The pattern continued for another month. Solo surveys. Falsified reports. Encounters with Khira'esthai that grew longer, more frequent, more complex.
She taught me more Sorath. I taught her some human words—though she struggled with them as much as I struggled with her language. We developed a hybrid communication, part Sorath, part English, part gesture and context.
She showed me more of Sanctuari territory. Sacred sites. Hunting grounds. Places where the Vearonsa were known to appear. She flew me on her cheatau more times than I could count, and each flight felt like a small rebellion against everything I'd been taught about the "proper" relationship between humans and indigenous species.
She was reckless. I realized that early on. She took risks that made my blood run cold—flying too close to UOE patrol routes, landing in areas that were barely outside survey zones, bringing me to the outpost when any number of her people might have decided I was too dangerous to keep alive.
But she was also brilliant. Strategic. She understood the UOE's patterns better than most of my colleagues did. She knew where we'd survey next, what resources we were looking for, how to stay one step ahead of our expansion.
And she was testing me. Constantly. Pushing to see how far I'd go, how much I'd risk, whether my commitment to protecting her people was genuine or just some temporary moral crisis that would fade when things got difficult.
Things were about to get difficult.
I was in Vargas's office when I realized how much trouble I was in.
"Micah," he said, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled. "We need to talk about your reports."
My stomach dropped. But I kept my expression neutral. "Sir?"
"You've filed seventeen geological instability warnings in the past six weeks," he said. "Seventeen. That's more than any other surveyor has filed in the entire operation."
"The terrain is unstable," I said. "I'm just following protocol—"
"I know what protocol says," Vargas interrupted. "But I'm starting to see a pattern. Every sector you mark as unstable or hazardous just happens to be adjacent to areas where we've detected indigenous activity."
Shit.
"That's coincidental," I said. "The natives probably avoid unstable terrain for the same reasons we should—"
"Or," Vargas said, leaning forward, "you're deliberately steering us away from indigenous populations. Which would be a violation of your contract and grounds for immediate termination."
I held his gaze. "Why would I do that?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." He pulled up a holo-display, showing a map of our survey zones. Red markers indicated my instability warnings. Blue markers indicated confirmed indigenous sightings. The overlap was damning. "You spent three weeks with the natives, Micah. Three weeks we still don't have a full accounting of. And ever since you came back, your reports have been... questionable."
"I'm doing my job," I said.
"Are you?" He closed the display. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're protecting them. And I need to know if that's true."
I had a choice. I could confess. Come clean. Accept the consequences.
Or I could lie. Again.
"I'm not protecting anyone," I said. "I'm following survey protocol and reporting what I find. If you don't trust my assessments, send someone else to verify them."
Vargas studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"That's exactly what I'm going to do," he said. "Chen and Torres will re-survey sectors seven, twelve, and fifteen. If your reports are accurate, we'll proceed as planned. If they're not..." He let the threat hang in the air.
"Understood," I said.
"Dismissed."
I left his office with my heart pounding and my mind racing. Chen and Torres were good. Thorough. If they re-surveyed those sectors, they'd find exactly what I'd been hiding—stable ground, rich resources, and no legitimate reason to avoid them.
I had maybe three days before they filed their reports. Three days to figure out how to salvage this.
Three days to decide how far I was really willing to go.
That night, I broke protocol. I left base camp after dark, heading for the northwest foothills where I knew Khira'esthai sometimes patrolled.
I didn't have to wait long. She appeared within an hour, dropping from the trees with that predatory grace.
"Mikah," she said. Then she saw my face. "Thren-kai? Vai keth-nira..." What? You look...
"Sai-people nira," I said. My people know. "Sai-people nira sai keth-mera vai-people." My people know I hide your people.
Her expression hardened. "Thren-kai vai thal-sai?" What you land-my?
"Sai keth-nira," I said. I don't-know. "Sai... sai mera-keth thrae-sorai. Sai mera-keth..." I want-not invader. I want-not...
I didn't have the words. So I gestured—at her, at the forest, at the mountains. Then at myself. Then I made a cutting motion. Separation.
"Vai mera-keth sai-people," she said slowly. You want-not my people.
"Keth," I said. No. "Sai mera-keth vai-people. Sai mera... mera-thal vai-people." I want-not your people. I want... want-land your people.
She understood. I could see it in her eyes.
"Vai mera-thal Sanctuari," she said. You want-land Sanctuari.
"Sai," I said. Yes.
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she reached out and gripped my shoulder—hard enough that I felt her claws through my jacket.
"Vai thrae-vos," she said. You strange-very. "Vai... vai nira-keth-vos." You... you real-courage-very.
Then she released me and stepped back.
"Thal," she said, gesturing to the darkness behind her. Come. "Sai keth-mera vai. Sai keth-thren..." I hide you. I understand...
She trailed off, searching for words. Then she pressed her fist to her chest. Truth. Identity. Self.
"Sai keth-thren vai, Mikah," she said quietly. I understand you, Micah.
And somehow, impossibly, I believed her.
But belief wasn't enough. Not anymore.
"Khira'esthai," I said, and her eyes sharpened at the urgency in my voice. "Sai mera... mera-keth..." I struggled for the words, then switched to English, gesturing frantically. "Three days. My people. Coming here."
Her tail went still. "Vai-people? Thal?" Your people? Here?
"Sai," I confirmed. "Sai-people... keth-thraea. Sai-people mera-nira..." My people... fight. My people want-know...
I gestured at the mountains, at the forest, at her. Everything.
Khira'esthai's expression shifted—not fear, exactly, but something sharper. More calculating. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her thrae, and I saw the predator resurface in her midnight blue eyes.
"Thren-kai vai keth-mera sai?" she asked quietly. Why you hide me?
The question hit harder than I expected. Because she wasn't asking why I was warning her. She was asking why I was telling her at all. Testing whether this was genuine trust or just another form of manipulation. Whether I was protecting the Sanctuari or protecting myself.
I met her gaze. "Sai mera-keth vai-people thrae," I said. I want-not your people fight. "Sai mera-keth sai-people nira vai-thal." I want-not my people know your-land.
"Thren-kai?" Why?
"Vai-people..." I gestured at the outpost behind us, at the mountains, at everything the Sanctuari had built. "Nira-vos. Vai-people nira-sor." Real-very. Your people real-person.
Khira'esthai studied me for a long moment. Then she tilted her head. "Vai keth-mera sai-people keth-nira vai-thal," she said slowly. You hide my people don't-know your-land.
"Sai," I confirmed. Yes.
"Thren-kai?" How?
And that was the question, wasn't it? How was I going to hide an entire Sanctuari outpost from two of the UOE's most thorough surveyors? Chen would check every data point. Torres would question every anomaly. And Vargas was already suspicious.
I couldn't just file another vague report. I needed something concrete. Something that would satisfy their scrutiny and bury any trace of Sanctuari activity under layers of legitimate survey data.
I needed to give them exactly what they expected to find: nothing.
"Sai mera-keth..." I started, then switched to English, thinking out loud. "I need to go deeper. Into territory I haven't surveyed yet. Get real footage, real data. Make it look like I've been thorough."
Khira'esthai's eyes narrowed. "Keth-thren," she said. Not-understand.
I tried again in Sorath. "Sai mera-thal..." I gestured northeast, toward the unexplored ravines and ridges that I'd deliberately avoided. "Thal-thrae. Sai mera-nira thal-thrae." Land-fight. I want-know land-fight.
Her expression shifted to something between concern and comprehension. "Thal-thrae nira-keth," she said. Land-fight real-courage. "Thal-thrae... ateaer. Leasion."
"Sai keth-nira," I said. I know. "Sai mera-keth... sai mera-nira thal-thrae. Sai mera-keth sai-people nira vai-thal." I want-not... I want-know land-fight. I want-not my people know your-land.
The weight of what I was proposing settled over me like a physical thing. This wasn't passive omission anymore. This wasn't just failing to report what I'd seen. This was active sabotage. Deliberate falsification of survey data. Creating evidence designed to mislead the UOE and protect an alien civilization that, by every regulation and protocol I'd sworn to uphold, I should be reporting.
This was treason.
My hands were shaking. I shoved them into my pockets.
Khira'esthai watched me with those penetrating eyes, and I wondered what she saw. A traitor? An ally? A fool who didn't understand the magnitude of what he was doing?
"Vai keth-nira vai," she said quietly. You don't-know you.
"Sai keth-nira sai," I agreed. I don't-know me.
She was silent for a moment. Then she did something unexpected. She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint luminescence in her skin where it caught the moonlight, and pressed her fist to my chest. Truth. Identity. Self.
"Sai nira vai, Mikah," she said. I know you. "Vai nira-keth-vos. Vai keth-mera sai-people. Vai keth-mera vai-people." You real-courage-very. You hide my people. You hide your people.
"Vai nira-sor," she said. You real-person.
Then she released me and stepped back, her tail coiling with what I'd learned was determination.
"Sai keth-mera vai," she said. I hide you. "Sai... sai thal vai. Thal-thrae." I... I land you. Land-fight.
It took me a moment to understand. Then my eyes widened.
"You want to guide me?" I asked. "Into the ravines?"
"Sai," she confirmed. "Sai keth-mera vai nira thal-thrae. Sai keth-mera vai..." I hide you know land-fight. I hide you...
She made a gesture—protection, guidance. Then she tapped her chest. "Sai nira thal-thrae. Vai keth-nira." I know land-fight. You don't-know.
She was right. I didn't know that territory. Didn't know where the ateaer dens were, or the leasion hunting grounds, or the unstable cliff faces that could collapse under a careless step. Going in alone would be suicide.
But going in with her would be something else entirely. It would mean trusting her completely. Putting my life in her hands. Crossing another line in a series of lines I'd been crossing since the moment I'd decided not to report the Sanctuari outpost.
It would also mean putting her at risk. If something went wrong—if I got injured, if we encountered a UOE patrol, if Chen and Torres somehow tracked my movements—she'd be exposed. Compromised.
"Thrae-keth," I said. Dangerous. "Vai... vai keth-mera..." You... you hide...
I didn't have the words. But she understood anyway.
"Sai keth-nira," she said. I know. Then she smiled—that fierce, reckless smile that made her look impossibly young. "Sai nira-keth-vos, Mikah. Sai keth-mera vai." I real-courage-very, Micah. I hide you.
And I realized, standing there in the darkness with Thressa's two moons casting silver light across her deep violet skin, that this was the moment. The real point of no return. Not the falsified reports or the omitted data or the secret meetings. This. Accepting her help. Letting her guide me deeper into territory that would give me the evidence I needed to betray my own people.
Choosing her over them.
"Nira-vos," I said quietly. Thank you-very.
Khira'esthai tilted her head. "Thren-kai?" Why?
"Vai... vai nira-keth-vos," I said. You... you real-courage-very. "Vai keth-mera sai. Vai..." You hide me. You...
I pressed my fist to my own chest, mimicking her gesture. Truth. Identity. Self.
"Vai nira-sor," I said. You real-person.
Her eyes widened slightly. Then she smiled again—softer this time, less fierce and more... something else. Something that felt like the beginning of understanding.
"Thal, Mikah," she said. Come, Micah. "Sai keth-mera vai nira thal-thrae. Vai-people... vai-people nira-keth." I hide you know land-fight. Your people... your people real-courage.
She meant the Sanctuari. She was calling them my people now.
And the terrifying thing was, she wasn't wrong.
We left before dawn.
I'd spent the previous evening in my quarters, methodically checking my equipment with the kind of obsessive precision that had once earned me commendations. Survey camera with full battery and backup power cells. GPS tracker calibrated to Thressa's magnetic field variations. Soil sample kit with sterile containers and analysis strips. Datapad loaded with blank survey templates and geological reference databases. Everything I needed to document territory that would look thoroughly explored and completely unremarkable.
Everything I needed to lie convincingly.
The weight of the pack settled across my shoulders like penance. I'd done this a hundred times before—prepared for survey missions, checked my gear, planned my routes. But this time felt different. This time I was preparing to falsify data that would protect an alien civilization from my own people. This time I was walking into some of the most dangerous terrain on Thressa with a guide who was barely more than a girl, reckless and bold and utterly convinced of her own invincibility.
This time I was choosing treason.
Khira'esthai met me at the tree line, materializing from the pre-dawn shadows with that unnerving silence. She'd traded her usual leather armor for something lighter—still protective, but designed for speed and mobility. Her thrae hung at her hip, and I noticed she'd brought a bow as well, the kind of elegant recurve weapon that looked deceptively simple until you saw what it could do in skilled hands.
"Thal," she said. Come.
We moved northeast, away from the established survey routes and into territory I'd deliberately avoided. The terrain grew rougher almost immediately—loose scree that shifted underfoot, narrow ridges with sheer drops on either side, dense thickets of thorned vegetation that Khira'esthai navigated with fluid grace while I struggled behind her. The air tasted different here, sharper somehow, carrying scents I couldn't identify. Alien flowers bloomed in impossible colors, their petals tracking the rising sun with slow, predatory patience.
Beautiful. Deadly. Like everything on Thressa.
Khira'esthai moved through it all with the confidence of someone who'd been born to this landscape. She didn't look back to check if I was keeping up—she knew I was, could probably hear every labored breath and stumbling step. But she adjusted her pace anyway, subtle enough that I might not have noticed if I hadn't been watching her so carefully. Slowing at the difficult sections. Choosing paths that were challenging but not impossible.
Guiding me. Protecting me.
Two hours in, she stopped abruptly, one hand raised in a gesture I'd learned meant danger, silence, stillness. I froze. Ahead, something massive moved through the underbrush—an ateaer, its six eyes gleaming in the dappled sunlight, each one tracking a different vector of potential threat. The creature was easily twice my size, all muscle and armored hide and predatory focus.
Khira'esthai's hand drifted to her bow. Not drawing it. Not yet. Just... ready.
The ateaer's head swung toward us. All six eyes locked on our position.
Then Khira'esthai did something that made my heart stop. She stepped forward, deliberately, into clear view. Exposing herself. Drawing the creature's attention away from me and onto her.
The ateaer's lips peeled back, revealing rows of serrated teeth.
Khira'esthai stood her ground, tail coiled tight, one hand still resting on her bow. She made a sound—low, guttural, something between a growl and a challenge. The ateaer's ears flattened. Its muscles bunched.
Then it turned and melted back into the forest.
Khira'esthai glanced back at me, and I saw the fierce satisfaction in her midnight blue eyes. Showing off. Testing herself against a predator that could have killed her, just to prove she could make it back down.
Reckless. Brilliant. Terrifying.
"Thrae-keth," I said when I could breathe again. Dangerous.
She grinned. "Sai nira-keth-vos." I real-courage-very.
"Vai nira-thrae-vos," I countered. You real-dangerous-very.
Her grin widened.
We continued deeper. I stopped periodically to do what I'd come here to do—set up the camera, record footage of unremarkable rock formations and ordinary vegetation. Collect soil samples that would show standard mineral composition. Document coordinates and geological features with the kind of thorough detail that would satisfy even Chen's scrutiny. Building a false narrative, layer by layer, that would bury any trace of Sanctuari activity under mountains of legitimate data.
Khira'esthai watched me work with open curiosity. She circled the camera, studying it from different angles, her tail swaying with interest. When I knelt to collect a soil sample, she crouched beside me, observing the process with the same intense focus she'd shown the ateaer.
"Thren-kai vai keth-mera?" she asked. Why you hide?
I held up the sample container. "Sai nira... thal-nira." I know... land-know. "Sai keth-mera sai-people nira vai-thal." I hide my people know your-land.
She tilted her head, processing. Then understanding flickered across her face. "Vai keth-mera sai-people... vai keth-mera sai-people nira thal-thrae." You hide my people... you hide my people know land-fight.
"Sai," I confirmed. Yes.
We found shelter around midday in an overhang that offered shade and a clear view of the approaches. I pulled out rations—the bland, efficient protein bars that tasted like cardboard but kept you functional. Khira'esthai produced something wrapped in leaves that smelled incredible and probably would have killed me if I'd tried to eat it.
We sat in companionable silence for a while, eating, resting. Then I remembered my promise.
"Khira'esthai," I said, and she looked up. I pointed at myself. "Micah. My name. Not... not Mikah. Micah."
I pronounced it carefully, emphasizing the soft 'c' sound that didn't exist in Sorath.
She frowned, concentrating. "Mikah."
"Close. But... softer. Mi-cah." I made the sound again, exaggerating it.
"Mi... Mi-kah." She tried again, her tongue struggling with the unfamiliar phoneme. "Mi-cah?"
"Better," I said, smiling. "Micah."
"Micah," she repeated, and this time it was almost right. Close enough that something warm settled in my chest.
She smiled back—that softer smile, the one that made her look impossibly young. Then she pointed at the mountains around us. "Kethara," she said. The range. She pointed at the sky. "Thessa." The world. She pointed at herself. "Sanctuari." Her people.
And then she started teaching me words I didn't know. Vearonsa—the sacred deer. Hiahť—the Creator. Keth-vos-thren—courage-very-why, which meant something like "the reason for bravery." Nira-sai-vai—know-me-you, which meant "understanding between souls."
The language flowed between us like water finding its level, and I realized with a strange, aching clarity that this—sitting in an alien wilderness with a Sorathi warrior who should have been my enemy, learning her language while teaching her mine—this felt more real than anything I'd experienced in years.
More real than the UOE. More real than Earth. More real than the person I'd been before I'd crashed on this world.
And that terrified me more than any ateaer ever could.
We spent the rest of the afternoon building my lie.
I moved through the territory with methodical precision, documenting everything that would make this sector look thoroughly explored and utterly unremarkable. Rock formations with standard sedimentary layers. Vegetation samples showing typical Thressan flora with no unusual mineral absorption patterns. Soil composition that suggested low-grade deposits, nothing worth the fuel cost of extraction. Every data point carefully selected, every image deliberately mundane.
Khira'esthai watched me work with that intense focus of hers, and somewhere during the third hour, something shifted between us. She stopped just observing and started anticipating. When I needed a clear shot of a rock face, she moved without being asked, positioning herself out of frame. When I knelt to collect samples, she scanned the perimeter, bow ready, guarding my blind spots. We fell into a rhythm—wordless, efficient, two people moving as one unit toward a shared purpose.
Protecting her people. Deceiving mine.
By the time the sun began its descent toward the western peaks, my datapad was full of carefully curated falsehoods, and my pack was heavy with samples that would corroborate every lie. Enough data to satisfy even Chen's scrutiny. Enough evidence to bury the truth under layers of legitimate-looking documentation.
Enough to make me a traitor beyond any possibility of redemption.
Khira'esthai studied the sky, then looked at me. "Kethvora," she said, and made a gesture I didn't understand—something like wings, or flight.
Then she put two fingers to her lips and whistled.
The sound cut through the mountain air like a blade, sharp and piercing and utterly alien. For a moment, nothing happened. Then I heard it—the rush of wings, massive and powerful, growing louder with each passing second.
Kethvora descended from the clouds like a storm given form.
The cheatau was magnificent. Deep blue-black scales that shifted to purple in the fading light, six eyes that tracked everything simultaneously, wings that spanned at least twenty feet when fully extended. The creature landed with predatory grace, talons scoring deep grooves in the stone, and fixed four of its six eyes on me with unmistakable assessment.
Khira'esthai moved to the cheatau's side, running one hand along its neck in a gesture of obvious affection. She spoke to it in Sorath—soft, melodic sounds that seemed to calm the creature's predatory intensity. Then she looked at me and gestured upward.
My stomach dropped. "You want me to—"
"Thal," she said. Come. "Kethvora nira-keth vai." Kethvora real-courage you.
The cheatau will be brave for you. Or maybe: the cheatau will trust you.
I approached slowly, every instinct screaming that this was a terrible idea. Kethvora's eyes tracked my movement, head tilting with bird-like precision. Up close, the creature was even more imposing—all muscle and scale and barely-contained power. One of those talons could have gutted me without effort.
Khira'esthai took my hand and placed it against Kethvora's neck. The scales were warm, almost hot, and I could feel the creature's heartbeat beneath them—strong, steady, utterly alien. Kethvora made a sound—low, rumbling, somewhere between a purr and a growl.
Then Khira'esthai swung herself up onto the cheatau's back with fluid grace and extended her hand to me.
I took it. Let her pull me up behind her. The moment I settled into position, Khira'esthai reached back and guided my arms around her waist.
"Keth-thren," she said. Hold.
I held.
Kethvora launched skyward without warning.
The ground dropped away beneath us with terrifying speed. My stomach lurched, my grip on Khira'esthai tightened to the point where I must have been hurting her, but she didn't complain. The wind tore at my face, cold and sharp and impossibly fast. Below us, the mountains spread out in impossible beauty—peaks and valleys and forests that stretched to the horizon, all painted in the colors of sunset.
Thressa. From above. The way the Sorathi saw it.
The way it was meant to be seen.
Khira'esthai's body was warm against mine, her breathing steady despite the altitude and speed. She moved with Kethvora like they were one creature, subtle shifts in weight and pressure that guided the cheatau through air currents I couldn't even perceive. Complete trust. Perfect partnership.
And I was part of it. For this moment, flying through alien skies on the back of a predator that should have killed me, held safe by a warrior who should have been my enemy—I was part of something real.
Something worth protecting.
The flight back took less than an hour. When we landed near the tree line, my legs were shaking and my heart was racing and I felt more alive than I had in years.
Khira'esthai slid down from Kethvora's back and looked at me with that fierce satisfaction in her midnight blue eyes. "Vai nira-keth-vos," she said. You real-courage-very.
I wasn't sure about that. But I nodded anyway.
I spent the next two days in my quarters, barely sleeping, meticulously constructing the most elaborate lie of my career.
The UOE survey software was sophisticated, but I'd been working with it for years. I knew its vulnerabilities. Knew which metadata fields were cross-referenced and which ones weren't. Knew how to edit timestamps without leaving digital fingerprints, how to adjust GPS coordinates by fractions of a degree, how to splice footage so seamlessly that even frame-by-frame analysis wouldn't catch the seams.
I took the authentic footage from the dangerous northeastern territory and systematically stripped away anything that might draw attention. Adjusted the geological readings to suggest lower mineral concentrations. Modified the soil analysis to show standard composition. Edited out the more dramatic landscape features and replaced them with carefully selected shots of unremarkable terrain.
Layer by layer, I buried the truth.
By the time Chen and Torres arrived on the morning of the third day, my falsified survey data was indistinguishable from legitimate documentation. Perfect in every technical detail. A masterpiece of deception.
I watched them prep their equipment with my heart in my throat. Chen was thorough—he checked every piece of gear twice, reviewed the sector coordinates three times, studied my original survey notes with the kind of attention that made my palms sweat.
"Looks straightforward," Torres said, shouldering her pack. "Standard geological survey, low-priority minerals. Should be a quick run."
Chen nodded slowly, still studying my notes. For a moment—one terrible, endless moment—his eyes narrowed.
Then he closed the datapad. "Yeah. Let's get it done."
They left at 0800 hours. I spent the entire day in a state of barely-controlled anxiety, going through the motions of my regular duties while my mind spun through every possible failure point. If they found evidence of Sanctuari activity. If they noticed discrepancies in the terrain. If they compared their readings to mine and found inconsistencies I'd missed.
If they came back with questions I couldn't answer.
The sun was setting when they finally returned. I was in the common area, pretending to review supply manifests, when they walked in. Chen's expression was unreadable. Torres looked tired but satisfied.
"Well?" Vargas asked from across the room.
Chen shrugged. "Clean survey. Micah's data was accurate—low-grade deposits, difficult terrain, not worth the extraction costs." He glanced at me. "Good work on the initial assessment. Saved us from wasting resources on a dead-end sector."
The relief that flooded through me was so intense it was almost painful.
"Glad to hear it," I managed.
Torres nodded agreement. "Yeah, that terrain was rough. Can't imagine doing a full geological survey out there. You must have had a hell of a time with the preliminary work."
"It was challenging," I said. And that, at least, was true.
They moved on to debrief with Vargas, and I sat there with my datapad, staring at supply numbers I wasn't actually reading, feeling the full weight of what I'd just done settle over me like a shroud.
I hadn't just omitted information. Hadn't just failed to report Sanctuari activity.
I had actively, deliberately, systematically deceived my own people. Falsified official survey data. Manipulated evidence. Committed fraud that would hold up under technical scrutiny.
I had crossed a line I could never uncross.
lAnd the worst part—the part that should have terrified me but somehow didn't—was that I'd do it again without hesitation.
The wanting started as a whisper and grew into a roar.
I couldn't stop thinking about the flight. About the moment Kethvora's wings had caught the air and the ground had dropped away beneath us, transforming from solid reality into abstract geography. About the way Khira'esthai's body had moved with the cheatau's rhythm—not controlling, not commanding, but partnering in a dance older than language.
About the terror that had felt like freedom.
It haunted me during survey work. I'd be taking mineral readings or analyzing soil composition, and suddenly I'd remember the sensation of wind against my face, the way the air had tasted different at altitude—cleaner, sharper, like breathing starlight. My hands would still on the equipment. My focus would fracture. And I'd have to force myself back to the mundane reality of geological data and extraction projections.
It haunted me during briefings. Vargas would be discussing survey rotations or resource allocation, and I'd be remembering the view from Kethvora's back—the way Thressa had spread out below us like a living map, all mountain peaks and hidden valleys and forests that stretched to the horizon. The way perspective had shifted everything, made the UOE base look small and temporary and utterly insignificant against the vast permanence of this world.
It haunted me during sleepless nights in my quarters, when I'd lie in my bunk and replay every second of that flight. The initial terror as Kethvora had launched from the cliff face. The way my stomach had dropped, my hands had clutched at Khira'esthai's waist with desperate strength. The moment when terror had transformed into something else—exhilaration, wonder, a kind of joy so pure it had felt like pain.
The way Khira'esthai had laughed, wild and free, as if she'd known exactly what I was feeling.
I wanted to experience it again. Needed to, with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
But more than that—and this was the part that kept me awake, staring at the ceiling of my quarters—I wanted to learn. Not just to be a passenger clinging to someone else's back, but to understand the subtle language of flight. To feel the shifts in air pressure and temperature that signaled updrafts and downdrafts. To know how weight and balance affected a cheatau's movement through three-dimensional space. To develop that partnership, that trust, that perfect synchronization between rider and skybreaker.
I wanted to fly.
The realization sat in my chest like a second heart, beating in counterpoint to my own.