The awakening was as strange as it was abrupt.
Matt opened his eyes to a blurry, pinkish, humid world. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were stuck in a warm, spongy substance, soft as flesh, elastic as rubber.
He panicked.
— The ground… swallowed me?!
He wriggled, twisting like a worm in a storm, to no avail. His hands struck supple, viscous walls, almost organic. A sweetish scent hung around him, like a mixture of fermented herbs and resin.
Then, light broke above him. A silhouette leaned in. Two turquoise eyes, bright as dawn, stared at him.
Sehr’mana.
She could barely speak through her laughter. Her shoulders shook, and her trembling hand was extended to him between bursts of mirth.
Matt grimaced, his hair tousled, covered in plant secretion. He hesitated to take her hand, then resigned himself with a sigh. She pulled him out of the cocoon with surprising strength for her slender frame.
He landed on the ground with a sticky, squelching sound.
— Very funny… he muttered.
— Gosaa’k ma, Matal, she said with a mischievous tone.
He looked up, one eyebrow raised.
— Gosaa’k ma, Zhe’naar, he replied with a tired smile.
It had become their routine. A habit woven in survival, the unknown… and something else. An invisible thread binding them a little more each day.
The journey became a series of trials, as if the world itself wanted to test their bond.
They had to flee an acid storm—a terrifying spectacle of howling green and yellow clouds, melting the ground beneath their feet. They took refuge in the ruins of a forgotten temple, buried in the roots of a world-tree. Shadows whispered there, dancing.
Another day, a Scyorn hunted them—a nightmarish creature with a sinuous body and spider-like legs, its red eyes piercing the darkness. Together, they set a trap. Together, they emerged unscathed.
Each night by the fire deepened their bond. The silences were no longer heavy, but full. Of acceptance. Of the first stirrings of trust.
And sometimes, their hands brushed. By chance. Or almost.
Matt was learning fast. Very fast. Shivenar was no longer such a mystery to him. The basics, at least.
— Hello: Gosaa’k ma, he repeated, mimicking Sehr’mana’s accent.
— Thank you: Uvari’ temene.
— Watch out!: Graa’sh va!
— Yes / No: Ash / Kuu.
He wrote in a battered notebook he kept preciously, between survival recipes and sketches of strange plants.
Sehr’mana was just as curious.
— Goooood morning, she would say, exaggerating each syllable, tongue sticking out.
— Please:Neru’cha
— Ma-tal… hu-man. Ne-va-li… fri-end. Zhe'naar... Shivenar . Sorry: Varu’tesh
Every time she got it wrong, Matt burst into laughter. She would cross her arms, pouting, her cheeks slightly tinged pink, which, on her amber skin, looked like a sunset.
— You're making progress, he teased.
— Don’t mock me, Matal.
— *Don’t make fun of me,* he corrected, amused.
They laughed often, even in adversity.
One evening, the jungle gave way to a suspended domain.
Giant trees with hollow trunks formed a natural cathedral. Vines stretched between heights. That’s when they saw them for the first time.
Slender beings with pale skin, dressed in flowing white and blue fabrics. Their faces were masked with feathers. Silent. Majestic.
— The Voskovians, Sehr’mana murmured, bowing her head. Rare… and unpredictable.
Matt’s heart beat faster. These beings seemed straight out of a dream—or an old forgotten tale.
The Voskovians observed, motionless. They did not speak. Their eyes, visible behind the masks, slid from Matt to Sehr’mana, then to their clasped hands, their shared packs, their instinctive gestures.
A shiver of hesitation ran through the group.
Then one of them stepped forward, slowly. He made a fluid motion with his hand.
— Shaar, he said at last, in a voice like a breath of wind.
Sehr’mana responded immediately, bowing deeply:
— Ke’sme Shaar ku do va.
Matt copied her, his knees trembling. They kept their heads bowed until a gesture invited them to rise.
The Voskovians led them to their suspended village—an interweaving of wooden platforms, woven nets, soft lights. The evening was falling, and everything glittered in golden hues.
They slept up high, cradled by the wind. Matt, lying in a hammock of plant fibers, stared at the sky.
Far above, two moons danced.
— Are you asleep? he murmured.
— No, answered Sehr’mana’s gentle voice.
A silence.
Then:
— Matt… scared to go home?
He thought.
— A little. And you? Are you scared… of me?
She didn’t reply right away.
— At first, yes. Now… Kuu.
— Kuu… no, he translated, a smile on his lips.
She nodded.
— Matal… Nevali.
He turned toward her. Their eyes met in the moonlight.
Words were no longer needed.
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