Clorita and HALAT later joined a group of Aqualian hunters who had ventured deeper into the wilderness. They moved carefully, their gills fluttering faintly as they breathed the humid air, thick with the scent of damp earth and alien vegetation.

Strange, intermittent clicks echoed from the underbrush—sometimes erratic, sometimes rhythmic. Something was either communicating… or listening.

One of the hunters stiffened, his grip tightening on his spear. Another exchanged a wary glance with Mariq but said nothing. Their movements slowed, becoming more deliberate. A silent reminder that they were not alone in this wilderness.

Their search yielded a variety of strange creatures: a sleek reptile with iridescent scales that pulsed faintly, a flock of chirping birds with translucent wings, and a slow-moving mammal covered in moss-like fur. The hunters inspected the creatures carefully before carrying them back to the settlement in woven containers.

The captured animals were brought aboard the Duj, where RG awaited them, standing in the galley like a chef preparing for a royal feast. The kitchen was spotless, its metallic surfaces gleaming under the glow of the containment units.

“Well,” RG declared, inspecting the creatures, “this is… interesting. Let’s see if your finds are actually worth the effort.”

Clorita leaned against the counter, crossing her arms with a sceptical smirk. Her optics flickered slightly, scanning the creatures, half-expecting one to lunge at the unsuspecting chef. “Not much choice, RG. It’s either these or they go vegan.”

RG shot her a glare but turned his attention to the shimmering reptile. He ran a scanner along its sleek body. The device emitted a sharp chirp, its display flashing an unusual bioelectric reading.

RG frowned. Huh. He tilted the scanner, recalibrating. The reading spiked, then vanished. He exhaled, shaking his head. “Probably just a quirk in its nervous system. Nothing to worry about… yet.”

His fingers drummed against the metallic counter, a rare flicker of curiosity in his normally unimpressed expression. “This one’s putting out some odd signals.”

He turned his attention to the mossy mammal. “Excellent musculature. High protein density. And this lump of fur—” he gestured to it—“has an oddly satisfying texture. Could be promising. Assuming it doesn’t fall apart when cooked.”

HALAT studied the mammal with a slight tilt of her head. “Its moss-like fur provides camouflage—an evolutionary defence mechanism against predators.”

“Fascinating,” RG replied dryly. “Unless it seasons itself, I don’t really care.”

Mariq entered, his gills fluttering lightly. He regarded the creatures with both curiosity and hesitation. His webbed fingers tapped idly against his side. “It may not look like much, but if it’s safe to eat, it could sustain us.”

RG straightened, gesturing grandly. “Of course, it’s safe. I’ll make it a delicacy. Though I’ll need a recharge after handling this mess.”

Zog stepped into the galley, his frame gleaming faintly from recent activity. “How’s it going?” he asked, eyeing the odd assortment of alien wildlife lined up for inspection.

“Your hunters,” RG replied with mock formality, “have provided me with… curiosities. But as always, I will turn the improbable into the delicious.”

Zog gestured to the reptile. “Let’s just make sure none of these things turn out to be more dangerous than Snakeface.”

RG scoffed, folding his arms. “Captain, I run a tight kitchen. It’s going straight into the stew if anything tries to bite me.”

Clorita smirked, but her optics never left the creatures. “Might want to sleep with one eye open, then.”

Mariq, however, said nothing. His expression darkened slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides. The risk of an unforeseen threat was no joke.

RG raised an eyebrow. “Captain, please. I’m meticulous. Nothing escapes my watch.”

Clorita chuckled. “You better hope so. Otherwise, we might have Snakeface and mystery critters to deal with.”

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Zog glanced at Mariq. “Think these will be enough for your people?”

Mariq studied the shimmering reptile for a long moment. His fingers curled slightly, tightening as if reinforcing his decision. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but resolute.

“We’ll make it work. But we’ll need more time to prepare. For everything.”

Zog nodded, but as he turned back toward the galley doors, something stopped him.

Outside the viewport, the planet’s surface glistened in shades of blue and green, deceptively calm. Yet, along the horizon, something was… wrong.

A faint shimmer distorted the air, like a heat mirage—but it moved too smoothly, shifting just beyond the limits of perception.

Zog’s optics recalibrated instinctively, his sensors struggling to lock onto the anomaly.

Alert: Unresolved Interference Pattern Detected.

A brief pulse flickered in his HUD, warning of fluctuations in atmospheric data. His defensive subroutines activated for half a second—then stood down, unable to classify the disturbance.

Clorita caught the movement too. Her optics flickered as she muttered, “That’s not just heat distortion… is it?”

She double-checked her readings before glancing at Zog. For once, she looked wary.

Beneath the waves, an elongated shadow rippled—there, then gone, vanishing before it could be fully registered.

Zog’s sensors flagged an anomaly, struggling to extrapolate its size and movement before losing the data. Yet deep within his processors, something lingered—an unresolved probability calculation.

The atmosphere didn’t match the expected patterns. The shimmering distortions along the horizon hinted at unknown variables.

His risk assessment subroutines cycled again… but the unease wasn’t coming from logic alone.

For now, they were safe.

But Zog couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was watching.

His internal diagnostic ran another check, processing atmospheric fluctuations—faint but erratic energy signatures as if something unseen was disturbing the readings.

A low-priority system alert flickered again.

Unidentified fluctuation detected.

It spiked for a second, hovering at the edge of significance—then vanished, as if whatever had triggered it was actively avoiding detection.

Zog dismissed the alert… for now.

But the unease remained.

The settlement began to take shape, with the perimeter fence rising steadily as the Aqualians worked tirelessly under Zog’s supervision. Shelters were reinforced, food supplies were organized, and basic infrastructure was planned.

Despite the progress, a sense of unease lingered. The distant splash of something large breaking the water, the rustling tree line, the way workers hesitated mid-task—as if listening for something unseen. Even the hum of construction felt muted like the settlement itself was holding its breath.

The fishers were the most vocal about their concerns. Their livelihoods were tied to the planet’s waterways, and they feared the predator might see their boats as prey. At the edge of the settlement, a small group gathered near the stream, where their vessels bobbed uneasily. Their expressions were tense.

“This water belongs to Zha’vokh,” one muttered, fingers gripping his net tighter. His throat clicked—a subconscious Aqualian sign of fear. “The Death That Coils.”

Another nodded grimly. “If it can grab a bird mid-flight, what’s to stop it from dragging a boat under?”

A fisher shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn’t have to tip us—just one strike, and we’re done.”

Clorita leaned against a post, flicking a speck of dust from her sleeve before interjecting with a smirk. “You’ve got nets, spears, and boats made from the toughest stuff on this planet. You’re not exactly easy pickings.”

The first fisher looked at her incredulously. “You haven’t seen it like we have. That thing’s a monster.”

Halat, standing nearby, conducted a precise environmental scan before speaking. Her tone, as always, was eerily calm but carried an edge of certainty.

“Observation: The Scytherax—or Zha’vokh, as you call it—is a surprise predator. Its tactics rely on ambush, not direct confrontation. It will not engage something that could injure it.”

“You’re saying it’s scared of us?” another fisher asked sceptically.

“Not scared,” HALAT corrected. “Strategic.”

The fishers exchanged uneasy glances. One tightened his grip on a harpoon. Another shuffled closer to the water’s edge, peering into its depths as if expecting something to surface.

Clorita stepped forward, crossing her arms, her stance firm. “You’re getting Spark as a backup.”

“She’ll go with you onto the water. Keep an eye out while you fish. Fair enough?”

HALAT nodded with mechanical exactness, the movement unnaturally precise, as if calibrated for efficiency rather than reassurance.

“I will accompany your boats and monitor for predatory activity. My presence should deter Zha’vokh.”

One of the older fishers hesitated, rubbing his calloused hands together to steady himself. His wide, reflective eyes flicked toward HALAT and then toward his fellow fishers, seeking reassurance.

“You would… guard us?”

HALAT’s optics flickered. “Correct. I will ensure your safety.”