Page 59 of Charmed By the Alien Warrior

Merix is already moving, motioning for us to follow, and Draggar falls into step beside him. I trail just behind them, my mind racing with questions and concerns I don’t dare voice yet.If this is Sevix, what will he ask of us? And if we agree to help, what will it cost us?

We make our way through the village, and the familiar sounds of daily life surround us. The soft murmur of conversation from the elders seated around the fire pit, the clinking of tools from Maalin’s forge, and the sound of warriors sparring in the training arena.

I spot my friends gathered near the central fire pit. Maddie, Aria, and Crystal are hard at work helping the elders prepare the midday meal. It takes a lot of work and time to feed as many people as there are in the tribe, especially since we arrived and added to their numbers, and I’m proud at the way my friends have stepped up to help out.

Crystal is bent over a bowl of casae tubers, focused on peeling them. Maddie is smiling at something Aria said, though the smile on her face falters when she notices me and Draggar.

Under the shade of a nearby tree, Rose is seated on a sturdy log next to one of the elders, Hasal, as he teaches Zoe and two young boys in the tribe who are of a similar age. They’re seated cross-legged on the ground, their small hands clutching pieces of bark and charcoal sticks as they practice forming letters.

Rose was a teacher back on Earth—actually, she was Zoe’s teacher—and I know she’s missed being in a classroom.

It’s such a quiet, ordinary moment, one that speaks to how far we’ve come since the crash. And yet, the weight of Merix’s news hangs heavy over me, a reminder that the peace and safety we’ve found here is fragile.

Crystal looks up from her work as we pass, and her sharp blue eyes narrow. “Haley! What’s going on?”

I slow my steps and shake my head. “I don’t know for sure,” I say, glancing back at Draggar, who has come to a stop, patiently waiting for me to join him. “But there are some Xeniiv guys at the gate.”

That gets their attention. Maddie’s knife pauses mid-slice, her brow furrowing as she exchanges a glance with Aria. Crystal straightens, wiping her hands on her pants as her eyes widen in shock.

“The Xeniiv?” she echoes. “What do they want?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I reply, my tone honest but clipped. I don’t want to linger, not when my curiosity is pushing me to hurry to the gate. “Draggar’s going to speak with them. It might just be one of his contacts… Sevix.”

I can see the worry deepen in their eyes. It’s not hard to guess what they’re all thinking. They haven’t forgotten the stories Draggar shared about the Xeniiv tribe’s plight—or the dark shadow that is the tribe’s chief, Sevvern, and his alliance with our tribe’s enemy. Then, there’s the worry we’ve all felt since Sorrin’s mount returned.

“Be careful,” Maddie says, her voice soft but firm, and I know she’s thinking of her sister. She glances in the direction of the gates, then back to me.

I nod, offering her a small, reassuring smile even though my stomach twists with unease. “We will.”

As I turn to catch up to Draggar, I feel the weight of their gazes following me. The tension is palpable now, like a low hum in the air, and I can’t help but glance back at my friends. Crystal has already returned to the tubers, but her movements are slow as she slices through the purple flesh of the vegetables, while Maddie and Aria exchange quiet whispers.

I fall into step beside Draggar, and his hand finds mine without hesitation, his large fingers twining with mine in a gesture so natural that it feels as if we’ve been walking this way for a lifetime.

As we near the gates, thrown wide open like they always are during the daytime, I can make out the muffled sound of voices. Four figures stand just outside the wooden wall that surrounds the village, their faces are gray with exhaustion and lack of nourishment. Their frames are gaunt and covered in tattered clothing. The harsh sunlight exaggerates the hollows of their cheeks and the weariness that is carved into their features.

Merix is already there, standing beside a guard in the center of the entrance, blocking the Xeniiv’s path. The guard’s hand rests warily on the hilt of his sword as if he’s waiting for the slightest provocation to draw it on the four people in front of him. Beside him stands Jaran, and I brace myself.

Most of the guys in the Anuriix tribe have been welcoming, but Jaran has made it painfully clear he considers us unworthy of joining the tribe. His expression is a storm of barely contained anger. On the other side of him looms Vrok, his jaw clenched with tension as his sharp eyes track the Xeniiv’s every movement.

“They claim to be from the Xeniiv,” Jaran spits, his voice thick with disdain. “And they’re asking for refuge.”

Refuge? My gaze darts to Draggar, who stands at my side. His brow furrows, and his grip on my hand loosens, though his body remains tense.

“Let them in,” Draggar says, his voice steady but commanding. “And Merix, go tell Chief Daggir we have guests.”

Merix nods and takes off running, though he doesn’t have far to go as he meets Daggir only a few yards away. The guard begins to move out of the way, but Jaran places a hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Guests?!? They’re not any guests of ours,” Jaran sneers. “You would put us all at risk for a handful of dross. Wait until Daggir hears about this.”

“What will I do, Jaran?” Chief Daggir walks up beside us, his gray eyes flashing with anger. “They are unarmed, and their desperation is written on their faces. If they meant harm, they wouldn’t come this way.” His gaze locks with Jaran’s, then, Vrok’s, before he continues to speak, his words coming out like steel. “Step aside.”

For a moment, I think Jaran might argue further, his jaw tight as his lips press into a thin line as a shadow of defiance flickers across his face. I notice Vrok’s hand hovering near the hilt of his sword, but Daggir doesn’t waver.

And finally, Jaran mutters under his breath and steps aside, Vrok silently following suit.

The guard shifts uneasily before moving to the side, allowing the Xeniiv to step through the open gate. Draggar’s hand is still entwined with mine, and he gives it a little squeeze of reassurance, but his gaze remains on the four figures before us.

The Xeniiv’s movements are slow and hesitant, as though they’re conserving what little strength they have left. The tallest among them—a man with hair that is such a pale silver it’s nearly white—leans heavily on a crutch fashioned from a thick branch. He takes another step forward, a grimace on his face. Tattoos swirl over his narrow arms and across his gaunt chest. His leg is wrapped tightly in rough bandages, stained with what lookslike dried blood. Despite his obvious pain, his silver eyes flicker between Draggar and me with curiosity.

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