The jungle hushed as Kaero's presence disappeared, absorbed into the undergrowth as though he had never been there. Aouli remained still, rooted not by indecision but by the mounting pressure he could now feel humming through the very air—a planetary pulse, thick with disorder.
He turned to Elysia, but she was gone.
Or rather, faded.
Her presence lingered faintly, like the warmth of a fire recently extinguished, leaving only the red echo of heat behind. He wasn't sure if she had left intentionally or if this too was part of the test—of learning. Either way, he was alone.
And then he heard them.
Voices—human. Soft at first, barely distinguishable from the natural sounds of the forest, but growing louder, more organized. Not shouting. Communicating. Coordinating.
He stepped to the edge of the overgrown path and saw movement.
A group of five emerged from the mist, all clad in patchwork environmental suits. Their gear was clearly scavenged from older generations—pieces of climate-regulated fabric, armored plating stitched over with local moss to insulate against environmental toxins, even an improvised breathing rig made from decommissioned filtration drones. But their faces were uncovered—wary, weathered, and human.
One of them spotted Aouli and raised a hand.
"Hold!" a woman called out, stepping in front of the others.
She was in her forties, lean and sharp-eyed, with silver threaded into her braid and a long tool wrapped across her back like a blade. Her voice carried authority—the kind earned, not bestowed.
"You there!" she called. "Identify."
Aouli hesitated.
The woman studied him for a moment, then motioned to the others to fan out.
"Definitely not local," one of them murmured.
"He's glowing," said another, wide-eyed.
"He's not armed," said a younger man, stepping closer. "No gear. No respirator."
They surrounded him, but cautiously—like one might circle a wild animal that hadn't yet chosen to run or bite.
Aouli raised his hands in a gesture he wasn't sure meant anything here. "I'm not a threat."
"Debatable," the woman replied. "No one walks this deep into the biozone unarmed unless they've got backup or a death wish."
She stepped forward, eyes narrowing as she examined him more closely. Her gaze locked on the way his form shimmered softly—subtle, radiant, undeniably not local.
"You're not one of the old labs," she said. "Not corporate. Not settler stock either."
He said nothing.
A long silence passed, until another member of the group—a girl, no more than fifteen—took a tentative step closer. Her wide eyes locked onto Aouli with something between awe and recognition.
"He's a Guardian," she whispered.
The woman stiffened. "Maelle—"
"He is," the girl insisted. "Like in the old legends. The ones who watched the forests before the trees could think."
A murmur passed through the group.
"Thought those were just stories."
"We never found a single record of one."
"They said Guardians came when the forest was dying."
The woman held up her hand. Silence fell again.
Aouli didn't correct them. He didn't lie, but he didn't deny it either.
"I'm here to understand," he said finally. "That's all."
The woman stared at him a moment longer, then nodded once.
"Then you'd best understand quickly. This world's not waiting."
She motioned for the others to stand down.
"I'm Isla," she said. "Systems lead for this unit. What's left of it, anyway."
She motioned toward the young girl. "That's Maelle, our sensor. The rest you'll meet in due time."
"Are you trying to fix it?" Aouli asked, glancing around at their gear, their packs, the strange antennae folded against their backs.
"We're trying not to die on it," Isla said, unamused. "But yes. We're stabilizing a sector relay a few kilometers south of here. We've re-mapped three stabilization towers and recalibrated two core conduits in the last month. If we get the third aligned before the next quake, we might—might—have a chance at re-synchronizing the valley's atmospheric cycle."
"You're terraformers," Aouli said.
"Descendants," she corrected. "We stayed when others left. Or more accurately—our grandparents stayed. Some out of principle. Some because they had nowhere else to go. Either way, this is our world now. Or what's left of it."
Maelle stepped closer to Aouli again. She held something in her hand—a small device made of polished glass and living crystal. She touched it gently to Aouli's arm.
It pulsed green.
"I knew it," she said, looking up at him. "Your field's harmonic. Natural. Not programmed."
The others looked at him with new caution. A few, with something like hope.
Aouli shifted, unsure what to say.
"Come with us," Isla said finally. "We'll show you what we're trying to preserve."
Aouli hesitated.
In the distance, thunder rolled again—low and close, the kind of warning you feel in your bones.
He nodded.