“Designed.” Rhyx’s mouth twisted. “That’s one word for it.”
“Is there another?”
“Bred. Modified. Engineered over countless generations until we barely remembered what we’d been before.” The golden male’s hands clenched at his sides. “I have memories of flying in a body that was not like this. Of wings that caught thermal currents over desert sands. But very little else.”
Something shifted in Adjar’s expression. The hostility didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened..
“My memories are also incomplete,” he admitted. “I remember the Vaults. My duty. The decision to enter preservation. But before that…” He shook his head. “Fragments. Pieces that don’t fit together.”
“Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere warmer?” Alina suggested. “And with fewer opportunities for property damage?”
Jaz glanced at the buckled storage unit, the scattered coolant residue, and the scorch marks on the ground where claws had struck sparks.
“Probably wise,” she agreed.
Alina led them towards a squat building on the outskirts of Dustfall. The architecture was typical for a Martian settlement with prefabricated modules connected by pressurized corridors, designed for function rather than aesthetics. But there were small touches that spoke of long habitation. Decorative panels mounted on exterior walls. A small garden of hardy arctic plants growing in a sheltered alcove. Signs of community rather than mere survival.
“Most of the settlement’s population is cyborg-affiliated,” Alina explained as they walked. “Not modified themselves, necessarily, but connected to the ranger program in some way. Families, support staff, retired operatives. They’re used to unusual visitors.”
“Unusual visitors like Rhyx?”
“He took some getting used to.” Alina glanced back at the golden male, who was walking beside her with a possessive hand on her lower back. “But they adapted. The cyborgs especially have a different perspective on what counts as ‘normal.’”
The building’s interior was surprisingly warm and comfortable. She had expected functional minimalism, but instead found herself in what appeared to be a common area with actual furniture—couches, chairs, a long table that could seat eight. The walls were decorated with artwork, some of it clearly Martian-made, and some imported from Earth.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Alina said as she removed her breathing mask. “I’ll get something to drink. Rhyx, help me in the kitchen?”
The golden male didn’t look happy about leaving Adjar unwatched, but he followed his mate without argument. She watched them disappear through a doorway, then turned to find Adjar standing absolutely rigid in the center of the room.
“Breathe,” she said quietly.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re also radiating enough territorial aggression to make my teeth ache. Relax.”
His eyes met hers, and she saw the effort it took him to relax his muscles and retract his claws, folding his wings more tightly against his back.
“Better?”
“Better.” She put a soothing hand on his arm, gently stroking the tense muscles. “I know this is hard. Another male, in close quarters, when your instincts are still screaming about threats. But these people might be our best chance at understanding what’s happening. We need them as allies, not enemies.”
“I understand.” His voice was rough. “But understanding does not make it easier.”
“Nothing about this is easy.” She let her hand drop. “Come on. Let’s sit down like civilized beings and try to have a conversation that doesn’t end in violence.”
They chose seats at the long table—close enough together that their legs touched beneath the surface, far enough from the kitchen doorway to give the other couple their own space. She found herself studying the room’s details while they waited, cataloging escape routes and defensive positions out of habit.
When did I become so paranoid?she wondered. But she knew the answer. The moment she’d decided to help Adjar rather than leave him in the snow, her entire life had changed. The comfortable isolation she’d built over the years was gone. Now she was a fugitive, hunted by the most powerful corporation on Mars, trying to protect an ancient being she’d known for less than two weeks.
And somehow, despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
Alina and Rhyx returned with a tray of steaming cups and a plate of protein biscuits. The domestic normalcy of the gesture—offering refreshments to guests—struck her as almost absurd given the circumstances. Two ancient Martian males, one an ice dragon with massive wings and the other a golden warrior with scales that caught the light like armor, sitting at a table drinking tea.
“So,” Alina said, settling into a chair across from Jaz. Rhyx positioned himself beside her, his body angled to keep both the door and Adjar in his peripheral vision. “R-339 said you found him during a polar storm?”
“He found me, technically.” She wrapped her hands around the warm cup. “Or rather, he exploded out of the ice and destroyed my mining rig. I found him unconscious in the debris.”
“You probably should have left me there,” he said quietly. “It would have been safer for you.”
