The ship broke through the last veil of clouds with a shriek of metal and fire. Earth stretched wide beneath them—oceans shimmering like liquid sapphire, forests a deep green carpet that seemed impossibly alive after the barren rust of Mars.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then the landing gear slammed down, and with a bone-rattling thud, they touched ground. The engines coughed, hissed, then fell silent.
It was over.
Jonas slumped against his seat, sweat dripping down his brow. "Home… we made it."
Mara exhaled a laugh that almost sounded like a sob. She unbuckled and dropped to the floor, touching the deck as if it were the soil itself. "I thought we'd never…"
Liora stood frozen, staring at the world through the viewport. Her voice was barely a whisper. "It's beautiful."
Eris rose last. His gaze lingered on the window, but his eyes weren't on Earth—they were far away, fixed on the unseen tendrils of Mars that still coiled around his mind. The silence outside was too clean, too fragile.
The hatch opened with a hiss. Warm, damp air rushed in—thick with the scent of soil, leaves, and rain. It wrapped around them like an embrace, a reminder that Earth was alive in a way Mars could never be.
Jonas stepped out first, his boots sinking slightly into the grass. He fell to his knees, digging his hands into the soil as if to anchor himself to reality.
Mara followed, spinning in place, arms outstretched to feel the wind. Liora bent low, pressing her hand to the earth like a healer checking a pulse.
But Eris hesitated at the threshold. His body trembled as he placed one foot onto the ground.
The earth welcomed him. But beneath it, in the deep pulse of the soil, he felt it—a faint echo, a distant throb like a heartbeat not of Earth but of Mars.
The others didn't notice. They were too busy laughing, crying, drinking in the sight of home.
Eris whispered, barely audible, "It followed us."
The wind stirred. The forest answered with a rustle, almost like a warning.