A sharp breath escaped his lips.
Lucan's eyes fluttered open to a pale, rippling glow overhead. The ceiling above him wasn't flat—nor did it belong to any room he'd ever known. It moved like liquid crystal, translucent and layered, with thin veins of gold threading through its surface. Each slow pulse of light mirrored the throb at the back of his neck.
Pain wasn't quite the word. It was more like pressure—constant, humming, insistent. Something alien was in him now. Not foreign in the threatening way, but undeniable. Present.
He blinked, tried to sit up—and felt resistance.
A weight.
Then warmth.
Lyra.
She had dozed off beside him, slouched over the side of his bed, her head resting lightly on his chest. Her arms were folded, fingers curled loosely around the edge of his blanket as though she'd been holding onto it for dear life. There were faint shadows under her eyes—something rare. Her hair was slightly frizzed, her braid messy and half-undone, and her expression, even in sleep, was tense.
Lucan lay there for a moment, letting the room come into focus.
The walls around him curved inward, forming a dome. They were made from some mix of pale, bone-like lattice and gently pulsating organic fibers. No seams, no windows. Just soft light from the veins overhead, and a subtle vibration in the floor that made it feel like the entire place breathed.
The bed itself wasn't quite a bed. It resembled a cocoon split open lengthwise, lined with something like silk that shifted color depending on the angle of the light. It molded to his shape, holding him in a gentle cradle.
He whispered, "Three stars and a talking frog... where the hell am I?"
Lyra stirred.
He glanced down. "You snore."
She jolted, eyes snapping open. "Wha—? Lucan?"
He grinned weakly. "Don't deny it. Sounded like a small jet engine."
Lyra shoved herself upright and immediately punched him—lightly—in the shoulder. "You idiot. Don't joke right now."
"Ow." he said, though it barely hurt. He lifted a hand to his neck. "Remind me not to accept alien USB sticks from strangers again."
Her eyes brimmed for a second, but she blinked it away. "You've been out for three days."
"Oh." He glanced around. "I hope I didn't snore."
"Lucan—seriously. You scared me."
The joke faded.
He reached out and touched her hand. "I know. I'm sorry."
She didn't pull away. Just stared at him, her jaw tight. "I thought you were dead for a while. You weren't breathing right. Your pulse kept... skipping. And none of them would explain what was happening."
Lucan looked up at the ceiling again. "It's working. I can hear it. The language."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You understood them?"
"I do now. It's like... it's been implanted. I don't know how to explain it, but the words are there. Just floating in my head like I always knew them."
She exhaled and slumped back a little. "That thing fused into your spine. It looked like it was eating you."
"Yeah. Probably lost a couple years off my life, but hey—language perks."
"Don't joke about that."
"Okay." Lucan said softly. "Sorry. I'm just trying to keep you from hitting me again."
She folded her arms. "You deserved that."
"Yeah."
Silence.
Then he added, voice low, "Thanks for staying."
Lyra looked at him, something unreadable in her expression. "You think I'd just leave you here, passed out in an alien meat flower?"
He managed a soft laugh. "Well, when you put it like that..."
Before she could answer, a gentle chime rang from the wall to their right. A section of the dome peeled open silently, revealing a familiar figure—Kaa-thyr.
Behind him stood the leader.
Lucan tensed, but to his surprise, the words that came next were perfectly understandable.
"You are awake." the leader said, its voice clear and composed. It sounded... human, almost. Toned through layers of resonance, but fluent. "The process completed successfully."
Lucan sat up straighter. "You can speak in my language now?"
The leader tilted its head. "No. You speak mine."
Right. The implant.
Lyra shot him a sideways glance. "Translation?"
Lucan nodded slowly. "He said the process worked. I can understand them."
She muttered, "Yay. Alien Rosetta Stone in your spine."
Lucan cleared his throat. "What's your name?"
The leader stepped forward, placing one hand to its chest with solemn grace. "I am Thal'ryn. Once a commander in the war against Velkros. Now, a protector of this enclave."
Lucan blinked, the words sinking in slowly. "Wait... commander? What war? Who the hell is Velkros?"
Thal'ryn tilted his head slightly, as though surprised by the question, then nodded as if understanding. "Of course. You are unmarked by history."
Lucan turned to Lyra and translated quickly. "His name's Thal'ryn. Says he used to be a commander in some war… against someone called Velkros. No idea who that is."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "That sounds bad."
Thal'ryn's voice deepened, heavy with memory. "Velkros is the descendant of those who once shattered the heavens themselves. Eons ago, long before your known timelines took form, his ancestors ignited a cosmic war that scarred dimensions and fractured reality itself. He doesn't seek power alone—he seeks revenge. Against all creation. Against every world that dared survive the wrath of his bloodline."
Lucan blinked. He swallowed and relayed it to Lyra: "Apparently… Velkros's ancestors started some ancient cosmic war that messed up entire dimensions. And now Velkros is following in their footsteps."
Thal'ryn's expression darkened. "He does not seek peace, or balance. He wants control. Entire realities. Every world. Every living system. He sends his creations—things that carry pieces of his will—to every corner of existence. The creature you encountered in the valley... it was one of his. A watcher. A test of the boundary here."
Lucan felt a cold chill run through him. The thing they had seen by the ridge—it hadn't just been a random monster. It had been a message. Or a scout.
He translated with a grim expression. "That weird creature in the valley? Yeah. It was one of his. Like a scout. He sends those things everywhere, to test worlds before he decides to conquer them."
Lyra folded her arms tightly across her chest. "So he's not just some dimension-hopping tyrant. He's got a system."
"Yep. And we stumbled right into it."
Thal'ryn stepped closer now, gesturing with one arm toward the cave's rear wall, where crude star-charts were etched into the stone. "This planet is called Xal'Vareth. It was once part of the High Path—an ancient line of guardian worlds that stood between Velkros and the Core systems. When his minions breached the edge, we fell. What remains now is only resistance... hidden and quiet."
Lucan passed the information on. "We're on a planet called Xal'Vareth. It used to be part of a network of guardian worlds—kind of like a barrier to stop Velkros from reaching more central realities. But it fell when his minions broke through. Now only small groups fight from the shadows."
Lyra's eyes widened slightly. "So this place used to be... important. Strategic."
"Yeah. Now it's just surviving."
Thal'ryn's gaze settled on Lucan again. "You carry something different. The device you accepted—it was not built for common use. It belongs to the early days of the resistance. A neural assembler. It attaches to the spine, climbs the brainstem, and learns your language patterns."
Lucan stiffened. That part didn't sound great. He translated cautiously: "The translator thing on my back? It's ancient tech from their resistance."
Lyra winced. "Okay, I hate everything about that. Why does it always have to crawl into the spine?"
Lucan cracked a tense grin. "Welcome to body horror, but useful."
She muttered, "You better translate fast if I'm skipping that creepy thing."
Thal'ryn's tone softened, almost sympathetic. "You came through the Rift unprepared, and yet you survived. You are not ordinary, boy. The guardians will sense it."
Lucan looked at him, heartbeat rising. "Guardians?"
"Yes." Thal'ryn said. "Not all have fallen. Some still fight. Hidden across skies and lost timelines. And they will come for those who may yet turn the tide."
Lucan turned that over in his mind, then translated to Lyra. "He says… not all hope's lost. There are warriors left—guardians. They're still fighting."
The weight of everything pressing down on him. Velkros, ancient wars, guardian worlds, that valley creature… it wasn't coincidence.
Lucan asked. "Is this place... safe?"
Kaa-thyr exchanged a glance with Thal'ryn.
"Safe enough." Thal'ryn said. "For now."
"And what do you want from us?"
Thal'ryn's gaze lingered on Lucan, unblinking. "To know why the Fold let you in."
Lucan frowned. "It didn't really give us a choice."
The alien stepped closer, and though his presence was massive, his voice remained level. "The Fold is not random. It obeys principles we do not yet fully understand. But it is never... aimless."
Lucan felt the pulse at the base of his neck intensify slightly.
"I don't know why we were brought here." he said. "But I have to find someone. The person who brought me in—us in."
Thal'ryn's eyes narrowed. "There is more than survival in your voice."
Lucan felt Lyra watching him, but she didn't interrupt. Just quietly sat at his side.
Kaa-thyr spoke again. "Then rest. You will need your strength. Your presence here... it changes things."
Lucan asked, "How?"
But Thal'ryn and Kaa-thyr were already turning away.
Before the door closed behind them, Thal'ryn glanced over his shoulder. "You carry something maybe. The Fold stirred because of it. We will speak again soon."
The door sealed with a soft hum.
Lucan slumped back into the cocoon-bed.
"That was... a lot." he murmured.
Lyra crossed her arms. "You're telling me."
A pause.
"Still." he added, flashing a crooked smile, "At least now I know how to ask for directions."
She sighed, then smirked. "You're unbelievable."
Lucan stared up at the rippling ceiling. His thoughts buzzed, heavy and layered.
He had the language now. A way to communicate. A thread to follow. But behind Thal'ryn's calm words was a tension—one Lucan recognized from Earth. The kind you only saw in survivors.
Something was wrong in this world.
And somehow, it was connected to him.
He glanced at Lyra again. Her eyes were still tired, but her shoulders had relaxed a little. He reached out, lacing his fingers through hers.
"We'll figure it out." he said quietly.
She didn't answer right away. Then, with a low breath, "You'd better. I didn't stay up three nights watching over you just so you could get eaten by a glowing slug or die doing something dumb again."
Lucan chuckled, his voice still hoarse. "That's honestly the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Lyra gave a tired eye-roll. "Shut up and sleep."
He smirked. "Only if you do too."
She hesitated for a beat—then, quietly, "Fine."
They lay there in the soft, humming stillness of the alien room, not quite touching but closer than before. And as Lucan's breathing slowed, he heard hers match his.
For the first time in days, they both let the silence take them.
And this time, neither was alone.
[End of Chapter 11]