Sehr’mana let out a cry.
A sharp, almost animal sound, torn with distress. Her moss-green eyes suddenly shifted to an electric blue, glowing like an aurora. She screamed again, this time in a language the forest itself seemed to recognize. Around her, the bushes trembled. The river slowed its course, as if listening.
Her hands pressed against Matt’s chest. She spoke in quick, rhythmic words, chopped with emotion. Her voice shook but did not waver. She gently shook his lifeless body, her movements frantic yet delicate. Cold water dripped from her arms. The wind had gone still.
But Matt was fading.
He didn’t know how long he had been asleep.
His eyelids felt heavy, as if weighed down by years. He regained consciousness slowly, piece by piece—first the sensation of cold, then a diffuse warmth around him, finally a dim, flickering light above his face.
A fire.
But not a fire like the ones he knew. The flames came from a bluish resin, hardened in a stone bowl. They emitted a cold, almost unreal glow, casting shifting shadows on natural walls. He was in some kind of vegetal cave—a shelter made of woven vines, spiraled branches, and broad leaves stitched together with golden filaments.
He shivered, despite the layers covering him.
His body was wrapped in a cloak made of giant leaves. Their texture was soft, almost velvety. They carried a sweet, woody scent—like honey and sap. Beneath his fingers, he felt the moss forming the bed he rested on. His bare chest still trembled. His clothes… they had been removed. Likely to dry.
He inhaled slowly. The air was fresh, pure, thick with plant scents. His skin was sensitive, sore in places, but he was alive. Truly alive.
He turned his head slightly.
Sehr’mana was there.
She sat beside him, legs crossed, eyes half-closed. She was singing softly in her strange tongue—a deep, low murmur, vibrating like an ancient prayer. She held a steaming vessel in her hands and, every so often, poured drops of warm liquid into Matt’s slightly parted lips.
Her movements were precise but trembling.
She had watched over him.
Matt felt himself drifting again, but differently.
His mind slipped into a memory. He floated, observing.
A dream. No… a memory. Real.
They were all there.
Ken, laughing, throwing around his usual dumb jokes. Sébastien, focused, tapping furiously at his tablet, sweat fogging up his glasses. Isabella, quiet but attentive, that familiar wisdom in her gaze. They sat around a metal table in the courtyard of their training center. The sky was clear. The atmosphere… light.
Then Rudy appeared. Their mentor. His back was always straight as a pillar, his voice deep, serious. But that day, there was an unusual warmth in it. His wife, heavily pregnant, was waiting for him at the exit. He smiled and said:
"Once you graduate, I’m finally taking my leave. You owe me, rookies."
Matt had smiled too. Back then, he believed it. He thought everything would go fine.
A shiver.
A brutal return to the present.
He shook violently. The layers of leaves did nothing. The cold seeped into his bones. As if the fire warmed only the outside, but not the inside. He clenched his teeth.
Then—movement.
A weight slid against him, slowly, carefully. A body. Warmth.
Sehr’mana.
She had slipped under the leaves, silently. Her body pressed against his, skin to skin. She had removed her top, keeping only what was necessary for modesty. Her arms wrapped around him, her legs folded against his. She was soft, warm, alive.
Her eyes, and her pale pink-toned skin, glowed faintly in the dark. No embarrassment. No hesitation.
Only instinct. A need for survival.
She wanted him to live. And she was giving him her warmth.
Matt didn’t know what to think. He didn’t move. His heart pounded too fast. But there was no fear. Only a strange peace.
The dream resumed.
But this time… it was the end.
Ken stepped onto the shuttle, cracking one last joke. Isabella placed her lucky ring on the dashboard. Sébastien checked the systems, as always. Rudy… stayed behind in the station.
He didn’t smile. He knew.
He watched them leave the way one watches stars fading away.
Then… the crash.
The fire. The screams. The silence.
Matt sat up abruptly.
He gasped, eyes wide. Sweat dripped down his forehead. His heart raced. He reached for his wound… It was gone. His side, his skin… nothing. He had healed.
"How long have I been asleep…?" he murmured.
The fire had dimmed. The shelter was silent. Sehr’mana was gone.
He stood, slowly. His clothes were dry, neatly placed near the fire. He put them on without a word, each movement heavy with confusion. When he stepped out of the cocoon, the world greeted him with a pale light.
Dawn was rising over the jungle.
The sky was soft pink, tentative. The air filled with scents, insect calls, the slow drip of water from giant leaves. A distant snap. Light footsteps.
A silhouette.
Sehr’mana was returning. A simple bow in hand, an unfamiliar creature slung over her shoulder—four legs, antennae, soft orange fur.
When she saw him standing… everything stopped.
She dropped what she was carrying. Her eyes widened, shimmering with raw emotion. And without hesitation—she ran to him.
She held him tight. Very tight.
Like she never wanted to let him go again.
"Thank you," Matt whispered, his voice breaking. "You saved my life…"
She looked up at him, still shaken. Then, softly, she murmured:
"Uvari’ temene."
Matt finally understood.
It simply meant thank you.
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