps..." I indicated a smaller, less complex interface. "We could try something more limited. A diagnostic scan."

Kavan nodded. "A reasonable compromise."

I approached the secondary console, my markings glowing more intensely in response. The guardian adjusted position but remained non-threatening. Placing my hands on the smooth surface, a tingling sensation spread up my arms.

"Something's happening," I said. "Not painful, but noticeable."

Text appeared on the wall display, initially too rapid to follow, then settling into readable segments. Diagrams of my body appeared, highlighting my nervous system and—most prominently—my markings.

"It's analyzing your physiology," Kavan observed. "Particularly the integration of markings with your neural pathways."

I watched, fascinated and unnerved, as the system mapped connections between my markings and brain. "They're far more integrated than I realized."

"Which explains why Hammond's attempts to remove them surgically would be catastrophic," Kavan added grimly. "Like trying to remove part of your nervous system."

The display shifted, comparing my physiological data with stored parameters. Symbols flashed that Kavan translated as "compatible but incomplete."

"Compatible with what?" I asked.

"The integration system, I believe." He studied the symbols. "But incomplete in some way it considers significant."

The scan ended, leaving a lingering tingle in my marked hands. The guardian returned to a neutral configuration, its scanning functions apparently satisfied.

"What I don't understand," I said, processing our discoveries, "is how these markings ended up on humans. If they're designed to interface with Nyxari medical technology..."

"I have a theory," Kavan said, his tail swishing thoughtfully. "The Great Division scattered our technology across Arenix. Perhaps the markings themselves are a form of that technology—designed to adapt to compatible physiologies regardless of species."

"Meaning the markings might have encoded medical knowledge all along? That's why I sometimes know things I shouldn't about Arenix plants and creatures?"

Kavan nodded. "It would explain why marked humans develop healing abilities that mirror Nyxari techniques."

I stared at my hands, seeing them anew. Not alien contamination as Hammond believed, but a bridge between species—a shared language of healing. The implications stretched beyond anything we'd imagined.

"Hammond won't stop," I said quietly. "Not when he's convinced the markings and artifacts are weapons."

"And that makes our return urgent," Kavan replied. "We must prevent further misuse of this technology."

The guardian hummed, moving closer to the central interface as if emphasizing our discussion. Its geometric segments shifted into a new configuration—less threatening but still imposing. A reminder that we'd gained only limited understanding of this place.

"Hammond isn't just wrong about the markings," I said, meeting Kavan's eyes. "He's dangerous. He's treating this technology like something to weaponize, when it was designed to heal and connect."

"Then we must ensure this knowledge reaches those who will use it properly." Kavan's voice carried conviction. "For both our peoples' sake."

The weight of discovery settled between us—dangerous in the wrong hands, miraculous in the right ones. Somehow, we needed to make sure it ended up where it belonged.