Page 8 of Alien Hunter's Prize

His words still suggested connection—shared purpose, complementary abilities needed for survival—but felt grounded in the reality of their newly assigned partnership. His calm certainty eased the knot of dread in my chest.

"The Aerie Kin crystal reacted to my markings," I said, remembering the resonant hum that passed through me when I touched it. "If their technology is based on similar principles..."

"Then you may understand it in ways I cannot," Iros acknowledged. "Just as I can read the mountain's physical signs in ways your equipment cannot measure."

He was right. Our different approaches might be exactly what this mission needed—my sensitivity to patterns paired with his knowledge of the environment.

"You really believe that?" I asked. "That our different methods are complementary, not contradictory?"

He considered this. "The Great Division began with such conflicts—those seeking control through technology versus those seeking understanding through tradition. Perhaps healing that ancient wound requires both approaches working in harmony."

It was a surprisingly philosophical perspective from someone I'd initially dismissed as merely a skeptical hunter.

"The mountains will be loud," I said, voicing another concern. "The wind, the echoes... I don't know how my senses will respond. The settlement noise is already overwhelming."

Iros thought for a moment. Then he crossed to his pack and withdrew a small pouch. He opened it to reveal dried moss, deep green with hints of blue.

"Sorb-moss," he explained. "It absorbs sound when placed in the ears. Not completely, but it muffles harsh frequencies while allowing speech and important environmental cues. We use it during high wind hunts."

He offered the pouch to me. "It might help until you adapt to the mountain acoustics."

I accepted it gratefully. "Thank you. I... don't usually get such understanding about my hearing issues."

"Your sensitivity is both burden and gift," he said. "Like many gifts, it requires management and respect."

"It's been mostly burden since we crashed here," I admitted. "Except for the Shardwing calls. They're the only complex sounds that don't cause pain."

"Which suggests your markings are attuned to specific frequencies naturally found on Arenix," Iros observed. "That alignment may be more significant than either of us realizes."

I nodded. "At the settlement, everything is chaos—overlapping conversations, machinery, construction. It's like trying to pick out a single melody in a room full of people playing different instruments. But the Shardwing calls... they're structured. Like a perfect composition."

"And this journey may lead you to the source of that harmony," he said. "Or at least to understanding why it's disrupted."

"That's what I'm hoping," I agreed. "Not just for the Aerie Kin's sake, but for my own sanity."

He nodded, then returned to his preparations. But something had shifted between us. The acknowledgment of mutual fears had created a tentative bridge across our differences.

"What are those silver streaks in your hair?" I asked. "They're unusual among the Nyxari I've seen."

His hand moved to one of the braids. "They appeared after my first major mountain expedition, when I was exposed to a crystal formation in the high passes. Some believe they mark those the mountains have chosen to walk their paths."

"Like a kind of blessing?"

"Or a responsibility," he said with a slight smile. "The mountains give nothing without asking something in return."

"And what did they ask of you?"

His expression grew serious. "To listen. To observe. To honor the ancient balances." He secured a final strap on his pack. "Tasks that grow more difficult as Arenix changes."

"We should rest," he said eventually. "The journey begins early, and the first day's climb will be challenging."

"Right," I agreed, suddenly aware of my fatigue.

As we gathered our things, Iros paused at the doorway. "One thing more," he said. "The Aerie Kin will be wary of you. Your markings are similar enough to our lifelines to disturb those who have never seen humans. Follow my lead in the initial contact."

It wasn't a command but advice from experience. I nodded.

"And Jen," he added, his voice softening, "The tech that failed was built by those who believed control was possible. Your approach—seeking to understand patterns rather than impose them—aligns more with harmony than you might realize."

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