Miria’s eyes darted between the shifting skies overhead and the rushing water of the river before her. It was like nothing she'd seen before. The unusual pace of the water, the curling flora along the banks, and even the stones, rounded as if by an unseen artist, all hinted at a world utterly alien.

"Are we stranded?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the swift current.

Demetrius, knelt down with his eyes closed, probably engaged with the internal systems of his Peacekeeper gear. "Depends," he said without opening his eyes, "on what you mean by stranded."

While he was preoccupied, Miria decided to survey the small island. Rocky, barren and barely a couple of acres in size, it was not an ideal spot to be stuck. The brush was thick around the edges, but she could still see the sparkle of rushing water on every side, confirming their island status.

“I’m not a child you can hoist on your shoulders and carry to safety,” she said finally. “We need to figure out what we’ve got to work with if we’re going to get off this island, and you need to let me help. Wading into an unknown river blindly is a fool’s risk. I have skills, Demetrius.”

After a moment, he sighed and slid his travel pack off his shoulders. A light touch unzipped it, revealing a single thin jumpsuit, a handful of compact weapons she couldn’t immediately identify, goggles she assumed had night- and distance- vision features, a multitool, and a miniature plasma torch, powered by a tiny but potent power cell. He also had ration bricks, high-tensile paracord, useful for everything from climbing to trapping game, a water purifier, and a powerful, collapsible light source that probably doubled as a heater. In the medical section of his pack, there were small vials of fast-acting coagulants, antiseptics, and nanite-laced bandages that accentuated the healing process. He also carried an injector pen loaded with painkillers and stimulants for emergency situations.

Miria, by contrast, carried a few changes of clothes. She also had a sturdy coil of cord, a multipurpose toolset that included a sharp, durable knife, and a flint and steel striker for starting fires. Her canteen was nestled beside a set of binoculars. Her pack also contained a basic first-aid kit, which included bandages, antiseptic ointment, tweezers, and a small sewing kit for stitching wounds. In a small pouch, she kept a compass, and she still had that topographical map of the area around her Appalachian preserve, though she doubted that would be of much use now. Her own food — nuts and berries, dried meat — wasn’t as efficient as the Peacekeeper rations, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that it tasted better.

“Let’s check the water first,” Demetrius said, picking up his water purifier. Leaving the rest of his gear on the rock beside her, he approached the riverbank and scooped a sample of the river water into the device's collection chamber. The purification process started immediately.

"The water is teeming with microscopic organisms, as expected," Demetrius replied, focusing on the data stream flowing into his neural interface. "But you’re right; wading in would have been a fool’s risk."

"Oh?" Miria moved closer, trying to peek at the device. "Is it dangerous?"

Demetrius nodded, his gaze distant. “There seems to be an alien form of cyanobacteria. It's similar to what produced oxygen billions of years ago on Earth, but its structure is unique."

"And the danger part?"

He sighed, blinking to disconnect from the magnified image of the bacteria. "A potent neurotoxin, more powerful than anything we'd have seen on Earth. It’s a bit like Pfiesteria piscicida, which used to kill fish and sicken humans. We wiped it out during the Climate Crisis, trying to keep the Chesapeake Bay from turning into an ecological disaster zone.”

“At least it wouldn’t kill us?” Miria asked.

Demetrius’ lips tightened. “The potency of this... it's far greater. And anything that sickens you in an unfamiliar survival situation might as well have killed you outright."

Miria swallowed. "Can you purify it?"

"The purifier will take care of it," he reassured her, raising the now-safe water in a small detachable cup for her to see. "It's safe to drink now."

Miria looked at their assortment of supplies, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Despite her inherent distaste for the high-tech gear that Demetrius brought with him, she couldn't deny its utility in their current predicament. A part of her recoiled at the idea of relying on the very technology she had long decried, but another, more practical part of her understood the stark reality of their situation.

With a sigh, she picked up the advanced multitool Demetrius had shown her, the cool metal feeling alien in her hand. She turned it over, watching the play of light on its sleek, functional surface. The conflict within her welled up and spilled over into words.

"Bet you're feeling pretty vindicated right about now, huh?" Miria said, her tone more bitter than she had intended. "Your fancy tech comes to the rescue while my old-school gear just sits here."

Demetrius paused, looking at her with an expression that was both thoughtful and careful. "Miria," he began, "Your work with the cultural preserves is invaluable. You've spent your life safeguarding our history, our heritage. But if this isn't Earth, and it’s just us, maybe we don't need to focus so much on... preserving Earth’s cultural heritage."

Miria bristled at his words, the patronizing undertone, however unintentional, rubbing her the wrong way. She shot back, "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for my father insisting I let you escort me to Connor’s graduation. Sure, I'd probably still have gotten kidnapped, but there'd be negotiations, a strike team, something. I'd likely be fine."

The silence that followed was awkward. Demetrius seemed taken aback by her retort, his usual composed demeanor faltering slightly. Miria sighed again, running a hand through her hair. She needed space, some time to think and process everything.

"I'm going to climb that tree over there," she said, pointing to a tall, sturdy looking one nearby. "Get a better view of our surroundings."

Demetrius nodded, looking at her for a moment longer before turning away. "I'll scout the edges of the island, see if there's anything we can use."

With that, they set off in opposite directions, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

Making her way toward the tree, Miria was soon distracted by its peculiar form. It stood tall and robust, but the closer she got, the more she realized its bark held a peculiar swirl of colors — not brown, but tiny flecks of deep cerulean to vibrant chartreuse, the pigments pulsing faintly in sync with an unseen rhythm. The branches didn't burst outwards in the vein-like sprawl as she was used to. Instead, they followed a pattern, spiraling up in an exquisite symmetry, akin to a helix.

The leaves weren't leaves in the traditional sense. They were tendrils, numerous and fine, arching gracefully from the branches, waving gently as if responding to a soft, rhythmic pulse of energy. They appeared cottony, almost hairy, each strand ending in a small, circular flower, the hue of dawn's first blush. Each was like a mouth, opening and closing rhythmically as if drinking in the very air around it.

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A shiver of wonder passed through Miria. This was a living testament to life's endless innovation, an entity designed to thrive not in Earth's conditions, but in this new world's unusual patterns of energy flow.

Her excitement, however, was dampened by the realization of the damage she might cause by climbing the tree. Each tug could rip a flower, every step might crush a delicate tendril. As an archivist, she'd spent her life preserving and respecting the world around her, not exploiting it. But this time, her survival was at stake.

She bit her lip. Demetrius was right; this wasn’t Earth. It was even possible that this tree would benefit from her interference, the way that some plants couldn’t grow properly unless they were grazed. And part of her thought she was being ridiculous: every step she took on the ground could cause untold problems: she was, for all intents and purposes, an alien life form and an invasive species. Even if she slit her own throat right then and there, she was contaminating this ecosystem with every breath.

But still, she was reluctant to risk destroying something she didn’t understand, and she hated the idea of beginning a visit to a new planet with ignorant destruction. How would she have felt if an alien had come to Appalachia and started knocking over the precious chestnut trees she and her predecessors had worked so painstakingly hard to bring back from the brink of extinction?

If she tried to explain that to Demetrius, though, she knew what he’d do: he’d come climb the tree herself. It wasn’t as though she could stop him; he was stronger, faster, and better armed than she was, to say nothing of being fanatical devoted to a single simple goal — keeping her alive.

She began to climb, attempting to navigate the intricate spiral branches without causing too much damage. Moving slowly, she carefully avoided the tender tendrils and flowers. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t avoid everything. She winced as she heard the crackle of a crushed tendril beneath her boot, but she pushed onwards.

Finally, she found herself near the top of the tree, where she could see the expanse of the island. But as she reached out for the last branch, she noticed a cluster of small, pitcher-shaped flowers. To grasp the branch meant to destroy them.

With a sense of resolve, she pulled her hand back, refusing to cause any more harm.

This was high enough.

A town-sized settlement stood nestled downstream, obscured partially by a thick cover of forest, but unmistakably unnatural to the landscape. With any luck, it was inhabited by people.

A sense of accomplishment surged within Miria as she drank in the view from her lofty perch atop the spiraling branches. She had scaled this peculiar tree with surgical precision, preserving its beauty by navigating a pathway that caused minimal harm. It was a task that required not only physical dexterity but also the application of her intellect, a delicate balancing act that she had always found deeply satisfying.

Interrupting her triumphant moment, a soft illumination drew her attention. There, floating beside her, was a creature resembling the paintings she’d seen of will-o'-the-wisps from her childhood books of folklore. Barely larger than her thumb, it radiated a soft glow that danced around her, painting the world in an ethereal blue light. It appeared to be spun from energy, but she doubted the the tiny luminescent thing was a faerie from her childhood tales.

She tried to shoo the creature away with a swift hand motion, but it stayed close. It didn’t lunge to bite her, or try to land, so after a tense moment, she took a deep breath and realigned her focus. She could not afford to expend her energy on a harmless creature — or even a harmful one she couldn’t actually deal with — when larger tasks loomed ahead.

Miria leaned back against the tree trunk, the strange, glowing creature hovering in her periphery. She reminded herself of her purpose, of the reconnaissance task she had taken upon herself. The landscape below demanded her attention more urgently than the flickering light at her shoulder. This was not a time for distraction; survival came first.

Awareness of the luminescent creature at her side lingered, but she had to treat it as an oddity, not a threat. It was not welcome, per se, but nor was it an immediate danger. It was simply there, as unignorable as the foreign trees or the rolling landscape itself.

Even so, she climbed down with a newfound urgency, and that’s when the small flowers at the top of the tree burst open, spraying a fine mist into the air. The unexpected attack caught Miria off-guard, and she instinctively ducked to shield her face. She had a feeling the sprayed droplets were not water, but rather a cocktail of potent enzymes and toxins, like what she’d find within the pitcher of a carnivorous pitcher plant.

Pitcher plants on Earth had evolved a simple yet effective method of trapping prey — a pool of sweet, intoxicating nectar to lure unsuspecting insects, which would then find themselves trapped in a pool of powerful digestive juices. As with the neurotoxins in the river, this tree seemed to have taken that concept up to eleven — this time, with aerial attacks.

The spray didn't just stick; it burned through her sleeve with terrifying, acidic efficiency. Miria lost her left-handed grip from the pain and swung out into open space. The tendrils shot out, moving with a speed that seemed impossible given their previous gentle sway.

They wrapped around her, a python's grip that pulled her towards the trunk. The helix pattern of the tree branches straightened out in response to the tree's motion, extending outwards like arms reaching for a long-awaited embrace.

She slashed at the tendrils, her movements frantic and frenzied. Each cut tendril recoiled, but the tree was relentless. For every tendril she severed, two more sprung forth, their grip tightening, pulling her closer into a deadly embrace.

Miria groped at her pocket, finding her multitool. With a grunt, she managed to flick open the blade, slicing at the tendrils. Her frantic actions caused her to sway, her foot slipping from the branch. She yelped as she plummeted, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

Demetrius was by her side in a moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, fear lacing his voice.

She winced, her ankle throbbing. "I'll live," she replied, shaking her head to clear it. “There’s got to be some kind of hydraulic system? It’s like some kind of ranged pitcher plant.”

“What do you mean?”

"The small flowers up top, they sprayed me with some kind of acid when I tried to climb down.” She held up her arm so he could see the burned sleeve. “Then those tendrils tried to catch me," She glanced at the tree, a newfound respect mingling with her fear as she tried to stand.

The moment Miria dared to shift her weight onto her injured ankle, a white-hot, blistering agony surged through her body, centering in her stomach. Self-admonishment washed over her as she shifted her weight enough remain upright, realizing she'd given Demetrius more reasons to intensify his overprotectiveness, a thought which further soured her suffering.

Instead of criticizing her, though, he just reached for a bandage and held out his hands for her ankle.

Miria tilted her head as she looked at his hands, worried. "The nanites in the bandage... Should we be using them for something as small as a sprain?"

Demetrius paused, meeting her gaze. "If it helps us survive and keep moving now, it's not a waste," he said firmly, reaching for the ankle again. "We can't afford to have you hobbling around, Miria. Not until we’re a lot safer than we are now. Did you learn anything while you were up in the tree?”

Miria nodded at the change of subject, biting back a gasp when he touched her already-swelling skin. “Looks like there might be a town up on the bluffs, but I didn’t see any obvious ways off this island. You?”

"A fallen tree along the edge of the island. Solid, strong branches. Could be useful for shelter, or maybe make a raft," he explained, wrapping the bandage around her ankle. “Or its bark could explode the minute I try to break it off. Who knows?”

“I wish I could be happier that even you’re out of your depth,” Miria said sourly.

He flashed her a quick grin and secured the bandage with a small bit of toothy metal. "Saw what looks like a slime mold over by the eroding edge of the island, on top of a pile of wet driftwood. Not sure if it's dangerous, but I didn’t want to poke it and find out."

"Most slime molds aren’t dangerous," Miria mused, “but then again, before today, I’m not sure I

"We'll have to keep an eye on it," Demetrius agreed, before grimacing slightly. "Also, my compass isn't much help here. The magnetic field is all over the place."

She hummed in understanding, her gaze drifting to her bandaged ankle. "And food? Water?"

"I found a bush covered in berries. No idea if they're safe to eat. We'll need to figure that out soon," he said, standing to pack away the first-aid kit.

Miria gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "Anything else?"

He hesitated for a moment. "There's a ground nest. Not built with twigs though, it's made of some kind of hardened, almost crystalline plant fibers. And there's a lot of geodes around the island.”

“I’m a lot more willing to trust the inorganic things, given what we’ve found so far.” Miria eyed the nearby tree warily.

“Hopefully we can trust the people in that town you saw to have answers,” Demetrius said, re-securing the first-aid kit. “Otherwise, we’re probably not going to make it. There’s too much we don’t know, and the environment here…”

“Worse than Australia?” she asked, trying for levity.

He didn’t laugh. “I guess we’ll find out.”