Page 33 of Bonded to the Star-Beast

It's a psychosomatic response,I tell myself, my internal monologue defaulting to clinical analysis. It's my only defense.The trauma of the ceremony, coupled with the stress of the escape, is manifesting as physical discomfort. The bond is a biological anomaly, yes, but its effects are likely amplified by psychological factors.

I keep walking until the twin suns are high in the sky, their light filtering through the dense, alien canopy in strange, shifting patterns. I finally select a suitable location for a camp: a small, defensible alcove in a rock face, hidden from the main stream by a thicket of purple-leafed ferns, with a clear water source nearby.

The work of setting up camp is a welcome distraction. I deploy the perimeter alarm Kyra gave me, its low hum a comforting, technological sound in the primal wilderness. I start a fire, purify water, and methodically lay out my salvaged equipment. My datapad. The portable resonance imager. The molecular analyzer. My tools. My identity.

I am Dr. Kendra Miles,I think, the words a desperate affirmation.I am a scientist. My purpose is to observe, to analyze, to understand. This... this is just unscheduled, long-term fieldwork.

I spend the rest of the day immersed in my work. It's my shield, my fortress. I collect plant samples, carefully documenting their properties. I run diagnostics on my damaged long-range comms unit, a futile but necessary ritual. I try to map the local area, noting geological formations and potential resource locations.

I do everything I can to ignore the persistent, rhythmic thrumming in my chest. It's a constant, low-level ache, a physical reminder of the man I left behind. When I close my eyes, I see his face, the raw pain in his eyes as I walked away.

Stop it. Focus on the data. The subject is Xylosian flora, not Xylosian feelings.

The first night is the hardest. The forest comes alive with sounds I am only beginning to identify. I sit by my fire, the datapad on my lap, trying to analyze the spectral data from a new species of bioluminescent moss. But my focus keeps splintering.

The ache in my chest sharpens. It's no longer a dull thrum but a distinct, pulling sensation, as if an invisible cord is being tugged from afar. I press my hand against the bond-mark, the skin unnaturally warm.

What is happening back there? Is he in a council meeting? Is Vex challenging him now?

The questions are a pointless exercise in speculation, but I can't stop them. I picture Jaro standing before the elders, his jaw tight with defiance. I can almost feel the weight of their judgment, the sting of Vex's accusations. The feeling is so vivid, so real, that I have to remind myself it's just my imagination, my own anxiety projected onto him.

Or is it? Empathic transference is a documented phenomenon in some species with hive-mind or telepathic capabilities. Is this bond a form of rudimentary biological telepathy? The physiological markers are certainly present.

I try to sleep, but my dreams are a chaotic torrent of shared sensations. I am running through the forest, not on two legs, but on four. The world is a symphony of scents, the ground a living map beneath my paws. I feel the power of the beast, the primal joy of the hunt, the territorial rage at an unseen threat. And woven through it all is a profound, aching loneliness. A sense of a missing piece. Me.

I wake with a gasp, my heart pounding, the scent of Jaro's musk phantom in the air. The bond-mark on my chest is burning. I sit up, drenched in sweat, a wave of disorientation washing over me.

Just a dream. An anxiety-induced hallucination.

But the feeling of his distress lingers, a bitter taste in the back of my throat.

The days that follow blur into a cycle of relentless work and escalating symptoms. The solo survival I thought I was prepared for is becoming a battle against my own physiology.

The planet itself seems to be turning against me. The atmospheric compounds, the ones that had previously enhanced my senses in a manageable way, are now overwhelming them. The colors of the forest are so vivid they hurt my eyes. The low hum of insect life is a deafening roar in my ears. The scent of a nearby flower is so potent it makes me nauseous.

Sensory overload. A common symptom of exposure to certain neurotoxins. It's possible the stabilizing effect of the bond was mitigating the atmospheric effects. Without Jaro's proximity... my body's adaptive process is failing.

I try to recalibrate, to build new filters for my perception, but it's like trying to dam a flood with my bare hands. My scientific work suffers. My hands tremble as I try to handle delicate samples. My notes become increasingly erratic, my clinical observations interspersed with fragmented, emotional outbursts.

[Log Entry 4.3: Specimen K-11 exhibits remarkable cellular regeneration. Potential applications in trauma medicine are significant. My chest hurts. A constant, grinding ache. Why does it hurt so much?]

[Log Entry 4.4: Analysis of water source shows trace elements of an unknown heavy metal. Further study required. I saw him again in my dream. He was fighting. The beast was fighting. I felt the blows. I felt its rage. Was he fighting Vex?]

The separation sickness is getting worse. The disorientation comes in waves, leaving me dizzy and weak. The dreams are no longer just dreams; they are vivid, shared experiences that leave me exhausted and emotionally raw. I feel hisanger, his frustration, his bone-deep loneliness. It's a constant, invasive presence in my mind, a brutal violation of my mental sovereignty.

And the ache in my chest is a constant companion, a fire that never goes out.

This is not sustainable. At this rate of physiological and psychological decline, my probability of long-term survival is... low.

The thought is clinical, detached, but the fear beneath it is very, very real. I am a scientist on the verge of becoming a failed experiment.

On the fifth cycle since my departure, the planet finally breaks me.

I wake to a world that is screaming. The light of the twin suns is a physical blow, a searing white fire that forces me to squeeze my eyes shut. The sound of the stream is a deafening waterfall. Every scent is a chemical assault. My own skin feels alien, my nerves raw and exposed.

System failure. Complete sensory overload. The atmospheric neurotoxins have reached a critical concentration in my system.

I stumble out of my shelter, my limbs heavy and uncoordinated. I need to check my equipment, run a diagnostic, find a rational explanation for what is happening to me. A fever is starting to burn through me, my teeth chattering despite the humid air.

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