Page 4 of Alien Guardian's Vow

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, Varek. 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, Varek. 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 subtlywrongunderfoot, 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.

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