“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 divergentbut 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 wasalive. 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 aprimitive 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.
Now that we were down here, the markings on these people were plain to see. Everyone had them, visible wherever skin showed. The patterns varied from person to person, but they did nothing to hide them. If anything, these marks were meant to be viewed. I wondered what they meant to them.
Rezor’s marks were particularly striking. He shrugged off the heavy coat he’d been wearing to reveal a bare chest that was so fucking ripped, my mouth went dry. The marks covered his chest and back, and showed up on his arms.
We were brought to the largest building in the settlement, a structure that rose three stories and was built into the side of a low hill. More guards stood at the entrance. Their gazes shifted through shades of blue and green as they opened heavy wooden doors.
Inside was warmer, lit by some kind of bioluminescent panels set into the walls. The main chamber was circular, with a high ceiling and what looked like a council setup. A semicircle of carved wooden seats faced a central platform, and every seat was occupied except for one, which was soon taken by the older, silver-haired female with braids who had been among the group who had found us.
The council members were mostly older. Their features were more weathered and the marks on their visible skin looked more elaborate. They turned as we entered, and the conversation that had been happening in low, urgent tones stopped abruptly. Their eyes shifted colors rapidly to a rainbow of reactions I couldn’t begin to interpret.
Rezor moved to stand before them, his posture formal. He spoke in their language, gesturing to us. I caught fragments through my translator, words that were starting to make sense.
Crash. Survivors. Sky people.
Those last words made several council members lean forward. Their gazes landed on us with sharp interest.
The older female with elaborate braids stood. She had the bearing of someone used to being listened to, and when she spoke, everyone else fell silent. Her eyes were a clear blue and her voice was unwavering as she addressed the chamber. Her words came fast, passionate, but my translator was starting to keep up.
“…three who fall from the storms, just as the prophecy foretold…”something“…signs have been building for cycles. The sanctuary will face its greatest trial, and we must…”
“The prophecy is not…”something“…of anything,” a large male interrupted, his voice harsh. He had the build of a career soldier and scars that backed it up. His eyes flashed red with obvious anger. “These are intruders. Unknown. Potentially hostile. We should…”something“…them before they bring disaster upon us.”
