Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The void was endless, black and silent except for the slow hum of his ship. Out there, scattered like bone dust in ink, stars shimmered. Nebulas stretched in pale colors across the dark. Purples, soft blues, strange faint greens like bruises on skin. For most species, the endless black was unsettling. Too empty. Too quiet. Too much nothing.

But for Khar’Vek, it was calming.

The stars had been the one constant in his life, no matter where his hunts had taken him. Every planet, every war, every clash of blood and steel, and every victory scream under a burning sun…Beyond it all, the void always waited. Silent. Watching. Unchanging.

He sat at the center of his ship, a figure larger than most prey could imagine, broad shoulders leaned back into the worn seat. The ship’s interior was lit in a heavy yellow glow, the light strips buzzing faintly as they dripped shadow across the walls. The air was thick, hot, and humid, pressing against the lungs like a weight, but that was comfort. That was home, a constant reminder of Yautja Prime.

The metal of the ship was dull grey, but nothing inside it was bare. Khar’Vek’s home was always carried with him: skulls and bones hung on straps across the bulkheads, polished claws dangled from chains of sinew, hides stretched in strips along the walls. Carvings cut into the panels traced clan symbols, jagged marks gouged by a steady hand. Nothing in the room was simply metal anymore, it was his.

Khar’Vek himself was as intimidating as the ship around him. Standing, he measured eight and a half feet tall, his body coiled with thick muscle and patterned with dark blue-grey skin. Stripes as black as void itself stretched across his hide in jagged, tiger-like bands, crawling up his arms and curling over his chest. His eyes were sharp yellow, glowing faintly in the dim light, catching every flicker of movement. His dreadlocks hung just past his shoulders, black and thick, each bound with cuffs of gold, bone, or bronze. Some beads were carved, others scarred with his own marks, each one a memory of the hunts before.

Armor was scarce on him tonight, for he needed little when traveling. A metal shoulder plate hugged one side, strapped tight against scarred flesh; a heavy gauntlet bound his forearm, fitted with sharp lines and faint glyphs. A simple leather loincloth fell against his thighs, darkened by time, frayed at the edges. Across his chest and over one shoulder hung necklaces and bands made of bone, trophies of kills that still whispered their silent screams whenever he touched them.

He was calm, mandibles flexing now and then in thought, claws tapping faintly against the arm of his chair. His gaze shifted out the viewing screen again, to the stars. He found himself watching them longer than usual.

For all his strength, for all his pride, space was the one thing that could still humble him. And he appreciated it. Out there, in the dark, there was no prey, no rival, no females to impress. Just the void. Just silence. Just time to breathe.

But his thoughts inevitably wandered.

Yautja Prime waited. Already he imagined the heat of its sun, the dense jungles hissing with predators, the stone halls of his people echoing with the growl of warriors. He thought of his hunts, the prey he had tracked, the battles won with cunning and claws, the scars etched into his body as reminders. Each scar, each bone he carried, each carving on his weapons was proof. Proof of his worth. Proof he could hold his head high when he returned.

His mandibles clicked softly, almost in amusement, as he thought of the higher ranks. Hunters older, larger, scarred more than he, their armor layered with the weight of years. He had fought alongside them, once. He had watched them bring down prey larger than any ship, watched them carve through enemies with ease. Soon, he told himself. Soon he would walk with them, not behind. He would wear armor heavier than this simple plate, bear weapons spoken of in whispers. His name would not just be Khar’Vek—it would be a name others spat with envy, or muttered with respect.

And then there were the females. Strong, sharp, their mandibles flexing like blades when they spoke. Khar’Vek thought of one in particular, though he would never admit it aloud. She was older, her locks marked with the teeth of beasts that would shred most hunters to ribbons. Her armor bore carvings that sang of victories beyond counting. She had not looked at him the last time he left. Not once.

But she would.

When he returned with more skulls, more scars, more kills that proved his name belonged among the strongest, her eyes would turn to him. She would see.

The ship hummed around him, as steady as the pulse of his own veins.

Until it didn’t.

The ship shuddered. At first, it was small—just a faint vibration through the floor plates beneath Khar’Vek’s clawed feet. He frowned, mandibles twitching as his eyes flicked to the side displays. A soft hum, different from the steady rhythm he’d listened to all night, cut across the room like a growl in the dark.

“…” His claws drummed once against the console. Not alarm. Not yet. But wrong.

Out in the black, the stars blurred. Or maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it was something else. He leaned forward, yellow eyes narrowing as a ripple moved across the void outside, faint at first like heat haze above stone. Then brighter. A clear shimmer. Thin at first, then thicker, wider, stretching across the horizon.

It was no star. No nebula. No, some kind of flare, or charge.

The wave rolled closer, silent but heavy. His mandibles flexed open with a sharp click as his hands shot to the controls, claws clattering against buttons and levers.

The hum of the ship turned to a groan. Metal creaked deep inside the walls as if the vessel was shoved or hit. Alarms broke the silence in shrill bursts, red light spilling into the yellow glow until the whole cockpit pulsed with warning.

The wave hit.

Khar’Vek slammed back against his seat as the ship lurched sideways, throwing his balance. Sparks exploded from the panel above his head, showering him with a flash of orange fire and burning metal scent. He snarled, mandibles wide, claws flying across controls as he fought the drag.

His stomach twisted, not from fear, no, not fear, but from frustration, annoyance.

The hum of engines stuttered, dropped, roared back, then choked again. The lights flickered, dimmed, came back weaker. On the side display, his navigation glyphs scrambled, tracker lines twisting and vanishing until only static and broken symbols remained.

“Chjit!” His growl shook the room.

The wave was gone now, already vanishing into the black, leaving wreckage in its wake. But the damage was done.

The ship’s body groaned again, deeper this time. Khar’Vek’s claws danced over the boards, punching glyphs, rerouting power, forcing systems to obey. Yellow eyes scanned across readouts: propulsion—crippled. Shields—offline. Coordinates—gone.

His ship was blind.

His body tensed against the restraints as another violent shudder rocked the floor. The viewing window tilted down, space swinging wildly. And there, rising from the void below, was a planet.

It filled the glass with white. Swirling, endless storms of snow and ice. Jagged mountains cut black scars against the frost. Clouds spun heavy across the atmosphere, thick and violent.

A frozen rock. Death.

But the only choice.

Khar’Vek snarled, pressing himself forward against the harness as the ship groaned louder. The engines spat fire, choking, sputtering, fighting against the pull of gravity. The whole ship rattled, every plate in the walls shaking, bones and hides hanging from hooks clattering like chimes in a storm.

He pressed harder, muscles bulging, claws grinding into controls as the console barked at him in flashing red. The planet grew closer, the swirl of clouds breaking apart to reveal sharp white peaks and frozen plains that stretched for endless miles.

The ship broke the first layer of atmosphere with a scream.

The world outside became fire.

Heat blasted through the cabin, mixing with the already heavy air until his lungs felt like fire. His dreadlocks whipped around his shoulders as the cabin tossed him against the harness.

His claws slammed down on the harness, claws biting into it.

Another explosion ripped across the left side, fire bursting from a vent and painting the wall in flame. Smoke stung his eyes, acrid and thick, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. His mandibles clacked shut tight, his whole body straining as if his will alone could hold the dying vessel together.

Down below, the mountains loomed sharper now. White peaks stabbing into the sky, valleys choked with storms.

The ship tilted.

He cursed again, reaching to tap claws across controls, but it was too late. One of the stabilizers had given way.The ship rolled hard, the horizon outside spinning until the cockpit was nothing but chaos of fire, snow, and cloud.

Khar’Vek’s body slammed against his restraints, shoulder smashing into the edge of a wall panel. Pain ripped down his arm, but he didn’t stop moving. His gauntleted hand smashed a button, forcing one last blast from the engines. The whole vessel screamed as metal tore against itself.

Then the ground was rushing up to meet him.

The first impact hit like a fist from a god. The ship smashed into snow and ice, tearing a canyon into the frozen plain. Metal screamed as the vessel rolled, tossed end over end. Khar’Vek’s head snapped forward, vision exploding with stars as the harness bit into his chest.

Another impact—harder this time—threw him sideways, his dreadlocks whipping across his face. Bones and pelts ripped from the walls, flying through the cabin like shrapnel. Sparks burst from every corner, fire roaring as systems overloaded.

The ship rolled again. And again.

His claws dug into the ropes, muscles bulging, but nothing stopped the force.

One last crash. The loudest yet.

The world went black.

⸻

Silence.

Not the silence of space, clean and endless, stretching out in every direction. This was heavier, closer, choking. The silence after destruction.

The ship lay broken across the ice, a twisted scar burned deep into the frozen plains where it had dragged and rolled. Smoke drifted in thick plumes, torn apart by the storm winds as they howled across the barren land. Metal groaned beneath the weight of snow and shattered ice, each sound sharp in the emptiness.

Inside, the air was black with smoke. The yellow-orange glow of emergency lights still burned dim, flickering against the wreckage, but their strength was almost gone. Sparks spat every few seconds from a torn wire in the ceiling, little flashes that lit up the ruined cockpit.

Khar’Vek’s body was still.

Slumped forward in the wreck, his frame was pinned by the twisted harness, chest rising and falling faintly. His mandibles were slack, stained with his own blood, droplets running along the sharp edges before dripping onto his chest. His yellow eyes were shut, but beneath the lids they twitched faintly, caught somewhere between unconsciousness and the sharp edge of pain.

The crash had left its mark.

A gash split across his shoulder where metal plating had torn open during the roll. His gauntlet was cracked along the side, one of the blades half-snapped, jutting at a broken angle. The leather strap of his chest harness had torn away completely, one of the bone trophies shattered against the floor. His dreadlocks hung tangled and heavy around his shoulders, beads and cuffs knocked loose, scattered across the deck like tiny bones among the ruin.

The whole cabin stank of smoke and hot metal, the bitter scent of fried circuitry mixed with burned hide. He coughed weakly, mandibles twitching as the breath rattled in his throat, but still he didn’t wake.

The ship itself was dying around him.

Every few seconds, a vent hissed as systems bled their last bits of power into the air. The walls glowed faintly red in places where fire had chewed through, though the cold of the outside world fought hard against it. Already, the window edges were frosting, the first delicate webs of ice spreading across the cracks.

The planet had its claws in him now.

The temperature dropped, sharp and cruel. Frost gathered on the wreckage, creeping across the floor plates, crawling over the walls. His breath came out as faint mist, drifting like smoke against the smoke. The thick hide of his body and thermal netting protected him from much, but even a Yautja was not built for endless ice.

Somewhere outside, the storm roared, wind shrieking against the broken hull. Snow was piling already against the cracks and tears, filling gaps where fire had blown the ship apart. In hours, maybe less, the wreck would be buried.

Khar’Vek stirred.

A twitch first—his clawed fingers dragging faintly against the armrest. His chest rose sharper with a grunt, lungs rasping against the smoke. His head rolled against the side of the harness, yellow eyes cracking open just enough to show a thin gleam.

He groaned, deep and rough, the sound vibrating in his chest. His mandibles clicked faintly as he tried to pull in air, choking against the heavy smoke. His claws twitched again, then gripped, scraping deep grooves into the scorched metal.

But strength failed him. His body slumped again, the effort too much.

The flickering light overhead dimmed once more, the glow fading until the cabin was left in near-darkness. Smoke rolled heavy through the room, swallowing the shapes of torn panels and broken bones. Outside, the storm screamed louder, snow hammering against the wreck in endless waves.

The ship groaned again, metal buckling faintly as if warning that it wouldn’t hold much longer.

Khar’Vek was still.

Chapter Text

The storm outside was endless.

Snow beat against the world in heavy sheets, carried by winds that howled through the thick trees above. Somewhere far above the surface, branches groaned under the weight of the frost, ice snapping and falling with sharp cracks into the white abyss below. Every sound outside was muffled, swallowed by the sheer mass of snow that blanketed the forest. It pressed down on everything—branches, roofs, the very earth itself.

It pressed down on her home, too.

Rose’s bunker had been dug deep into the ground years ago, back when people in the town still had hope that storms could be endured and supplies would last. Now, most of the town was dead, abandoned, falling apart under the weight of winters that never seemed to end or disease spread through unknown origins.

Rose hadn’t been to town in weeks, not since the last time she’d tried to trade what scraps of dried food she had left for powdered milk. She’d walked the distance alone then, her swollen belly wrapped tight in every piece of fabric she owned. Now, she didn’t risk it. Not with the baby. Not with the snow burying the paths deeper every week.

So she stayed underground.

The ceiling creaked faintly as another blast of wind rushed across the snow above. Inside, the world was still.

Her home smelled like old dust and stale air, the kind that never really went away no matter how much wood she burned in the chimney. There was always a faint drip somewhere, a drop of melted snow sneaking in through the stone and earth walls, hitting the floor with tiny echoes that never stopped. The sour tang of rot clung to the back of the mini-kitchen shelves, no matter how many times she scrubbed them, and every time she stirred the fire, smoke layered itself into the fabric of the carpets and blankets. It was a permanent smell of burnt wood, damp stone, old milk.

Rose moved quietly through it, arms wrapped around her own body as if she could hold herself together that way. She was five foot six, but lately her frame felt smaller, weaker, as winter itself had been carving pieces away from her day by day. The grey shirt she wore hung loose on her body, stretched at the collar, one sleeve ripped at the cuff. The sweatpants she’d pulled on, her husband’s, black and baggy were tied at the waist with a piece of twine to keep them from sliding down.

She wasn’t ugly. She knew that.

Her skin was pale, cheeks faintly rosy from the constant chill, and her freckles stood out sharper now that her face had thinned. Blue eyes, lashes long enough that her late husband used to tease her about them. she often stared back whenever she caught sight of her reflection in the scrap of mirror nailed crooked on the wall. Her blonde hair had grown wild, strands frizzy from damp air and tied back in a loose braid that always came undone by night. There had been a time when she’d brushed it every morning, taking pride in it. Now she barely remembered.

There wasn’t much space to take pride in anything anymore.

Her body still bore the marks of pregnancy. Only two months had passed since the baby had come, and though her belly was smaller, she could still see the way her figure curved when she caught herself in that mirror, still an hourglass, but thinner now, maybe too thin. Sometimes she felt like she was withering. Like her body was tearing itself apart just to keep producing milk for her daughter. And yet, when the baby cried, she didn’t hesitate. She gave everything she had, even when she wasn’t sure there was enough left to give.

Her daughter slept now, tucked in the side of her own small bedroom. Rose checked on her every hour, brushing a hand softly across the baby’s cheek, staring down at the small chest rising and falling. The child was warm, wrapped in every blanket she owned, a tiny cocoon of life against the cold world outside.

The main room looked lived-in but tired, just like Rose.

The chimney fire cracked, throwing weak orange light across the concrete walls. Carpets covered the floor in patches, mismatched and frayed. An old couch sagged near the fire, its fabric burned in one corner from where a log had rolled out once. Wooden shelves lined the back wall, filled with jars and boxes, though most were empty now. What was left: half a bag of flour, a few dried beans, a jar of pickled roots she couldn’t bring herself to eat yet.

And the shit garden.

Rose shuffled toward the larger side room, boots scuffing against the carpet. The door creaked when she opened it, the sound groaning through the air like the whole bunker would crumble.

Inside, the small indoor garden was struggling. Rows of vegetables, pale and thin, bent weakly under the weak glow of the lamps she had rigged up months ago. The air smelled faintly sour, damp earth and failing plants. She crouched down, pressing a hand gently to one of the leaves, fingers brushing the soft edge. It crumbled faintly at her touch.

Her stomach growled, sharp and painful. She ignored it.

She had gotten used to ignoring it.

Food was scarce. Everything she grew, she counted. Every leaf, every sprout, every half-wilted potato. Sometimes she’d go without, feeding only enough for the reduction of milk. The baby had to come first. Always.

Rose gathered what little she could, placing a few half-wilted greens into a small tin bowl, her hands trembling slightly. It wasn’t much. It was never much.

When she stood, her knees ached. Her whole body felt heavy, weighed down by the bunker, by the cold, by the silence. She carried the bowl back into the main room and set it on the kitchen counter. Her eyes lingered on the chimney. The fire was low, only glowing embers.

She moved automatically. Picked up a log from the pile, threw it into the fire. Sparks scattered upward, dancing against the chimney walls before fading into smoke. The warmth pushed faintly against her face, enough to make her close her eyes for a moment.

For a heartbeat, she pretended she wasn’t alone. She imagined her husband’s voice, low and teasing, telling her the fire needed more wood. She imagined his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. She imagined his laugh.

But the moment broke quickly.

Her husband had been gone five months now, taken by the same disease that united their small community if not that, the winter would’ve taken him out probably, now it was after her too. He hadn’t been strong enough to fight the sickness, with no cure, nothing but low strength cold meds and one hospital too full for another body. She’d buried him beneath the snow near the edge of the forest, alone, pregnant and crying, with nothing but the wind for company.

Now, she had no one but her child.

Rose swallowed hard, blinking back the burn in her eyes. She turned away from the fire, busying herself with the shelves, counting and recounting the jars as if staring long enough might make more appear.

The baby stirred faintly in the other room. Rose moved quickly, crossing the bunker with steps that made no sound. She peeked in through the doorway. The child was still asleep, cheeks flushed from warmth, lips moving faintly as she dreamed. Rose exhaled softly, leaning against the frame, letting her body sag for just a second.

Silence.

Then—

A sound.

At first, it was faint. A low rumble, distant and strange, buried beneath the storm’s howl. Rose froze, head tilting upward as her heart hammered. The noise grew louder, sharper, until it cut straight through the storm. A roar that shook the ground beneath her feet, rattling the concrete walls of the bunker.

The baby stirred again, this time crying faintly.

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. She rushed to the child’s side, lifting her gently, cradling the tiny body against her chest. The noise outside wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t the wind. It was something different, something heavier.

Then it happened—

The crash.

The sound split the air like the world itself had been torn apart. A deafening boom, rolling through the forest, followed by the earth-shaking crack of something massive hitting the ground. The walls of the bunker trembled, dust falling from the ceiling, jars clattering on the shelves.

Rose gasped, clutching her baby tighter, eyes wide as she stared toward the ceiling. Her chest heaved with panic, breath coming fast. Outside, the storm swallowed the sound again, but the echo of it rang in her ears.

Something had fallen. Something huge.

And it wasn’t far…

Chapter Text

The world came back to him in fragments.

Khar’Vek’s body ached in every joint, his chest rose and fell raggedly, air burning hot in his lungs, though when his eyes opened, he found the world outside his ruined ship was coated in white.

For a moment, he did not move. The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint crackle of still-burning wires and the occasional groan of twisted metal. Sparks jumped across shattered consoles, lighting the cabin in strobing flashes of pale orange. Smoke curled in the corners, thick and acrid.

He flexed his clawed hands against the cold steel floor. Pain pulsed faintly through his ribs, the dull throb of bruises and the sting of shallow cuts along his arms. He had known worse. His mandibles flexed weakly, the guttural rasp of his breath echoing in the hollowed wreckage.

Slowly, he sat up.

The ship had crashed hard. The walls around him bore deep gashes from torn metal, the carved bones and hides he had collected as trophies scattered and broken across the deck. Sparks rained from an overhead console. The dim, yellow lighting that had once lit his craft had nearly gone out, leaving everything in a half-dark haze.

Khar’Vek clicked his mandibles softly, grimacing. His ship would not fly again.

Groaning low in his chest, he shifted to his feet, towering as he braced one hand against the wall for balance. His armor had fared better than the ship, though not by much. His single shoulder plate hung dented, his gauntlet still intact but smeared with soot. His necklace of bone fragments had broken, pieces scattered on the floor. His dreadlocks clung damp with some leaking coolant that dripped from above, bronze cuffs scratched dull.

He bared his fangs in irritation.

Still-he was alive. The ancestors had not abandoned him.

He moved through the wreckage slowly, searching. His instincts urged him to salvage what could still serve him. Plasma casters and ranged tech were useless here, the blast had fried their cores. He could smell the sour tang of melted circuits. But his blades remained sharp.

He bent, retrieving a serrated hunting knife from where it had lodged into the floor. The grip was rough, solid in his claws. He strapped it back against his thigh. His spear, collapsed into its travel form, had rolled against a panel. He gathered it, clipping it to his back. Small trophies, some food packs and drinking pouches, he shoved into a pouch.

Finally, he found his mask, half buried under a panel that had ripped loose in the impact. He lifted it slowly, mandibles clicking in frustration at the deep cracks across the side. Its systems sputtered with faint sparks, one lens fractured.

Still, it might serve.

He slid it onto his face, the familiar weight grounding him. At first, static filled his vision, systems flickering in and out. Then, finally, the thermal lens stabilized, showing the ruined interior of his ship in shades of dull blue and grey. The communication function blinked red. Dead. No signal.

A growl rumbled low in his chest.

He was cut off from Yautja Prime. From his clan. From his hunt.

But survival came first.

The cold struck him when he reached the hatch. The blast had torn the door nearly off, leaving a jagged opening where night and storm poured in. A brutal wind screamed into the ship, whipping his dreadlocks and carrying with it a chill so sharp it felt like knives against his skin.

Khar’Vek hesitated, crouching low, eyes narrowing as he peered out into the swirling wall of white beyond. His breath fogged instantly in the freezing air, condensation clinging to his mask.

Snow. Endless, choking snow.

He stepped out into it.

⸻

The ground outside was buried beneath deep drifts, the crash carving only a shallow crater where his ship had gouged into the frozen earth. He stumbled, claws sinking deep into the snow, his weight dragging him down.

The storm swallowed everything.

Snow whipped across the land in blinding sheets, carried by a wind that howled like a pack of dying beasts. The flakes stung against his bare arms, he raised one clawed hand, squinting against the storm, barely able to see more than a few feet in front of him.

His thermal netting hummed faintly over his skin, but even that could not hold back this cold. It seeped into him, through his scales, his stripes, numbing his hands and stiffening his limbs. His mandibles clicked in irritation, but the sound was lost to the storm.

Every step was a struggle. His body, built for hot and humid jungles, strained against the alien brutality of this world. He pressed on, spear clinking against his back, knife at his thigh, the broken mask barely keeping the storm out of his eyes.

Static flickered through the thermal lens, then steadied again. The world around him lit up in cold blues and greys. But then-faint, in the distance…

Red.

A shape, blurry but bright. A pocket of warmth.

Shelter.

Khar’Vek’s chest rumbled with a low growl of satisfaction. He leaned forward, forcing his body into motion despite the sluggishness of his limbs. Each step sank deep into the snow, his massive frame struggling through the drifts.

The shape wavered in his vision, flickering, sometimes vanishing completely when the storm surged. But it remained, a beacon of survival.

His muscles burned with the effort, his breath harsh, visible in heavy clouds. His claws flexed and clenched, dragging himself forward inch by inch.

Finally, the warmth grew stronger, closer. The storm’s howling seemed to dull as he neared the faint outline of a slope, snow thinner here. His thermal lens revealed it—the faint glow of heat below the ground.

A hidden place. A den.

He staggered closer, body swaying. His claws scraped at the snow, finding the frozen earth beneath. He pressed his weight forward—

The frozen crust gave way beneath his weight with a sharp crack.

Khar’Vek let out a guttural snarl as the ground collapsed, his body plummeting through a sudden burst of snow and ice. He twisted mid-fall, claws reaching out, but the pit was too narrow, too sudden. His massive frame slammed down into something brittle and wooden. The crash echoed loud in the underground space, followed by the splintering crunch of a table shattering beneath him.

He landed hard, his back slamming against the frozen ground, air forced from his lungs in a deep exhale. For a moment, he lay there, mandibles flexing in frustration as dust, snow, and shattered wood rained down over him. A single beam groaned, collapsing beside him in a scatter of debris.

The storm’s howl was muffled now, replaced with a stillness broken only by the faint hiss of wind through the hole above. Snowflakes drifted lazily down, landing against his shoulders and mask. He exhaled heavily, steam curling from his breath.

Slowly, he rose.

His head lifted, eyes narrowing behind the fractured mask. The air here was different. Heavy. Thick with the scent of smoke, old rot, stale air. And beneath it, faint but unmistakable.

Human.

The sound that left his chest was low, dangerous, a rumble that vibrated deep in his throat. His mandibles twitched, spreading slightly as he inhaled, drawing in the unfamiliar musk. Not one human, but more than that… traces of something newer. Sharper. He could not place it, but his body stiffened with alertness.

The room around him was crude, unnatural for a proper dwelling. Concrete walls. Soil pushed aside and replaced by man’s stubbornness. A garden of sorts, though pathetic, rows of withering vegetation struggling under faint yellow heat producing lights. Tools scattered across shelves. A lamp hung crooked, glass cracked. This was no warrior’s den. This was survival.

And yet, it was human.

His claws flexed, and instinct guided him to weapon. The blades on his gauntlet slid free with a sharp metallic hiss, twin lengths of steel gleaming faintly in the low light. He stood tall, shoulders hunched, every muscle coiled as he stalked toward the only door leading out of the chamber.

It creaked beneath his touch as he pushed it open, slow and deliberate.

Beyond was darker, warmer. A faint glow pulsed from ahead, orange, flickering. Fire. The heat brushed against his exposed scales, a brief reprieve from the storm’s cruelty. He entered, step by step, massive frame filling the narrow passage as his eyes scanned everything.

The main chamber opened before him.

A hearth of stone at the far wall, flames licking low in a chimney, casting shadows across old furniture. A couch draped in worn blankets, the floor scattered with carpets to dull the cold bite of concrete. Shelves lined with jars, some half-empty, some long spoiled. A kitchen pressed into the back, primitive, cluttered with pots. Logs stacked by the fire.

The air was alive with human scent. Stronger now. Fresh.

Khar’Vek tilted his head slightly, mandibles twitching as he tracked the invisible trail. His mask pulsed faint thermal static, but he didn’t need it, the stink of human was enough. It was close. Very close.

He stepped further into the room, claws dragging faintly against the floor, the sound sharp in the silence. His breath came heavy, controlled, filling the chamber with a predator’s rhythm. He scanned every shadow, every angle, calculating.

Somewhere here, a human waited.

His grip tightened on his blades.

This den was no fortress. It was a cage.

Chapter Text

The bunker was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rose sat with her back pressed against the couch cushions, fingers curled tight around the edge of the blanket draped across her lap. Her blue eyes shifted occasionally toward the ceiling, where the faint sound of the storm outside pressed down like a heavy breath, muffled but ever-present. The wind howled through the trees, rattling loose snow from branches that bowed beneath its weight. Every so often, the timbers of the old roof groaned with a sound that mimicked footsteps, and her heart would skip until the silence reassured her again.

The crash had come minutes before, so distant she almost didn’t believe it. A sound like thunder, but heavier, more jagged, rolling through the snowbound forest in a way that rattled even the concrete walls around her. She’d frozen where she stood in the kitchen, spoon in hand, staring at the ceiling as if she could peel back the snow-packed earth above and see what had made it.

Another survivor? Another building collapsing in the dead village beyond the forest?

Her thoughts tried to reason with themselves, but her body knew better. She had pressed herself back against the counter, her fingers trembling until the spoon clattered into the sink. She didn’t go check. She didn’t leave the bunker. She never left anymore, couldn’t even if she wanted to.

Instead, she had retreated to the couch with the stubborn rhythm of someone who didn’t want to admit fear. Her husband’s sweatpants clung loose around her hips, the grey shirt she wore stretched thin with age. She pulled the blanket tighter against her legs and willed her body to stop trembling.

The fire in the chimney was low but steady, crackling softly, painting the room with an orange glow. The smell of smoke clung heavy in the stale air, mingling with old dust and the faint sour note of spoiled milk that still lingered in the kitchen. Rose exhaled, a sharp little sigh, and reached for the mug on the table beside her. The water inside was still hot, steam curling into the chill that always seemed to bite the concrete walls no matter how high the fire burned. She cupped it between her hands, trying to trick herself into comfort.

On her lap lay the worn book she’d scavenged years ago, pages yellowed and corners bent. The story inside wasn’t fiction, it was a history, a reminder of Earth before it rotted. She read it when she needed to remember that humanity hadn’t always been this way. That once, people lived without quarantine zones and sickness and running until the sky changed.

But her eyes refused the words tonight. They slid past paragraphs without meaning. Her mind kept circling back to that sound. That crash. That impossibility.

Her stomach clenched.

Something had fallen.

⸻

The first thud above her head made her flinch so violently the water sloshed from her mug and hissed against the concrete floor.

She held her breath.

Another thud followed, heavier. The sound of snow shifting, weight pressing where no weight should be. For a moment she tried to convince herself it was just the wind, another tree breaking beneath the storm. But no. This was closer. Too close. Directly overhead.

Rose set the mug down with trembling fingers and pressed the blanket aside. She got to her feet slowly, softly, her bare toes whispering across the cold concrete floor. Every muscle in her body screamed don’t move, but instinct drove her forward. She crept toward the kitchen, heart hammering.

Then…

BOOM.

The ceiling above the greenhouse room gave way with a deafening crash, and Rose nearly screamed. Her whole body jerked back, slamming against the counter as snow and debris thundered through the room behind the door. Wood splintered. Something massive hit the floor with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling. The sound reverberated through the underground shelter, final and sickening.

Rose froze.

Her throat was tight, breath coming too fast. She could hear the storm’s scream pouring through the breach, cold air already slithering down the hallway like fingers of ice. Her skin prickled, hair lifting on the back of her neck.

Something was in her house.

Her knees nearly buckled beneath her as panic rose, but she didn’t let it take her. She forced herself toward the wall, her hand reaching instinctively for the block of wood near the chimney. She crouched, fingers closing around the axe buried there from her last chopping. The handle was rough, worn smooth in places from years of use. It was heavy in her grip, too heavy for someone underfed, but it was all she had.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her daughter was sleeping in the back room.

Her baby.

Rose’s eyes darted toward the hallway. It was silent, impossibly silent, except for the faint settling of debris in the greenhouse. Whatever had crashed through her roof… it was still there. She could feel it in the air, the way the silence changed.

Her pulse thundered. She extinguished the single candle on the counter with a sharp pinch of her fingers, then the small LED lamp by the sink. The world plunged into near-darkness, the only light coming from the low orange glow of the fire. Shadows stretched across the room, jagged and long.

Clutching the axe with both hands, she moved quickly but quietly, slipping across the floor toward the living room. She ducked behind the small single-seat couch opposite the greenhouse door, crouching low until her knees nearly touched her chest. Her breaths came shallow and thin, eyes wide in the dark.

Her baby was still silent. Thank god.

Her own heart, though, pounded loud enough she was sure the intruder could hear it.

This wasn’t a human. This wasn’t someone lost in the storm.

Something huge had fallen into her home.

And it was hunting.

Rose pressed her back harder into the couch, her shoulders trembling as she clenched the axe handle until her knuckles ached. The wood felt slick with sweat against her palms, her grip slipping until she shifted her fingers tighter. She tried to force herself to breathe, slow and steady, but it was useless. Every inhale shook. Every exhale came out too sharp.

Her mind screamed at her to run. To grab her daughter and bolt through the back hatch into the snowstorm. But she knew better. She’d never make it with a newborn in this weather. Not with something like that, whatever it was, between her and the exit.

So she stayed frozen, her legs curled under her, chin pressed low, body folded into as small a shape as she could manage. She closed her eyes hard, forcing herself to focus, to stop shaking long enough to think.

That’s when she heard it.

Click… shnnkt.

A metallic sound, slow, deliberate. Like steel sliding free of a sheath.

Her heart stopped.

Her eyes snapped open.

Something was extending blades.

The greenhouse door groaned on its hinges, the wood bending with a squeal that made every muscle in her body seize. Then came the sound of weight, massive weight, pressing through the frame. The thing ducked, or stooped, or folded itself down to enter. She heard it before she saw it: claws dragging softly against concrete, heavy steps muffled, deliberate, almost gentle. A sound far too quiet for something that size.

The fire in the chimney had dwindled low, throwing only scraps of orange light across the floor. It was enough to catch the shadow that slipped into the room.

Rose bit down on the scream clawing up her throat.

The figure was… huge. Taller than any person had a right to be, even hunched. Wide shoulders. A thick outline of muscle shifting under something that looked like armor but not quite, shapes she couldn’t make out. Her eyes darted to the faint glint of metal near one arm, the dull reflection of firelight on twin blades that extended far, far too long. One swipe, and they’d cut her in half.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Her breath caught in her chest as the cold air bled into the room, spilling in through the broken greenhouse door behind the intruder. The warmth she’d been clinging to evaporated instantly, replaced by a creeping chill that cut through her thin clothes. Goosebumps prickled her arms.

It was breathing.

She could hear it. Deep, animal, guttural. Each inhale rattled, each exhale came with a faint clicking sound that twisted her stomach into knots. She had never heard anything like it. Not a dog. Not a bear. Not even the mutated predators she’d glimpsed outside during foraging runs. This was something else. Something worse.

Her mind scrambled, panicking through possibilities. Android? Mutant? Something from the old war projects? Every guess only made her shudder harder.

The smell hit her next, sharp, metallic, laced with smoke and something else. Something spicy, foreign, biting at the back of her throat. It didn’t belong in this bunker. It didn’t belong anywhere.

She pressed the side of her face against the couch cushion, staring wide-eyed into the dim light, trying to glimpse whatever it was without moving. All she could see was the firelight flickering across its back: scales glinting in brief flashes, black netting stretched across a broad chest, leather or cloth hanging around its waist. The shadows made the details uncertain, blurring it into something monstrous.

She sucked in a shallow breath, lips trembling.

This wasn’t an animal.

This wasn’t human.

It was both. Neither.

And it was hunting….

The figure moved.

Rose flinched as it slipped deeper into the room, each step so deliberate, so quiet despite its size. She couldn’t understand it, the way something so big could move so softly, almost graceful, like it was stalking prey. The claws scraped the floor once, just enough to send a shiver down her spine, before it shifted again, padding toward the kitchen.

From her hiding place, she could see it in fragments. The fire caught against its shoulder as it turned, a shimmer of dull metal plating. The faint outline of something hanging across its back—a bag? Weapons? The details blurred each time the light flickered, but the impression was enough.

It was armed.

Heavily.

Rose’s fingers trembled so hard around the axe that the wood handle creaked under her grip. She swallowed, throat dry, eyes locked on the shape moving only feet away.

It reached the kitchen. Stopped.

The sound of its breathing filled the silence. A low growl, like a predator sniffing the air. Rose’s stomach dropped as she realized, it was scenting. It was searching.

Her jaw clenched, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She dared not move, dared not even breathe too loud. Her baby was still silent in the back room, blissfully unaware. But how long would that last? How long before a cry gave them away?

The thought stabbed through Rose’s chest, sharp and cruel. She tightened her grip on the axe until her wrists ached. If it came to that, if it came into that room, she would have to stand up. She would have to swing. Even if she died, she had to.

Her eyes darted again to its silhouette. Broad back hunched under the ceiling, long hair, no, not hair, something else, cords or dreadlocks, glinting with beads or metal. She couldn’t see a face. Only the mass of it, the presence that filled the room until she felt suffocated by it.

Her body shook uncontrollably, legs cramping from how tightly she was curled against the couch. She pressed her lips shut, forcing herself not to gasp. Her heartbeat was so loud in her ears she swore the thing would hear it.

It shifted again, blades catching faint light as the fire showed them being extended fully.

Rose nearly sobbed.

This wasn’t some scavenger.

This wasn’t some starving villager looking for scraps.

This was a predator.

And it was in her home.

Rose’s lungs burned. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until her chest ached, until her body screamed for air. But even then, she only let the smallest whisper escape, as quiet as she could manage, terrified that the sound alone would draw the monster’s gaze.

The figure was in her kitchen now. She watched as its massive form leaned forward, head cocking side to side as though tasting the air. It drew in long, deliberate breaths, the sound low and animal.
It was searching.

For her.

For her baby.

Her nails dug into the wood of the axe handle until her hands ached. Every muscle trembled, not from cold this time, but from the realization that this was not some mindless beast. Its movements were too careful, too intentional. Every step, every sniff of the air was calculated. It wasn’t just wandering. It was hunting.

If she’d been in the greenhouse room when it broke in, if she’d been checking the broken roof, or if she’d fallen asleep on the couch instead of sitting upright, she’d already be dead. Torn open by those blades.

She swallowed hard, sweat beading down her temple despite the freezing air. The fire in the chimney was nearly out now, the shadows only broken by weak, jittering orange flashes. The intruder’s shape seemed to grow with each flicker, its size dwarfing the kitchen space as it bent, sniffing at the counter, at the cupboards, its back heaving with each rumbling breath.

Rose dared not move.

The thing’s head, at least, what she thought was its head, swiveled slowly, scanning the room directly in front of her hiding spot. She froze solid, not even blinking as its gaze seemed to pass right over her. Her heart thundered so loudly she was sure it would hear, sure it would pounce and end her.

But then…

A hiss. Low. Long. Almost frustrated.

It leaned back. Turned away.

And didn’t see her.

Rose’s body nearly gave out in relief, her knees shaking violently under her. Her mouth opened, dragging in the shallowest gasp of air. But before she could even think about moving, the monster shifted again.

It was heading down the hall.

Toward the back rooms.

Toward her daughter.

Rose’s stomach dropped like ice. She stared in frozen horror as its hulking frame bent slightly to fit down the narrow passage, its shoulders nearly scraping the walls. The hall that led directly to the two small rooms, hers and the baby’s. Its huge back rose and fell as it moved with terrifying slowness, each step placed with a predator’s care.

It stopped. Reached one massive hand forward.

For the first door.

Her room.

Not the baby’s yet.

Her body moved before her brain could argue. She pressed one hand against the couch to steady herself, the other still locked around the axe. She rose shakily to her feet, knees nearly buckling, every nerve in her body screaming to sit back down, to hide, to wait. But she knew…she knew, that if she did, if she let it open that first door, the next would be her baby’s.

It was now or never.

Rose swallowed down the lump in her throat, tears brimming in her eyes as she forced her legs to move. Each step was deliberate, silent, her socks muffling her weight against the cold concrete. Her heart hammered so violently it hurt, but she kept going, closer and closer to the towering back in front of her.

She realized with a horrible clarity just how small she was compared to it. Even standing, she didn’t reach past the middle of its torso. She could see the thick netting stretched across its back, the leather straps, the faint clink of beads or bone woven into what looked like dreadlocks. Its broad frame blocked the entire hall.

Her axe felt pathetic in her hands. A child’s toy compared to those monstrous blades strapped to its arm. But it was all she had.

Rose lifted the weapon slowly, the muscles in her arms straining, the wood handle slick with sweat. Her breath hitched as she raised it higher, as high as she could, eyes locked on the broad, shadowy back in front of her.

Every instinct screamed to drop it, to run, to curl back behind the couch and pray it left.

But her baby was behind that door of the next room over.

So she swung.

Chapter Text

Khar’Vek moved with the slow, deliberate gait of one who was used to hunting, though his body screamed in protest with each step. The crash had rattled him down to his very bones. His ribs ached, his muscles throbbed, and there was a sharp sting at the side of his leg where shrapnel had cut through his hide. Even still, he pressed on. Pain was nothing new to him, pain was only a reminder that he lived.

The bunker’s main room was cramped compared to the wide, open structures of Yautja Prime, but it was full of human scent. Thick, clinging, and fresh. He prowled through the space, shoulders brushing close to walls, his breathing deep as he inhaled the air.

Smoke. Burnt wood. Spoiled something… old dairy perhaps. And underneath it all, the strong scent of a human. He couldn’t work out if it was one, or many, there was a strong scent, an old old scent, and a new one.

His mandibles flexed and clicked irritably. He had no patience for being stalked by prey. The crash had left his body sluggish and bruised. He only wanted silence, a chance to gather himself, to remove the shards lodged in his hide and reset the dislocated joint screaming in his shoulder. But the scent of human filled his nose, filling his mind with the notion that he was not alone.

Annoyance bristled through him.

Khar’Vek straightened to his full height, his head almost brushing the ceiling as his gaze swept over the small fire that flickered weakly in the hearth. The shadows twitched and danced across the walls, making the tiny den look even smaller to him. A low rumble left his throat, vibrating deep in his chest. He stalked forward, claws scraping faintly against the concrete floor, moving toward the side hall where the scent was strongest.

His steps slowed.

The human was here. Close. Almost too close.

He tilted his head, dreadlocks shifting slightly as his yellow eyes scanned the dark corners. Nothing. No sound of breath, no sight of movement. His mandibles twitched in irritation, a sharp click leaving him. Had he imagined it? Or was the prey simply too small to see in the dark?

He sniffed again. No, he had not been wrong. It was here. Somewhere.

With a tired roll of his sore shoulders, Khar’Vek stalked toward the hallway. The stench of human grew stronger here, the air heavier with it. He ducked down slightly, nearly brushing the frame as he moved forward. The rooms were pitifully small, their doors thin and creaking against his claws when he brushed past them.

He could hear faint noises. Breathing. Heartbeats, quick and fast, almost panicked. His mandibles twitched as he tried to focus on which door it came from. Both reeked of human scent, both were full of that faint warmth prey carried. His claws flexed in frustration.

He reached forward, his massive hand extending for the nearest door. He didn’t care which room he opened first, he only wanted to end this hunt. Patch himself up. Rest.

But then…

A sound. Soft. Too soft.

Feet.

Behind him.

His instincts screamed. His body moved before thought, leaning sharply to the side just as something hissed past his head, metal whistling through the air, grazing the edge of his shoulder plate

The blade missed him by inches. The air sang with its swing.

A roar ripped from Khar’Vek’s chest, guttural and full of wrath, as he spun in one motion. His clawed hand shot out, catching the small arm that still clutched the axe. The human barely had time to react before his strength overpowered hers, wrenching the weapon easily from her grasp.

With his other hand, he moved even faster, grabbing the back of her neck in a crushing grip. His talons dug into the soft flesh at her nape, careful not to pierce but firm enough to show his dominance. With a brutal shove, he slammed her into the wall, the concrete shaking with the impact. Dust rained down from above.

The sound she made was strangled, pained, but defiant.

Khar’Vek bared his fangs, mandibles flaring open in a warning hiss as he extended his wrist blades. With a metallic shnnk, the twin weapons shot out, gleaming faintly in the dim firelight. He pressed them close to her throat, close enough that she could feel the cold kiss of their edge.

“Rrrhh…” The growl thundered from him, vibrating through his chest. His eyes narrowed as he leaned close, scenting the prey he’d finally caught.

And what he scented made him pause.

Female.

The shape in his grip was smaller, weaker, thinner than he expected. Not the solid, broader frame of a male, but frail. Narrow shoulders. A delicate neck straining under his claws. He stared down at her in disbelief for a heartbeat, yellow eyes flashing.

And still she thrashed.

The little human kicked at his legs, her hands clawing uselessly at his chest plate and biceps. She spat words in her guttural tongue, sharp, angry syllables, her voice cracking with fury and fear. He didn’t understand them, but the intent was clear. Insults. Defiance.

Khar’Vek’s mandibles flexed, part snarl, part fascination. This thing had attacked him. Him. Even frail and laughably weak, it had dared to swing steel at him.

But something else…

There was a strange pungent scent clinging to her. Not just the usual human musk. Something heavier, lingering, that he couldn’t quite place. It bothered him, nagged at the edges of his instincts, but the thought was drowned out by the thrum of blood in his ears.

The female thrashed harder.

His grip on her neck tightened.

His blades pressed closer.

And still she fought.

The world froze.

Not because of his grip. Not because of her pitiful claws scraping against his chest plate. But because a sound split the air, shrill, piercing, unrelenting.

Wailing.

Khar’Vek’s head snapped up, mandibles flaring in confusion. It was high-pitched, weak yet demanding, unlike any prey call he had ever heard. The small den vibrated with the noise.

The human female in his grasp stiffened. Her wide blue eyes darted past him toward the unopened door just down the hall. Her body jerked against his hold, no longer thrashing against him, but struggling to break free toward that sound.

A child.

Khar’Vek blinked behind his mask. His mind pieced together the puzzle he had ignored in his exhaustion. The pungent scent he had dismissed, the strange richness clinging to her skin, her thin frame… milk.

She was not just prey. She was a mother protecting fresh young.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared, blades still kissing her throat, caught in the weight of realization. The dishonor of it slammed into him almost as hard as the crash had. To cut down a mother in front of her new offspring? To spill milk and blood together into the dirt? Even his enemies would sneer at such a thing. It was no hunt. It was slaughter.

His mandibles drew back with a sharp click. Slowly, with reluctance and barely hidden disgust at himself, he eased his grip. The blades retracted with a hiss, folding back against his gauntlet. He released the female.

She dropped instantly, collapsing to her knees. Her palms scraped against the floor as she scrambled like prey across the hall. Khar’Vek loomed behind her, silent, shoulders heaving with a restrained growl. His eyes tracked her every frantic movement as she reached the door, flung it open, and disappeared into the shadowed room.

He followed.

His frame filled the doorway, broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the concrete as he peered in.

The human female was there, cradling a tiny bundle to her chest. Her arms wrapped around it with desperate ferocity, rocking back and forth as the small creature wailed in confusion. She murmured sounds in her alien tongue, trying to soothe, though her voice shook, caught between terror and determination.

Khar’Vek stared.

The young was minuscule, soft-skinned, pink-faced, a soft fuzzy blonde peach fuzzy head. Squirming weakly against its mother’s hold. He could crush it with a single hand without effort. It was no threat. Barely alive, truly. And yet… it had strength enough to scream, to demand attention.

His eyes narrowed, mask optics flickering faintly as he studied them both.

The female looked back at him. Blue eyes full of raw terror, yet blazing with the same feral fire she’d shown when she swung that axe. She clutched the young tighter, pressing its head to her chest, shielding it with her body.

A silent standoff. Predator and prey.

Khar’Vek’s mandibles twitched, clicking softly in irritation. He could not kill them. Not now. Not like this. She had struck, but only because he had meant to strike first. She had defended her den, her offspring. This was a mother, to harm her would be deeply frowned upon by both his clan, and the females in the clan. His honor snarled at him, reminding him that this was no worthy kill.

A low growl rumbled from his chest, the sound reverberating off the concrete walls. His glare burned into her as she flinched but did not break her gaze. Brave, for something so fragile.

Finally, with one last sharp click of his mandibles, Khar’Vek pulled back.

He stepped from the doorway, his hulking shadow withdrawing into the hall. Heavy footfalls carried him back toward the main room, where the fire’s weak glow still struggled to beat back the cold.

He disappeared into the dark, leaving the mother and child huddled in the corner of their den.

But his mind did not leave them.

Instead he busied himself with finding a way to light up the area, he could see in the dark, but not well with how his mask was acting up.

Finding the faintly smoking candles and using a stick to light them, grunting as he sat down onto the large couch, closing his eyes behind his mask. One clawed hand lifting to scratch at his neck, shifting to rest his elbows on his knees, dreadlocks spilling down his chest and back.

His thoughts drifted yet gain, back to the female human and her suckling, furrowing his brows. He didn’t have much experience with females in general, much less a human female and it’s babe… but, they weren’t a threat, he couldn’t hurt them.

Not yet.

——-
Rose’s pov
——-

The air tore from Rose’s lungs in a sharp, panicked gasp as the axe missed its mark. The steel bit the concrete floor instead with a teeth-rattling clang, sparks shooting, the vibrations jolting up through her arms.

She didn’t even have time to recoil before it moved, so impossibly fast for something so massive.

A searing hot hand clamped around her wrist, wrenching the axe clean from her grip with terrifying ease. Another, equally blistering and clawed, wrapped tight around the back of her neck. Her body jolted as if struck by lightning when it slammed her into the wall. The concrete behind her rattled under the impact, dust raining down onto her hair and shoulders.

Her vision swam. She blinked furiously, fighting to focus through the ache in her spine and the shock paralyzing her chest.

And then, its mask was there. Inches from her face. Metal, dark, dented, ridged like the snarling visage of something she couldn’t name. A blank monster’s face, reflecting the firelight in muted flashes. No eyes. No features. No expression. Just an alien void staring down at her.

Rose’s breath hitched. Her chest heaved as if the air itself had turned solid.

Her free hand shot up instinctively, clawing uselessly at the beast’s hand gripping her wrist, her nails scraping over scales and thick hide as though it were stone. Her legs kicked, hitting nothing but the tree-trunk thighs of the thing that held her pinned. Solid. Immovable. Unstoppable.

“L-let me go! You fucking bastard!” she spat, the words shredded by her ragged breathing. Her voice shook but carried teeth, a desperate, cornered snarl of a woman with nothing left but rage and fear.

The thing didn’t flinch. Its grip only tightened, sending fire streaking up her wrist and neck where its claws bit in, not cutting, but promising it could.

The heat of it was unbearable. Its skin was hot. Not warm, not feverish-hot, like coals trapped under flesh. Rose could feel sweat beading on her temple where the heat radiated from its palm, running down her neck, soaking the collar of her shirt. It felt like her skin might blister if it held her long enough.

And then the sound…shhhk.

Two blades extended, sliding out from its arm-mounted weapon with a hiss of metal against metal. Her eyes shot wide, vision locking on the length of them as they stopped just shy of her throat. They gleamed faintly in the firelight, sharp, curved, alien, each one about as long as her torso.

Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might burst. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even swallow without brushing her throat against the cold kiss of those blades.

Tears stung her eyes. Her legs kicked again, harder, her voice breaking in sheer terror.

“You—fuck—you can’t—” she gasped, choking on her words. “I’ll kill you—I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you—”

But it was a lie. They both knew it.

She was nothing against this. Nothing but skin, bone, and fear.

And it, whatever it was…was something out of a nightmare…

The silence shattered.

Her baby’s cry ripped through the bunker, thin, high-pitched, piercing, full of confusion and fright. Rose’s stomach dropped, the sound clawing through her chest like a blade.

No, no, no—please no—

Her daughter’s wail cut through everything else. The pounding in her ears, the icy panic flooding her veins, even the sharp whine of those blades near her throat.

The creature froze, too.

And then, just as sudden as it had grabbed her…it let go.

Rose hit the ground hard on her knees, her palms scraping against the concrete floor. Her wrist throbbed, the skin burning from where its claws had dug in. Her lungs sucked in air in wild gulps, like a drowning woman breaching the surface.

But there was no time to think.

She scrambled, body moving before her mind could catch up, stumbling and nearly falling flat as she clawed her way across the floor toward the back room. The door to her bedroom slammed open under her shove, the hinges groaning as she threw herself inside.

The baby was still crying, red-faced, squirming, little arms flailing in the crib. Rose reached in with shaking hands, scooping her daughter up, cradling her against her chest. The baby’s warmth pressed into her, wriggling, wailing. Rose tucked her close, clutching her as if the strength of her hold could shield her from whatever thing stalked the bunker now.

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, mommy’s here, I’ve got you—” Her voice broke on the words, cracking with fear and desperation.

She turned, chest heaving, her back pressed to the crib.

And saw it.

It stood in the doorway, filling it like a shadow carved out of nightmare. Its shoulders nearly brushed the frame, its height dwarfing the space. The dim flicker of firelight licked across its metal mask, making it gleam in sharp edges. The rest of its body loomed in shadow, only pieces catching the glow…scaled shoulders, netted chest, those terrifying weapons still extended, curving like the scythes of death itself.

Rose’s pulse surged so hard it hurt. Her baby’s cries grew louder, sharper, echoing off the cold concrete walls.

The thing didn’t move. Didn’t lunge. Didn’t strike.

It just…stood there. Watching.

Ominous. Silent. Like a storm balanced on the edge of breaking.

Her arms tightened around her daughter until the baby squirmed against the pressure, her own tears blurring her vision as she stared back at it. Every instinct in her screamed to fight, to run, to do something, but her body locked, frozen under the weight of that stare.

Her mind flooded with questions.

What is it? Why is it here? Why hasn’t it killed me already? Why did it let go? Is it going to hurt her? Is it going to hurt me? What do I do? Oh God, what do I do?

The fire popped faintly in the other room. The baby hiccuped between sobs. Rose’s breath came in ragged pulls.

Then, slowly, with a sound that made her chest constrict. The blades retracted. A hiss of metal sliding back into the gauntlet.

Her eyes widened as it turned, the sheer size of its frame shifting with impossible grace. And just like that, it backed away. Step by heavy step, its shadow pulled from the doorway.

It left.

Gone, swallowed by the dim light of the living room.

Rose didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out of her in a broken sob. Her knees trembled, giving way, and she slid down the side of the crib, clutching her daughter close, her forehead pressed to the baby’s soft head.

The tears came hot and unstoppable, soaking into her child’s blanket. Her shoulders shook with the force of it.

“What—what the fuck…” she whispered hoarsely, choking on the words. “What do I do…what the fuck do I do now…”

She rocked slightly, shushing her daughter though her own voice cracked, trying to calm the baby, trying to calm herself. But the questions wouldn’t stop.

What was that thing? Why did it let me go? Why is it here? What if it comes back? What if it hurts her? What if it doesn’t leave?

The fear clawed through her chest, but underneath it all, something else pressed, cold and merciless, an awful, suffocating uncertainty.

For the first time since she’d lost her husband, Rose truly felt the weight of being completely, utterly alone. If he was here, he would’ve done something, made a joke, faught with everything he had… but she wasn’t like him… now she was alone with her baby…

And now…alone with it.

Chapter Text

Rose stirred awake with a sharp ache in her back. Her eyes fluttered open to the dim, gray morning light that filtered faintly through the cracked boards of the greenhouse roof, seeping into the otherwise darkened bunker. For a moment, in the groggy haze of waking, she thought everything was normal…well, as normal as things could be these days.

The low hiss of the chimney still lingered. The air was frigid but not unbearable. Her daughter, swaddled and nestled against her chest, shifted with a soft grunt but stayed asleep.

For a heartbeat, it almost felt like every other morning since her husband had died, until memory came crashing back into her like a fist to the gut.

Her heart lurched violently in her chest. The thing. The intruder.

It wasn’t a dream.

She sat up too quickly, making her daughter stir and whine before settling again. Her whole body trembled, not from the cold, but from the memory of that creature’s hands on her. Too big. Too strong. Too hot. Its grip had left bruises already blossoming on her pale skin. The sound of its blades sliding out with a metallic snarl echoed in her ears. Her throat burned with the phantom memory of where those blades had pressed against her skin.

Rose pulled her child tighter, breathing unevenly. She wanted to pretend…just pretend…that it hadn’t happened. But the bunker wasn’t big. She couldn’t have imagined the hole in her greenhouse roof. She couldn’t have imagined the sound of the crash. Or the weight of that…monster looming over her, staring as she cradled her baby like some kind of predator deciding whether to strike.

No. It was real.

And it was still here.

The silence in the rest of the bunker was crushing. Heavy. Oppressive. Somewhere out there, whether in the kitchen or crouched in the shadows of the living room, that thing waited.

Her stomach knotted. She hadn’t left this room since last night. All night she’d huddled on the floor with her baby in her arms, too afraid to even creep back into her bed, too afraid to light another candle, too afraid to sleep. At some point, exhaustion had won, dragging her under despite the fear. But now? Now she had to face the fact that she couldn’t just hide in here forever.

Her daughter would need feeding soon. The fire needed more wood. She needed water. And the longer she holed up, the less prepared she’d be if that thing decided to come back.

Rose set her jaw and forced her body into motion.

Carefully, she lowered her baby back into the crib, layering an old blanket over her to block some of the draft leaking through the cracks of the concrete. Her hands lingered on her daughter’s tiny chest, feeling the soft rise and fall, before finally tearing herself away.

She had to move.

She had to face whatever waited outside that door.

Rose’s hand hovered on the doorknob for what felt like forever. Her pulse hammered in her throat so hard it hurt. For the thousandth time, she asked herself what the hell she was even doing. She could stay in here, couldn’t she? Just wait. Hope the thing left. But deep down she knew, it wasn’t leaving.

She twisted the knob slowly. The door gave a faint creak as it opened, spilling her into the dim main room.

And there it was.

Her entire body locked up at the sight.

The hulking figure sat by the fireplace, so enormous it looked wrong, wrong, in her little bunker. Its broad back faced her, covered in strange netted material and scraps of armor. The firelight flickered across the dark gray-blue of its skin, scales? Highlighting the thick black stripes that ran across its shoulders and arms.

Pieces of broken wood and old metal scraps from the collapsed roof lay scattered near it, and she realized with a jolt of confusion that they weren’t just strewn, some had been placed. Wedged. Stacked against the gaping hole. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but the worst of the outside chill had been patched off.

Her eyes darted back to the figure. It didn’t move, but its head turned just enough to the side to catch her in its peripheral vision.

Rose’s breath froze in her throat.

That mask. The same metal mask that had been the last thing she saw before its blades touched her throat. Cold and alien, hiding any hint of expression. The faintest click sounded as it adjusted, a low, mechanical purr she didn’t understand.

Her legs screamed at her to run, but where? This was her home. She had nowhere else to go. And it was sitting right between her and the exit.

So she did the only thing she could. She moved.

Step by trembling step, she crossed the concrete floor. She kept her eyes fixed anywhere but on the creature, every nerve in her body on fire, every instinct telling her not to turn her back on it. The silence between them was unbearable, stretching tight like a rope ready to snap.

When she reached the fireplace, she crouched down, stacking wood into the flames with shaking hands. She didn’t trust herself not to drop them, her fingers felt so numb. The fire popped loudly, making her flinch.

Still, the figure didn’t move.

Rose dared a quick glance. Its mask was still turned slightly, following her. Watching. Always watching.

She swallowed hard and turned her focus back to the fire.

The fire caught again, smoke curling faintly into the chimney, warmth spilling into the bunker like a fragile lifeline. Rose’s stiff fingers hovered near the flames, trying to leech some heat into her body, though the sweat on her back was cold-born not from the temperature, but from the unbearable weight of being watched.

She could feel it.

Her eyes slid sideways again, just a fraction, and she caught the faint tilt of the creature’s head. Still seated. Still looming like some immovable mountain. Its chest rose and fell with those low, rumbling breaths, each one vibrating faintly in the silence. The scent of smoke, spiced musk, and something metallic clung to the air, drowning out the familiar homey scent of the bunker.

Rose clenched her jaw and stood. She had to keep moving. Keep her hands busy. If she stopped, she might break.

Her stomach cramped faintly as she turned toward the kitchen shelves. The truth was, she hadn’t eaten properly in days. The little she managed went straight to keeping her milk supply steady for her daughter. Even now, hunger twisted her gut, but she forced it aside as she reached for one of the jars of dried roots.

Her hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped the lid. She winced at the noise it made.

Silence followed.

She didn’t dare look.

She pulled a small bundle of dried greens instead, setting them into the old pot of water over the fire. The simple routine was grounding. She’d done this so many times that her hands moved on their own, no matter how badly they shook. Water, herbs, a pinch of salt. Boil. Wait.

But it was impossible to pretend it was normal when every nerve screamed that she wasn’t alone.

When she finally turned to set the lid on the pot, her breath caught.

It hadn’t moved from its seat, but its head was fully turned now, mask facing her directly.

Rose froze mid-step, heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted out. Her fingers curled tighter around the pot lid. For a second, she considered throwing it, bolting back to her daughter’s room, barricading herself inside.

But the figure didn’t move.

It just…watched.

Slowly, too slowly, she lowered the lid onto the pot and forced herself back to sit on the couch. The old cushions sagged beneath her slight weight. She pulled the blanket from earlier into her lap, clutching it even though it didn’t help the shaking.

Minutes dragged on, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the faint bubbling of the pot.

Her eyes flicked up again, just once, and for a heartbeat her gaze locked with the faint amber glow of its eyes behind the mask.

Rose dropped her stare instantly, heat flooding her cheeks despite the cold.

It didn’t attack. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak…if it even could. But that stare felt like it was peeling her apart piece by piece.

The pot hissed softly as steam curled out.

Rose bit her lip, then, before she could think better of it, rose again. She poured herself a small mug of the bitter broth. It wasn’t much, just enough to ease the sharp pang in her gut.

Her hand hovered over the pot.

Her heart skipped.

And then, without looking at it, without saying a word, she set a second mug on the floor near the fire.

Her throat was tight, her chest burning. Every instinct screamed at her what a stupid, reckless thing this was to do. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t safe. But…

Something inside her whispered that it was a gesture she had to make.

Rose didn’t wait to see if it accepted. She retreated instantly, clutching her own mug, curling back up on the couch like a wounded animal. She didn’t even drink, just sat there, staring into the fire, listening.

The silence stretched again.

Then came a sound. A shift of heavy weight. The scrape of claws against concrete. Slow. Measured.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t look. Couldn’t look.

The faint clink of ceramic reached her ears. A pause. Then…nothing.

The weight shifted back, settling again by the fire.

Rose dared a tiny glance. The mug was gone.

Her breath escaped in a shaky rush, and she ducked her head, clutching her own mug tighter.