Page 47 of Enslak

The ship shuddered as we hit the outer atmosphere. I twisted in my seat, craning to see Enslak through the open doorway. Still breathing. Still alive.

I turned back to the viewscreen just as Avalon revealed itself.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

It was beautiful.

Not Earth-beautiful. Not the familiar blues and greens I'd grown up seeing. This was something else entirely. Something alien and wild and impossibly vibrant.

The landmasses were deep emerald and blue, shot through with veins of color I didn't have names for—purples and golds and something that glowed even in daylight. The oceans were pale lime green, so clear I could see patterns beneath the surface even from orbit.

And the sky—

The sky was wrong. Beautiful, but wrong. Not quite blue. Not quite purple. Something in between, shifting and shimmering like oil on water.

We descended through clouds that looked like spun sugar, pink and gold, catching the light of Avalon's sun—larger than Earth's, more orange than yellow, casting everything in a warm, amber glow.

Another shudder. The engines adjusted, compensating for the thicker atmosphere. I checked on Enslak again—twenty-ninth time—and found him exactly as I'd left him. Sedated. Peaceful. Alive.

The ground rushed up to meet us. I saw forests—if they could be called forests—with trees that towered hundreds of feet into that strange sky. I saw clearings of what might have been grassland but moved wrong, rippling like water. I saw something massive moving through the canopy, too far away to identify but big enough to make the trees sway.

"Please let this work," I whispered. "Please."

The landing gear deployed with a mechanical whine. The autopilot guided us toward a clearing near what looked like a river—Binwee had programmed it well, choosing a location with water, shelter, and defensible terrain.

The landing was gentle. A slight bump, a settling sensation, then stillness.

Silence.

I sat frozen for a moment, hardly daring to believe we'd made it. Then I was moving—unbuckling, rushing to the cargo area where Enslak lay.

He was still breathing. Still alive.

But I couldn't leave him sedated forever. George said the medication would wear off naturally within a day, but if he woke confused and disoriented in a strange place, it could trigger his defensive instincts. Make him violent.

Better to wake him now, while I could talk to him. Calm him. Help him understand.

I pulled out the small patch George had prepared—the reversal agent that would bring him out of sedation quickly but safely. My hands trembled as I pressed it to his neck, just below his jaw where the skin was softer.

I stepped back, giving him space, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then his breathing changed. Deepened. His chest rose and fell more rapidly. His fingers twitched. His head moved slightly, turning toward me even though his eyes remained closed.

"Enslak," I said softly. "It's okay. You're safe."

His eyes opened.

They were filled with rage.

He lunged upright with a roar that made every instinct I had scream run. His claws extended, his teeth bared, his entire body coiling with lethal intent. He didn't know where he was. Didn't recognize the ship, the space, me.

All he knew was threat.

The restraints George had insisted on—the medical-grade straps designed to hold large patients—snapped like thread.

The first one gave way with a sharp crack as Enslak's arm jerked upward. The second followed immediately, the reinforced material tearing like paper. His legs came free a heartbeat later, the straps around his ankles breaking with barely any resistance.