The sun—if it could be called that—loomed low in the alien sky, casting a coppery hue across the rugged terrain as Kiran trudged forward with Aarya in his arms. She'd protested at first, tried to walk on her own, but after stumbling twice on the uneven ground and with a swollen ankle that ached more than she cared to admit, she gave in.
He didn't seem to mind carrying her. In fact, he moved with the casual strength of someone used to hauling weight far heavier than her.
"We'll reach the edges of the Northern Ridge before the second dusk," he said without looking at her. "My brothers are there. You'll be safe."
"Your… brothers?" Aarya asked, cautiously. "You live together?"
"Yes. Ten of us. Survive together. Hunt together. We are…"—he searched for the right word—"...family."
Aarya's stomach twisted. Ten. All male.
A chill slid down her spine, not from the cold wind blowing through the valley, but from the realization that had been slowly unfurling since her arrival.
There are no women here.
None. Not in the ruins, not in the alien temples, not in any of the creatures or skeletal remains she'd seen. The strange stares Kiran gave her. The way he couldn't seem to categorize her. The way he thought she was malformed, soft, weak—like a juvenile or something even more delicate.
They don't even know what a woman is anymore.
The implications hit her hard and fast.
If they find out…
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
"I need to stop," she said suddenly, lifting her head. "Please. I need to clean myself. I—I've been walking, bleeding, sweating—"
Kiran stopped. He turned, gaze unreadable, his glowing blue veins pulsing with slow rhythm.
"Clean?"
"Yes. I'm not like you. I need to bathe. It's a... ritual."
He looked toward a fork in the terrain, where strange mist curled around the rocks and trees grew with gnarled purple trunks. "There is a stream," he said after a beat. "Not far."
He set her down and led her through a narrow path, stopping where crystalline water trickled down jagged rocks into a natural pool surrounded by thick vines and bright flowers. The air smelled... sweet. Too sweet.
"I will wait over there," he said, pointing to a large boulder. "But hurry. We don't want the night air on our backs."
Aarya gave a tight nod, her heart thudding as she stepped into the foliage alone. She clutched her pendant, activating its scan to check for toxins or immediate threats.
Mild airborne compounds. Non-lethal. May cause minor dizziness.
The readout pulsed. She narrowed her eyes.
This place is too beautiful to be safe.
She stepped into the water, letting it wash over her tired skin. It was strangely warm, almost soothing. She splashed her face, scrubbing at the dirt and dried blood.
Then, quietly, she looked toward the path Kiran had come from.
This was her chance.
Her chance to slip away, to get some distance, find a better hiding place, gather data, maybe even fix the teleportation mechanism on her pendant. If she was found out, she couldn't imagine what would happen.
She slipped from the pool, gathering her wet clothing and wrapping it around her. Her foot throbbed, but she pressed forward into the trees. The further she walked, the heavier her head felt.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
She stumbled.
Her hands caught onto a vine for balance, but it was covered in shimmering yellow spores. They puffed into the air around her.
The sweet scent deepened, sickly-syrupy, filling her nose and throat.
Pollen…
She gasped—but her limbs already felt heavy. Her knees buckled.
The pendant chirped frantically—Warning: Neurotoxin detected. Temporary paralysis expected.
Her body refused to obey her.
She collapsed among the moss and petals, her limbs locked in place, chest rising in shallow, rapid breaths. She could see the sky turning darker overhead, the stars flickering like alien eyes.
No. No. Not now. Not like this.
She tried to scream, but her throat had seized. Tears welled in her eyes from the panic, from the helplessness. She had walked right into a trap. A natural one. A beautiful one. Just like everything on this world—deadly beneath the surface.
Footsteps thundered through the trees.
Kiran's voice, alarmed and low, cut through the rising hum in her ears. "Child?"
He rushed to her, scooping her up, cradling her carefully. "What did you touch?" he growled.
She couldn't speak.
He sniffed the air, then cursed in a language she didn't understand.
"You touched the sleeping bloom." He shook his head, eyes sharp with worry. "You're lucky it didn't eat you. You don't know anything, do you?"
His grip was firmer this time, almost angry—but not at her. At himself. At this world.
"You're too soft for this place."
As he carried her back toward the path, she saw the worried flicker in his golden eyes.
He didn't know she was female.
He still thought she was a child.
But that wouldn't last forever.
And in this world of giants, spores, and ancient silence—her secrets were the only weapons she had.
The sky above had deepened into a strange violet dusk. Wisps of soft bioluminescent clouds floated overhead, casting surreal glows across the landscape. The massive warrior carried Aarya in his arms as gently as if she were made of silk threads. Her skin was clammy from the mist, her breaths shallow. She'd passed out after inhaling the pollen, her fragile body overwhelmed.
The warrior crouched beside a cluster of glowing, mossy stones near a cave. The warmth from thermal vents rolled in soft gusts. He lay her on the moss, brushing her tangled hair from her brow. His brows furrowed.
"She... too warm," he murmured in his own language, eyes glowing faintly as they scanned her face.
The pollen hadn't just made her unconscious—it had soaked her clothes with a sticky, yellow resin. The soft human fabric clung to her skin like wet leaves. It didn't smell right. And worse, it was drying stiff—an infection risk.
He didn't want to do this.
But if he didn't, she might get sick.
With gentle fingers and nervous tension rolling through his thick frame, he began to peel away the damp layers. His large hands dwarfed the fragile cotton. And then he froze.
His breath hitched.
His glowing eyes darted over her body—delicate curves, smooth skin, the slight swell of her hips, the soft fullness that clearly did not belong to any child he'd ever seen.
He sat back on his heels, jaw clenched. "What are you?"
His heart beat loud in his ears, confusion rising like a tide. There were no females on this planet. None. Not anymore.
And this small being—who fit in his arms like a hatchling—looked like she'd been carved of something impossibly soft. Too soft. Too vulnerable.
"Disfigured?," he whispered, frowning deeply. "Is that why you're so small? Why you're shaped so... differently?"
There was no cruelty in his voice, only grief.
He felt sad.
Sad that someone so fragile, so oddly-formed, had been left to survive in this brutal place. His hand hovered just above her abdomen, not touching, but trembling with restraint.
And that's when she stirred.
Aarya gasped.
Her lashes fluttered open, and she saw him—this giant creature kneeling over her, concern etched into the deep lines of his brow. She felt air touch her bare skin and realized the weight of the moment.
Panic crashed through her.
She tried to push him away, but her limbs were sluggish, her head spinning.
"Don't—don't look at me!" she rasped, trying to curl away.
But his hand reached out instinctively—to comfort, not to restrain. His palm pressed lightly against her shoulder.
And everything broke.
A pulse of heat rippled under her skin. Her pendant flared with light.
Then came the burst.
A wind-like force exploded from her chest, rippling outwards in shimmering waves. The moss scorched. The air shimmered.
The warrior was thrown back, landing on one knee with a grunt, staring at her—eyes wide, lips parted, in stunned silence.
Aarya clutched her chest, trembling, terrified. Her skin glowed faintly—her heartbeat thudding through her ribcage like a drum of war.
"I—I didn't mean to—" she stammered, eyes wet.
The warrior, still kneeling, looked at her like she was a star fallen from the sky.
And then, slowly, he bowed his head.
Not out of fear.
But reverence.
"I not know what you are," he said softly, "but you not broken."
Aarya blinked.
The way he said it—like he believed it. Like he meant it.
And in that moment, something warm curled in her chest.
Fear and wonder, tangled into one.