Chapter 3
Cleo
The trek from the crash site was brutal.
Every step sent sharp pain shooting through my bruised ribs.
My wrists were sore where the binding cords chafed my skin.
The cold had settled into my bones during those first terrible minutes in the pod, and now it radiated outward with each gust of wind that tore through the mountain pass.
I was pretty sure I had a mild concussion from the crash, given the way my vision occasionally swam when I turned my head too fast.
But I was alive. We were all alive. For now, anyway.
I didn’t need to be an anthropologist to take one look at our “rescuers” and see that they were related to the Destrans.
Somewhere along the evolutionary tree, these two species had a common ancestor.
If they had any intelligence at all—and I suspected they did—they probably didn’t miss the resemblance, either.
What that meant for the three of us stranded on this planet, I didn’t know.
But for now, all I had to do was put one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t as easy as it looked.
The mountain path was a nightmare of loose rock and hidden ice.
One wrong step and you’d plummet hundreds of meters to the jagged rocks below.
But the these people moved with practiced ease.
Their booted feet found purchase where I saw only treacherous stone.
The guards flanking us kept close, hands on their weapons, eyes constantly scanning for threats.
I cataloged everything, starting with the quality of their equipment.
It showed sophisticated metalworking despite the primitive setting.
The way they moved in formation around the tall male who’d caught me at the crash site.
He was clearly their leader based on the deference they showed him.
Where his clothing shifted with movement, I caught glimpses of intricate markings on his arms and what I could see of his neck.
They looked just like Destran mating marks, but they were all over.
The others with him also had an abundance of these marks.
Maybe they had many mates, so there was a mark for each.
Rezor. That’s what the others had called him. Lord Rezor.
I couldn’t stop looking at him.
He led the group with confidence and quiet authority.
He was taller than the rest of them, with a powerful build that still moved with agility.
His skin was a deep golden bronze, thick and textured in a way that reminded me of leather, but somehow still elegant.
Probably an adaptation to the harsh climate.
His face was all sharp angles and strong features.
High cheekbones, a nose that had clearly been broken at least once, a mouth that was grim and sensual at the same time.
Intense was the word that kept coming to mind.
Everything about him radiated controlled power.
Absolute authority. But the seven guards with him clearly did not fear him.
That was one mark in his favor, at least.
And his eyes. They were utterly striking. They’d been pale green at the crash site, but now they shifted through shades of amber and gold as he surveyed the path ahead. Not like Destran skin that changed with emotion, but something unique. beautiful, and deeply unsettling.
Every few minutes, those eyes found me.
And when they did, they changed. Deepened. Shifted to a vivid fuchsia that was impossible to miss and equally impossible to interpret. He’d look at me for a moment too long, his expression unreadable, and that color would bloom in his irises like some kind of biological alarm system.
It was unnerving as hell. Not threatening, exactly, but intense. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle and I was the missing piece. Each time our gazes met, something tightened in my chest. Something that had nothing to do with bruised ribs or thin air.
Focus, Cleo. You’re a prisoner of an unknown species on a potentially hostile world. Stop ogling the guy who ordered you tied up.
Ahead of me, Baleck was supporting Mierva, who looked like she was barely staying conscious. Her broken arm had been hastily splinted with strips of cloth and a knife sheath, and her face was tight with pain. At least they’d left her hands free. Small mercies.
“How are you holding up?” I asked quietly, not sure if they’d understand. My translator had been working overtime since the crash, picking up fragments of their language and trying to map it to known linguistic patterns.
“I have been better,” Mierva said through gritted teeth. Her voice was thin. “But I am alive to see this day. That is something.”
Baleck glanced back at me, his orange eyes steady despite the stress patterns rippling across his color-shifting skin. “You?”
“Cold. Annoyed,” I replied. “Wondering what the hell just happened back there.”
“Their language is related to Destran,” he said. “But it’s a strange dialect. I can only get parts of it.”
“Same with my translator. Maybe I can adjust it.” I shifted my bound hands up to press against the spot behind my right ear where my translation implant sat embedded under the skin. Three quick taps in a specific pattern, then a longer press. The device switched from processing to adaptation mode.
The implant was standard issue for deep space exploration. Subcutaneous, powered by body heat, designed to learn and adapt to new languages. It had been picking up the new speech patterns since the crash site, comparing them to its database of known languages.
A quiet voice spoke in my mind, but it was the clear digital tones of the translator device giving me an update: Linguistic similarities to ancient Destran dialects.
Approximately forty percent cognate overlap.
Grammatical structures divergent but identifiable.
Recommendation: Continue passive learning. Comprehension improving.
This was tangible proof that these people were related to Destrans.
Distant cousins, maybe. That explained the general body structure, the similar language roots.
But their skin was different. That thick, bronze hide instead of the color-shifting dermis.
An evolutionary adaptation, probably. Destrans lived in their Solas, protected from environmental extremes.
These people looked like they’d evolved to survive in the harshest conditions imaginable.
Instead of their skin changing color, their eyes did.
The path widened slightly, and I caught my first glimpse of what lay beyond the mountains.
My breath caught, despite everything.
The valley spread out below us like something from a dream.
Where the mountains were barren ice and rock, the valley was alive.
Trees with broad leaves in shades of green and gold covered the lower slopes.
I could see cultivated fields in geometric patterns, buildings that seemed to grow organically from the landscape, and what looked like a settlement clustered around a central structure.
The temperature was different too. Warmer.
The wind was gone, replaced by a light breeze.
This had to be some kind of microclimate, probably created by the valley’s natural geography.
Though that didn’t fully explain the dramatic difference.
There had to be something else at work. Technology, maybe, or some natural phenomenon I didn’t understand yet.
In the distance, past the edge of the mountain, I could see the black, churning clouds of the storms that raged out there.
Poor Zara, and the rest of the crew, were hopefully someplace safe.
“Incredible,” Mierva breathed beside me, evidently focused on something closer at hand. “Look at the architecture. Those buildings. They’re similar to Destran room shapes, but evolved differently. This is an isolated population. They must have been here for centuries. Maybe longer.”
“Focus on not passing out,” Baleck said gently, adjusting his grip to support more of her weight. “You can study their architecture after you’re rested.” He glanced around worriedly. “I hope they have a physician or a healer who can properly tend your arm.”
The path descended, bringing us closer to the valley floor.
As we moved lower, I saw more details. People working in the forest and in garden plots.
They looked up at our approach with expressions that ranged from curious to hostile.
Children playing near the buildings stopped to stare.
Everyone had that same golden bronze skin, those same sharp features, those color-shifting eyes.
And most were armed. Even the ones who looked like farmers carried blades at their hips.
A society under threat. Living in isolation. Suspicious of outsiders.
Great. This was going to be fun.
Rezor called out something in their language as we approached the settlement’s edge. The workers straightened, their hands moving to weapons but not drawing them. Showing respect, I realized. And wariness.
We were marched through streets that were surprisingly well-maintained.
Stone paving, drainage systems that spoke of sophisticated engineering, buildings that combined natural materials with what looked like metal supports.
This wasn’t a primitive society. They’d just chosen, or been forced, to live apart from whatever existed beyond these mountains.
People came out to watch us pass. Their stares felt like physical weight.
I kept my head up, refusing to show fear even as exhaustion made my legs tremble.
Beside me, Baleck did the same, his jaw set in determination.
His skin mirrored the far-off storm clouds with a churn of dark blue and gray patterns.