Earth smelled nothing like the world that Thwei'ja had last hunted on. The moisture in the air, crystalline and soft, did not burn his skin like the acid rains of Xarkon-9. Instead, it accumulated in pristine drifts across the tundra, piling against the remote field station that jutted from the landscape, a metal intrusion into nature's domain. Through his bio-mask's thermal imaging, he had observed his quarry for three cycles now, cataloging their movements, their hierarchies, their weaknesses.

It stained so beautifully red when he killed the first of them, a perimeter guard whose death had been disappointingly swift. The crimson splashed across virgin snow in a pattern that reminded Thwei'ja of the sacred symbols carved into his own flesh during his blooding ceremony decades ago. Red blood had always been his favorite; it carried memories of his first successful hunt, the pride in his patriarch's eyes when he returned drenched in it.

The first kill was unprepared, barely registering Thwei'ja's presence before the serrated blade separated head from shoulders. Disappointing, but not unusual for early culling. This appeared to be a technology-based defense system, reliant on cameras and motion sensors he had already disabled with practiced ease. They would need time to recognize the pattern, to understand they were being hunted rather than suffering accidents in this hostile environment. He would give them that grace period. Thwei'ja was not without appreciation for sport, and the hunt was more challenging, more exquisitely fun, when they fought back with the desperate creativity unique to prey who understood their place in the food chain.

But then he saw them, emerging from the eastern wing of the compound. Walking out of the building in a strange, reflective covering that caught the aurora's ghostly light. The heat signature beneath pulsed with a rhythm that immediately synchronized with his own dual hearts. They were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; so alien to his kind, yet perfect in their otherness. He couldn't make out their form properly, not with the thermal-dampening textiles that covered their fragile skin, but he knew with ancestral certainty that transcended conscious thought.

Mate.

His mandibles clicked in anticipation beneath his mask, the sound echoing in the chamber of his breathing apparatus. A mate. Ancient myths of such occurrences had been passed down through his clan's blood memory; tales of warriors who found their eternal companions among the stars, of the different kind of violence that love and devotion could enact. The elder hunters spoke of it as weakness, yet their tone always carried undercurrents of reverence when describing the bond that transcended species, the possession more complete than any trophy.

Thweija's dual hearts accelerated to combat synchronization, his phosphorescent blood flooding specialized muscle groups with heightened oxygen. The extendable bone-spurs along his spine erected fully, a mating display no specimen of his kind would ever witness now. His hunting focus, typically distributed evenly across all potential threats, narrowed to a singular point centered on their heat signature. His mission parameters rewrote themselves across his consciousness; eliminate the unworthy prey to demonstrate hunting prowess, collect trophies to adorn their eventual shared dwelling, and secure his mate with the devotion his species typically reserved only for the Path of Honor itself.

Beneath his mask, his outer mandibles spread wide while the inner ones trembled in what could have been a smile. He would need to learn their patterns, understand what pleased them, determine what offerings would demonstrate his worth. He was always agreeable to a challenge.