The forest had fallen silent.
No wind. No beating wings. Only the faint ripple of a distant stream and the soft rustling of dormant leaves. At the heart of a clearing surrounded by towering roots and glowing mushrooms, two figures sat.
Matt and Sehr’mana.
Face to face.
Between them lay a notebook crafted from tanned leaves, bound together by braided vines. A simple object, one a human from the 22nd century might have called primitive, but for them, it had become a language.
Matt held a burned twig, using it as a pencil. The pale blue glow of Elora’s moon reflected on his dirt-streaked cheekbones. He frowned in concentration, then carefully drew his first image.
A slender Shivenar figure, standing tall, surrounded by larger shadowy forms.
Then an arrow, pointing outward.
He sketched another scene. A human—him, most likely—bound in chains. And the same Shivenar figure pulling him by the wrists.
He handed the notebook to Sehr’mana.
She looked at it. Then immediately averted her gaze.
Shame passed over her face like a veil. Slowly, she took the twig in turn. She drew an eye, crossed out. Then the complex emblem of her tribe—three intertwined spirals, the symbol of deep roots.
The message was clear.
Exile. Betrayal.
Matt studied her for a long time, then gently took her hand. Her palm was calloused, rough… but warm. Alive.
"So at first… you planned to capture me?" he asked softly, almost a whisper.
Sehr’mana did not answer. She simply nodded, her gaze fixed on the moss. A shiver ran over her bare arms.
Matt said nothing for a while. Then he smiled. A smile both sad and tender.
He unfastened a small, dented metal pendant from his neck, rust-speckled and worn. It was nothing compared to the treasures of Elora, but it was his talisman—the one Ken had given him before their departure.
"It’s yours now," he said, gently looping the chain around her neck. "You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met."
Sehr’mana’s eyes widened. She seemed ready to recoil. But she didn’t move. She reached for the pendant, brushing it with her fingers as if it were a fallen fragment of a star.
Then, in a slow, almost ceremonial motion, she unfastened the curved dagger from her belt.
The blade was engraved with ancient symbols—perhaps sacred. Perhaps passed down. In any case, precious.
She extended it to Matt.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"Tazmorr temen," she whispered.
Matt had learned enough words to understand.
Loyal warrior.
The dagger was light, but in his palm, it felt as heavy as a vow.
They held each other’s gaze for a long time.
In Sehr’mana’s eyes, a storm of emotions swirled—fear, pain, but also gentleness. Hope. Something fragile but real.
The silence between them pulsed, deeper than words.
Then, very slowly, without speaking, their faces drew closer.
Inches apart.
Their breaths mingled.
Their foreheads touched.
And finally, their lips met.
A kiss.
Soft. Hesitant. Honest.
Not the fire of reckless passion, but the first stone in a bridge between two worlds.
Matt felt his heart pound, drumming wildly beneath his ribs. A gentle breeze swept through the branches, brushing their hair. The fireflies of Elora danced around them as if to bless the moment.
He no longer knew how long he had been stranded on this planet. How many strange creatures, traps, and incomprehensible words he had encountered.
But in this instant… he wouldn’t trade places with anyone.
They slowly pulled apart, never breaking eye contact.
Matt was still smiling.
"I can’t wait to tell them all this…"
He had murmured it almost to himself. But she heard him.
She tilted her head, questioning.
He pointed to the sky.
"Ken. Sébastien. Isabella. My crew. My family… my friends."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"I’ll tell them how I survived. How I learned your language. How I met Sehr’mana…"
His smile deepened.
"And how I kissed a warrior under the moon of Elora."
Sehr’mana didn’t understand every word.
But she understood the most important ones.
She took his hand. Held it tightly.
And, for the first time, she smiled at him.
Not a calculated smile. Not a warrior’s stance.
A sincere smile.
The kind born from an opening soul.
And the moon above kept their secret in its quiet glow.
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