The pain sharpens, searching. Testing for weakness. For anger. For loss of control. I give it nothing.
Slowly—so slowly it’s nearly imperceptible—I shift my weight. A fraction off the damaged shoulder. Redistribution. Efficiency.
The pressure eases. Not gone. Never gone. But reduced. They are measuring. They increase. I endure. They adjust. I have seen what happens when the pattern breaks. I do not let it break.
Movement beyond the chamber.
One of them steps forward. Taller. Longer. Its limbs fold and unfold with unnatural precision. It stops directly in front of me, separated by the barrier.
I keep my gaze lowered. Timing matters. The band at my throat tightens slightly. A warning. A reminder of where it rests against my skin. I catalog the sensation.
The tall one extends a limb. The surface between us ripples where it touches—light bending, distorting.
A contact point. I mark the location.
The air shifts again. Colder. Drier. The faint metallic tang that is always present disappears completely.
Reset. New sequence. I lift my head a fraction.
Beyond the chamber, past the distorted shapes of the observers, there is a break in the structure. A gap. Darkness. Space. And beyond it a curve.
Faint. Distant. Dust-veiled. Swirling red. Tajss. My chest tightens.
Not visibly. Not enough for them to measure. But inside—recognition.
Heat. Sand. Wind that cuts across skin and carries the taste of stone. Weight that pulls instead of this hollow imitation. Home.
They let me see it. On purpose. It is another test.
I lower my gaze again before the reaction can take hold. They want that. I do not give it.
The tall one shifts. The hum deepens, building beneath everything like pressure before a storm. Something is coming. Something new. I go still. Not passive. Ready. Waiting for the moment they make a mistake.
The chamber goes dark. Not fully. Not absence. Controlled reduction.
The hum shifts first—lower, deeper, vibrating through bone instead of air. The restraints tighten in response, not enough torestrict movement, just enough to remind me where I end and they begin.
Change.
I lift my head a fraction.
The barrier in front of me ripples. Not like before. This time, it is wider. Slower. Light bends inward, folding into itself until the surface becomes something else entirely.
Not a wall. A display. The first image appears without warning. Movement. Heat. Sand. Tajss.
Not distant this time. Close. Ground-level. Wind dragging dust across rock. The angle is wrong—too smooth, too steady—but the details are right. Terrain I know. Space I remember.
I don’t move. They’re watching for that.
Figures enter the frame. Zmaj.
Recognition hits immediately. Not thought. Not analysis. Simply known.
Movement patterns. Structure. Weight distribution. Efficiency. But they are not alone. Others move with them.
Alien. Smaller. Narrower. Softer structure. Pink-skinned. No scales. Their movements lack discipline, but not purpose. They gesture. Speak. Shift position in ways that suggest communication I cannot hear.
Unknown.
