The Blood of Words

The mauve sun of Elora slowly descended behind the glass cliffs, tinting the sky with shifting, liquid reflections. Everything on this planet seemed made of an unfamiliar substance, as if the laws of nature bent differently here. Perched on the back of the Kravakh, Matt let himself be rocked by the creature’s gentle movements. The songs of three-beaked birds drifted through the spore-laden air, shimmering like celestial fireflies.
He was no longer the frightened human of his first day. Not really.
Each step, each learned word, each carefully avoided carnivorous plant wove a tighter web between him and this world. He understood Elora a little more—its cruelty, its wild beauty. But more than anything, he understood the woman guiding him through this living chaos.
"Zhe’naar… strange, but beautiful," he murmured one evening to Sehr’mana as they rested near a glowing pool.
She smiled, leaning against him, her hair floating in the wind like underwater algae in a forgotten dream. Her skin, traced with fine silver lines, shimmered under the light of fluorescent plants.
"And you, Matal… strange, but brave."
Their eyes met. He didn’t need to understand every word to grasp their meaning. The language of Elora spoke through silences, gestures, and glances filled with soul.
They might have stayed there forever, wrapped in the moment. But Elora never allowed rest for too long.
The next day, the weather had shifted. Thick, heavy turquoise mists covered the crevices their Kravakh was navigating. The air carried a sharp, metallic scent, as if the land itself was bleeding.
A brief, muffled cry, charged with anger, tore through the air. Sehr’mana froze. Her ears twitched. She swiftly dismounted.
"Juvo’g baska," she whispered, eyes locked ahead. She pushed Matt behind a hollow stump covered in pulsating mushrooms. "Kuu zu’reem," she muttered, placing a hand over Matt’s mouth. "Saav koru’tai."
He nodded, muscles tense. He understood—she wanted him to stay hidden.
Figures emerged from the mist. Three Shivenars, massive, clad in armor made of bone and scaled leather stitched over heavy coats. Their eyes gleamed white, unnatural. Their voices cut the air like blades—harsh, cold, merciless.
Matt caught fragments. He had learned. And what he understood chilled him.
They called her "Kaari mutashka."
It meant: "Traitor. Pariah. Disgrace."
They despised Sehr’mana. They spat her name like a curse. One stepped forward, seized her by the hair, and forced her to kneel. But even then, she kept speaking—calm, unwavering.
Matt felt something crack inside him. He couldn’t… couldn’t just stand there.
He stepped out of hiding, trembling but resolute.
"Let her go."
The words were fragile, poorly spoken. But his voice was steady, grounded.
The Shivenars turned, surprised. A human. An intruder. An insect daring to speak.
Sehr’mana’s eyes burned with fury. She had told him to stay hidden.
Matt stepped closer.
"Sehr’mana is Nevali. She is strong. She is Orashii… of the heart. She saved me. Me, Matal. You? Rak’thas."
Silence fell. 
Sehr’mana seemed moved by what she had just heard.
The largest Shivenar let out a dry laugh.
"The Matal… speaks… our tongue… now?… our laws?"
Matt grasped the meaning.
The Shivenar raised his spear—twisted bone dripping with dark liquid.
Matt did not step back.
"I don’t want to fight. But I won’t let you hurt her."
"Akrh—!" the Shivenar growled.
The spear cut through the air.
Matt dove aside just in time. The weapon embedded itself into the stump. In an instant, Sehr’mana rose. With fluid precision, she drew a blade of obsidian from her woven sheath. In a flash, she severed the attacker’s arm. He screamed.
The forest held its breath.
Battle erupted.
Matt moved as best as he could. Not a warrior. But he knew the basics—pivot, dodge, distract. He threw stones, shouted, disarmed for an instant. Sehr’mana was a storm, her blade dancing, whirling. She shouted ancient war cries that seemed to vibrate through the air.
Together, they became an unlikely force.
The Shivenars, formidable as they were, began to falter. One bled heavily, another limped, the last backed away, wild-eyed. The largest growled:
"Va ‘kusmo siji Zeh’naar kumi go Akrh."
Then they vanished into the mist.
Stillness returned—if the frantic beating of their hearts could be called that. Sehr’mana stood, streaked in blood—not her own. Matt dropped to his knees, breath ragged.
She stepped closer.
"Mad, Matal…"
"Maybe. But… I’ll never leave you alone again."
Silence settled, dense, heavy with something new.
Sehr’mana crouched beside him. Her fingers brushed his cheek, tracing a line of dried blood and unspoken tenderness. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
Their breaths mingled.
And in the shifting shadows of Elora, something deep, ancient, had just been sealed.
Not by war.
Not by blood.
But by words.
Words that, even imperfect, had struck true.
Words that, on an unknown planet, could change a destiny.