Chapter 13 Lia
LIA
The metal beneath us hums—deep and resonant, like a distant heartbeat buried beneath a thousand years of sand. Travnyk lifts his head, sharp and sudden.
“That was from… within,” he murmurs, low.
Within the ship. Within the thing that opened for us. For me.
A cold tremor snakes along my spine. I take a step back from the widening seam, and Rakkh’s arm comes around me again—protective, tense, cool, and reassuring.
I shouldn’t lean into him, but I do. I shouldn’t crave his touch, but my knees feel like they’re melting, and I can’t quite stay upright on my own.
“We need to leave. We need to leave—right now—” Tomas whispers.
He stops talking at the sound of sand outside the hull shifting. Slow and heavy—a warning that the creature we escaped earlier hasn’t given up. It’s hunting. Waiting for a mistake. Waiting for the weakest link. My stomach tightens painfully.
“Tomas,” I whisper, “be quiet.”
Rakkh growls low—not at Tomas this time, but at the desert. And then the violet pulse comes again. A faint shimmer glows deep inside the ship’s cracked hull. Not bright or threatening. No, it’s more like a… calling.
It feels warm—somehow—familiar, like a memory that doesn’t belong to me.
My breath catches. Rakkh feels the shift and gently spins me to face him. He grips my shoulders, eyes fierce and too bright. Shining with a fire that feels like he’s burning through the layers of who I present to the world until all that’s left is me—without anything to shield me.
“What do you feel?” he demands, voice low, controlled—but there’s an edge that makes it clear he’s barely holding himself back.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It’s like—it’s like déjà vu, but deeper. In my bones.”
He growls, baring his teeth at the ship.
“That is not memory. That is manipulation.”
“It’s not manipulating me,” I say, though I’m no longer sure.
His grip softens, but his voice does not.
“You do not walk toward that pulse unless you walk behind me.”
Travnyk approaches the seam again and touches the outer curve of the ship with the tip of one finger.
“This vessel… it is not dead.” He glances at me. “It wakes because she is here.”
I swallow hard.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes every kind of sense,” Rakkh mutters darkly.
The dune outside shudders again, and it feels angrier. If a massive pile of sand can feel at all. Tomas whimpers and backpedals into the wall.
Rakkh releases me only long enough to brace both feet wider, shifting his stance, wings half-flaring instinctively.
“They come,” he says softly. “Not one beast. Several.”
“We can’t go back out there,” I say, prickles racing over my skin.
“No,” he agrees. His jaw tightens. “We must go further in.”
Tomas chokes on a breath. “Deeper? Inside that? Are you insane?”
Travnyk, calm as ever, lifts a brow ridge.
“Outside is certain death. Deeper inside is… possible death.”
“That is not better!” Tomas squeaks.
“It is better odds,” Travnyk corrects.
Rakkh turns to me, ignoring Tomas entirely.
“Lia. You choose.”
The others freeze. Zmaj do not ask humans to choose. Urr’ki do not ask humans to choose. Humans barely ask other humans to choose, either.
My breath shakes as I look between them. The dune trembles again, sending a ripple of sand sliding down to trickle through the opening. Something massive is burrowing closer—possibly several somethings. And I am certain that we will not all survive another open-ground attack.
I turn toward the hall. A soft violet glow pulses deeper in the dark, and I don’t think it’s a trap. It’s only a feeling—I have no way of knowing—but I don’t think it’s a lure. I think it’s… recognition.
“We go deeper,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect of myself.
Rakkh nods once—sharp and decisive. He moves toward the beckoning hall, no hesitation, no display of a single doubt. I wish I felt the same, but my stomach is a knot. Travnyk waits for me to move, while Tomas hovers near, trembling so hard I can hear his teeth chattering.
Rakkh steps into the hall, and then—a roar shakes the dune behind us.
Not one roar—
Three.
Rakkh’s head snaps toward the sound. His wings flare wide, forming a barrier between me and the desert.
“Come. Now.”
My doubts pale beneath the more immediate threat from outside.
I hurry across the open space until I’m almost on Rakkh’s back.
The violet glow ahead flickers once, almost as if it’s greeting.
My skin prickles as if something in the ship recognizes something in me—my heartbeat, my breath, or my blood.
Rakkh growls low and deadly as he leads, blocking the tunnel with his massive form.
Sand shifts outside as heavy bodies circle the vessel.
And as Rakkh leads us into the dim violet dark, one truth settles into my chest, cold and certain.
We may have escaped the burrowers, but we have not escaped the ship.
The moment we pass the threshold into the passage, the sound changes.
Not silence—never silence on Tajss—but the sound is filtered. The roar of the burrowers dulls, distorted, as if it’s being pushed through layers of thick cloth. Sand scrapes faintly against metal behind us. Something massive shifts. Something tests the hull.
Rakkh does not stop moving.
He leads us deeper into the corridor, one step at a time, wings flared wide, tail sweeping the ground behind him in a slow, lethal arc. He is a wall between us and the ship. Between us and whatever lies ahead.
Travnyk brings up the rear, sandwiching Tomas and me between the two, wholly different aliens.
Different, yes, but are they really so different?
Their species were at war for so many generations that it was a way of life.
Until we humans came along. Maybe we humans are serving a greater purpose here on Tajss. I hope so.
The passage slopes downward, shallow but steady. I touch the wall, pressing my palm against the metal, and it’s warm—warmer than it should be. Not heat like sunbaked stone. Heat like blood. Like circulation.
The violet glow pulses, stronger now that we’re inside. It crawls along the seams of the walls in thin, veinlike lines, dimming and brightening in time with something I feel more than hear.
A heartbeat that is not mine. I swallow hard and force my feet to keep moving. Tomas stumbles behind me, his boots scraping.
“I—I don’t like this,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I really don’t like this.”
“No one asked,” Rakkh growls without looking back.
I do glance back. Tomas is pale and sweating profusely. Behind him, Travnyk is calm as ever, his gaze tracking the walls, the ceiling, the floor. His eyes flick to the glow, then to me.
“It responds faster now,” he murmurs.
I nod, though my mouth has gone dry. “It knows we’re here.”
It knows I’m here.
The corridor narrows, curving slightly left. The walls are smooth, seamless, grown rather than built—organic metal, like Travnyk said. I brush my fingers against it by accident and flinch.
The glow ripples outward from the point of contact. It’s surprising, but it’s not fast, so I don’t think it’s an alarm or something aggressive. More like awareness.
“Sorry,” I whisper—to the ship or myself, I’m not sure.
Rakkh glances back sharply. “Do not apologize to it.”
“I wasn’t,” I lie.
The floor shudders again—harder this time, as something outside slams into the hull. The impact reverberates through the corridor, rattling my teeth.
“That thing is going to tear its way in!” Tomas yelps.
Rakkh stops. Just stops, right there in the passage, forcing all of us to halt. He plants his feet, spreads his wings until they brush the walls on either side. His presence fills the corridor, dominating it.
“No,” he says. “It will not.”
Another impact, and this one feels closer. The ship answers.
The violet glow flares—still not bright, not violent—but the metal beneath our feet hums louder, deeper. The sound crawls up my bones, setting my teeth on edge.
Then the corridor tightens.
Not so much visibly or dramatically. It’s the air pressure that shifts, increasing. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. The walls vibrate, almost imperceptibly, and somewhere behind us there’s a grinding sound—metal sliding against metal.
A seal.
“Did it just… close?” I ask, my breath stuttering.
Travnyk nods slowly. “Partial lockdown.”
“For us?” Tomas squeaks.
“For them,” Rakkh says.
Outside, the impacts stop, and I don’t for a second believe it’s because the burrowers have gone. I think they’ve lost purchase. The realization hits me like a cold wave.
“It’s defending itself,” I whisper. “Not us. The ship.”
“And by extension,” Travnyk adds softly, “you.”
The corridor bends again, opening into a wider chamber that’s not really a room, more like a junction. The ceiling arches overhead, ribbed with supports that look disturbingly biological. The violet glow pools here, stronger, brighter, but still restrained. Controlled.
I step forward despite myself. Rakkh’s hand snaps out, catching my wrist.
“Do not wander,” he says sharply.
“I’m not wandering,” I whisper back. “I’m… listening.”
The words feel strange as soon as they leave my mouth. But they’re true. The hum isn’t random—it’s patterned. It rises and falls in patterns I can almost anticipate. The glow brightens when I focus on it. Dims when I look away.
It’s not speaking. It’s reacting to me. I close my eyes and the sensation deepens.
It’s pressure behind my eyes. A flicker of something—images, maybe, or impressions. Metal. Stars. A sense of waiting. Of holding position. Of watching the sky for something that never came.
My breath catches painfully. Rakkh’s grip tightens.
“Lia.”
I open my eyes. The glow recedes slightly, as if chastened.
“I think…” My voice shakes. I clear my throat. “I think it’s damaged. Confused.”
Tomas lets out a shaky laugh. “You don’t say.”
“No,” I insist. “It’s reacting to threats like they’re still… current. Like it’s still at war.”
Rakkh’s jaw tightens. “With whom?”
I look at the walls. At the glow. At the grown metal that doesn’t belong to Tajss—or any world I know.
“I don’t think it knows the war ended,” I whisper.
A tremor runs through the hull. Not an impact this time. Something internal shifting. Systems rerouting. The glow surges along the floor, flowing deeper into the ship—down a corridor that slopes away from us. An invitation or a directive.
Travnyk watches it, thoughtful.
“It opens paths for you,” Travnyk says.
“For me,” I agree quietly.
Rakkh steps closer, his presence a solid weight at my side. “Then you do not go alone.”
I look up at him. His eyes burn in the dim light, fierce and unyielding—and afraid, though he would never admit it.
“I won’t,” I say.
Outside, something scrapes against the hull again—frustrated, searching—but the sound is distant, muted by layers of metal and sand.
Ahead, the ship waits, and I know—with a certainty that settles deep in my chest—that whatever answers we’re looking for… they’re not behind us anymore. They’re ahead. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hold it. When I exhale, it feels like the corridor does too.
Not with an exhale of air, but with a presence. A subtle change in pressure that makes the fine hairs along my arms lift. The violet glow deepens, flowing forward in a slow, deliberate pulse, illuminating a passage that curves gently downward.
The ship isn’t rushing us, but it is guiding us. I take a step, slow and uncertain. All of this is too strange to truly contemplate. Rakkh’s hand tightens on my wrist—not stopping me, just anchoring me. A reminder that I’m still here. Still flesh. Still human.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, though I’m not sure who I’m reassuring.
“I know,” he says. “That is why I hold you.”
My throat tightens. He doesn’t loosen his grip, but moves with me as I step forward, our shoulders nearly touching. His cool presence is a constant, a grounding, a counterpoint to the strange warmth of the metal beneath my boots.
The passage widens and opens into another chamber—smaller than the last. It has a lower ceiling with curved walls that feel…
intentional. It’s designed to stop you. A waiting area.
Travnyk enters last, scanning the space with measured calm.
His tusks catch the violet light as he lowers his head slightly, studying the seams in the walls.
“This area is not transit,” he says. “It is… a hold. Or a buffer.”
“A safe room?” Tomas asks weakly.
Travnyk considers. “Once. Perhaps.”
Perhaps. Thanks, Travnyk. Not helping.
Another deep vibration rolls through the hull—not violent, not abrupt, not like something hitting the hull. This is more like a system settling into place, and then the ship hums louder. Only for a moment before softening again, as if it’s satisfied.
I exhale slowly, roll my neck and shoulders, and then look at Rakkh.
“It’s stabilizing,” I say.
Rakkh looks down at me sharply. “You are certain?”
“As certain as I can be when standing inside an alien vessel that seems to be reacting to… well… me,” I say.
My attempt at humor falls flat, witnessed by no one laughing. Not even Rakkh gives me a sympathy chuckle.
The glow shifts, concentrating along a single wall. Thin lines brighten, tracing a shape—an outline I recognize before I fully understand it’s a panel. It’s not exactly a door—more like a membrane, grown thinner than the surrounding hull. My pulse spikes.
“No,” Rakkh says instantly. “You do not approach that.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself, then sigh. “Okay. I am. But slowly.”
He exhales through his teeth, clearly restraining the urge to physically pick me up and move me elsewhere. Travnyk steps closer to the panel, careful and respectful. He does not touch it—only studies it.
“This section carries internal data pathways,” he says.
“You’re sure?” Tomas asks.
Travnyk tilts his head slightly, considering. “No.”
Nice, Travnyk. You’re just the master of comforting statements.
The panel hums again, and there’s no doubt in my mind it’s reacting to me. The glow brightens when I step closer, and it dims when I step back. I raise my hand, stopping just short of the surface.
“Last time it reacted when I touched it,” I say quietly. “I think… I think it’s waiting for confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?” Tomas whispers.
I swallow. “Of me. Of who I am.”
Rakkh and I stare at one another, tension rising hard and fast.