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T he ruins breathed around me, their ancient systems humming with unstable energy that made my lifelines itch beneath my skin. The sensation was familiar from my training—guardian initiates spent cycles learning to attune to these energies—but this was different.

Hammond’s drilling operation had tapped into power sources never meant to be accessed this way, and the disharmony vibrated through the stone itself. The corridor walls, once smooth and aligned with planetary harmonics, now featured jagged cracks with faint blue energy seeping through.

My clan would call it violation of the sacred. But personal judgment would have to wait.

I moved swiftly through the shadows, my feet silent against the worn stone pathways. Three guards patrolled this section—predictable in their patterns, sloppy in their vigilance.

Humans, not automated sentries. Their boot steps echoed with a distinctive rhythm I had memorized, their breathing heavy from the compound’s thinner air.

The smell of their weapons—metal, oil, ozone from energy charges—reached me before they did, allowing me to slip into recessed doorways as they passed. The bond with Zara thrummed steadily in my mind, a faint awareness of her location and general state.

She was moving into position, her focus sharp as a blade. The intimacy we’d shared had strengthened our connection beyond what I’d thought possible with a human.

I could sense her determination, her analytical mind mapping routes and contingencies. My clan’s warnings about the marked outsider felt distant now, though not entirely forgotten.

The Marked Outsider will bring destruction. Guard against her touch, for it awakens slumbering power.

The ancient warning scrolled through my memory, but it rang hollow against the reality of Zara—practical, fierce, willing to risk everything to save her friend and stop Hammond. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

My tail swept low for balance as I navigated a narrow maintenance passage, the confined space making my shoulders brush the walls.

The drilling operation’s coolant system stood before me, a tangle of salvaged pipes and crude machinery grafted onto ancient technology with no understanding of its true purpose.

The scent of coolant chemicals—sharp, artificial, wrong—burned my nostrils. Drawing closer, I identified the main control junction—a modified console with exposed wiring.

The metal felt wrong under my fingertips—too rough, imprecisely formed compared to the ancients’ work. The tool Zara had fashioned for me was simple but effective: a stripped power cell that would create a feedback loop when connected to the right circuits.

It pulsed warmly in my palm, responding to my lifelines. With a quick glance to ensure no guards were approaching, I slipped forward and removed the access panel.

The interior was a mess of wires and components, some human, some ancient. The contrast was jarring—like seeing sacred scrolls used as kindling.

I located the main coolant regulation circuit and carefully positioned the power cell, my fingers working with practiced precision despite their size compared to the delicate components. A brush of warning tingled through my lifelines, raising the fine hairs at the back of my neck.

My tail stiffened as I sensed a guard approaching—earlier than scheduled. I ducked behind a massive conduit, controlling my breathing as heavy footsteps passed just meters away.

The guard’s scent reached me—sweat, synthetic fabric, the processed food they ate in the compound. “Sector four clear,” the guard’s voice crackled over a comm unit, the electronic distortion grating to my sensitive hearing.

“Moving to check the coolant systems.” I had seconds, not minutes.

My fingers worked swiftly, connecting the final wire. The power cell began to hum, growing warmer against my palm.

I set the crude timer—five minutes until overload—and replaced the access panel, my movements fluid despite the urgency. The guard turned the corner just as I slipped into a maintenance shaft.

The metal edge caught my upper arm, sending a flare of pain through freshly healed tissue. I suppressed a hiss, freezing in place as his flashlight beam swept the area I’d occupied moments before.

The light’s edge came within centimeters of my position. “Something’s not right with the readings,” he muttered into his comm, the uneasy tone in his voice satisfying to hear.

“Coolant pressure’s fluctuating.” Perfect.

I moved quickly through the shaft, putting distance between myself and the imminent chaos. The narrow passage scraped against my shoulders, designed for maintenance drones rather than Nyxari physiology.

Through the bond, I could feel Zara’s questioning concern—she’d sensed my momentary tension and pain. Minor setback. Proceeding as planned.

I wasn’t certain she could hear the precise thought, but I projected calm confidence through our connection. Four minutes remained.

I needed to reach the rendezvous point near the perimeter where the shield would soon fail. The route took me past the main drilling operation, a massive apparatus that penetrated deep into the ruins.

The air thrummed with misused energy, making my lifelines burn uncomfortably. The sound was awful—a dissonant grinding that no Nyxari could mistake for anything but violation.

The technology of my ancestors, sacred knowledge protected for generations by my clan, reduced to Hammond’s crude mining operation. Three minutes.

I cleared the drilling area, moving through less frequented corridors. The lighting here was minimal—energy diverted to “more essential” systems—which suited my purposes perfectly.

My vision, adapted to the jungle’s dense canopy, had no difficulty navigating the shadows. Two patrolling guards passed at an intersection, walking briskly toward the coolant system.

Their weapons bumped against their sides as they moved. They hadn’t seen me. Two minutes.

The external wall of the compound came into view, its structure a patchwork of salvaged ship plating bolted to ancient stone. Beyond it, I could see the faint shimmer of the shield—an energy barrier that would fry any organic matter attempting to pass through.

I found cover behind a pile of salvaged equipment and waited, every muscle coiled with readiness. The scent of oil and metal was strong here, mixed with the distinct tang of energy weapons.

One minute. I closed my eyes, focusing on the bond, sending a silent confirmation to Zara. Ready .

Whether she received the word or merely the intent, I felt her acknowledgment pulse through our connection. The explosion shook the entire compound. Not the small diversion I’d planned—something in the coolant system had cascaded into a much larger reaction.

The concussive force vibrated through the stone floor, rattling the salvaged equipment around me. Alarms blared, their piercing wail painful to my sensitive hearing.

Emergency lights bathed the corridors in pulsing red, creating disorienting shadows. I moved immediately, taking advantage of the confusion.

The acrid smell of burning circuits and superheated metal filled the air. Guards shouted, their voices tight with panic as they ran toward the explosion site.

Through the bond, I sensed Zara’s intense focus as she worked on the shield. Her concentration felt like a laser, precise and unwavering.

The rendezvous point was twenty meters ahead, near a section of the perimeter adjacent to a slight depression in the terrain—a small advantage for our escape. I slipped past two confused technicians, their attention fixed on tablets displaying cascading system failures.

A second, smaller explosion sent them running, the concussion rippling through the ground beneath my feet. Through our bond, I felt Zara’s concentration spike into something more intense—almost painfully focused.

She was accessing the shield controls, using her markings to interface with the system. The sensation was disorienting—a ghost of her experience filtering through our connection.

Energy flowing through silver pathways, information streaming directly into consciousness, the system’s resistance pushing back against her intrusion. I reached the rendezvous point and took cover behind a damaged storage unit, watching for patrols while monitoring Zara’s status through our link.

Whatever she was doing was causing her pain—sharp and insistent—but her determination never wavered. I felt an unfamiliar surge of admiration.

Her resilience matched any warrior of my clan. Almost there , I thought, unsure if she could hear the words or just feel the sentiment behind them.

Diversion set. Zara is moving. Through the chaos, I caught the first hints of organized response—security officers regrouping, commands being issued.

Our window was closing. But through the bond, I felt the moment Zara breached the shield’s control systems.

The satisfaction of victory, immediately followed by something alarming—pain, disorientation, darkness spreading like ink through water. Something had gone wrong.

I moved without hesitation toward the section of perimeter where the shield was failing, all senses alert for danger as I raced to reach her.