The sun of the unknown planet was just beginning to rise above the horizon, tinting the rocky and forested formations with golden and purple hues that danced like liquid flames across the alien surface.
The light, filtered through an atmosphere denser than that of Helion Astra, created a prismatic effect on the edges of the clouds, as if the sky itself were burning in slow motion.
The ground was covered in dark, rough vegetation, with trees of black bark that absorbed light rather than reflecting it, creating silhouettes so deep they looked like holes in the fabric of reality. The glowing lichens growing on the rocks moved slowly as if they had a life of their own, contracting and expanding in an almost respiratory rhythm, and when the sun touched them, they emitted phosphorescent flashes that turned the ground into a sea of tiny stars.
High above this dreamlike landscape, a spherical flying object of an immaculate white color entered the planet's atmosphere. Its surface did not reflect the sunlight; rather, it seemed to absorb it and re-emit it from some impossible place within its perfect geometry.
It descended through the clouds with a slowness that defied logic, as if the object were made of the same substance as dreams, a place where gravity was merely a suggestion. The clouds, thick and laden with metallic particles, enveloped it for a moment, and the white sphere disappeared completely, camouflaging itself with a perfection that seemed designed by nature itself.
It descended with a calm mixed with an almost unreal elegance, like a feather in freefall inside a bubble of stopped time. For a long time, that white sphere would have already been on the surface if it weren't descending with that tranquility, as if the pilot—or whatever was guiding it—wanted to savor every meter of alien air before touching ground.
Finally, the capsule landed on a large flat rock that emerged from the ground like the back of a sleeping giant. It did so softly, without a sound. Not a creak, not an impact, not even the hiss of decelerating engines. It was simply there, as if it had appeared by magic.
Below this rock, several smaller stones were scattered in a descending formation, creating a natural staircase connecting the top to the valley floor. But it was not a random formation; there was something deliberate in the arrangement, an intentionality suggesting that someone—or something—had placed them there for an unknown purpose. The edges of the stones were worn, but not by natural erosion, rather by something resembling repeated footsteps over centuries.
From this privileged location where the landing took place, one could see the entire landscape with complete freedom: the rolling plains to the east, the dense black forest to the west, and to the north, the entrance to a deep canyon whose walls seemed to have been cut by a cosmic knife. The visibility was perfect for studying possible escape routes, identifying blind spots for ambushes, and planning where to set traps if necessary.
The ship's cabin opened in total silence, without the characteristic hydraulic hiss of conventional vessels. The hatch slid upward like the eyelid of a mechanical eye, revealing the dark interior of the capsule.
The wind blew strongly up there, carrying dry leaves from the lower parts of the valley in whimsical spirals. One leaf in particular, rusty red in color and shaped like an open hand, broke away from the main current and headed straight for the open cabin. It flew silently, spinning on itself, as if an invisible finger were guiding it.
Just as it was about to cross the threshold, a hand emerged from the inner darkness and caught it mid-flight.
The fingers, covered by a matte black material glove with visible ceramic reinforcements on the knuckles, closed with millimeter precision. The leaf was trapped, motionless, between index finger and thumb. Then, the hand withdrew and for a moment only the wind was heard.
The person descended from the ship carefully, placing first one foot on the rock, then the other, testing the surface's stability before committing their full weight. The slightly higher gravity immediately tensed their muscles; each step required conscious effort, a constant adjustment in gait that any inhabitant of Helion Astra would instantly recognize.
—Breathable atmosphere —the voice was a whisper, barely a movement of lips that the suit's ambient microphone picked up and amplified for their own ear—. Minimal radiation. Probability of predators: high. Signs of intelligent life: none detected.
The last phrase was spoken with a tone that mixed relief and disappointment, as if they had been expecting exactly the opposite.
This traveler was dressed in a Gothic Stealth Exosuit, Shadow Hunter model, the latest evolution in deep infiltration technology from the laboratories of Helion Astra. This exosuit represented the ultimate fusion between advanced ballistic protection and total stealth, with an aggressive, aerodynamic focus designed specifically for close-quarters combat and infiltration into hostile territories.
The suit's aesthetic was imposing: it featured a deep matte obsidian black finish, with a microscopic texture designed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating the illusion that the wearer was simply a zone of shadow deeper than the rest. Its design was asymmetrical, with overlapping scale details running down the shoulders, arms, and legs, reminiscent of the anatomy of a nocturnal predator, perhaps a raven or a cave feline from some forgotten world. The absence of a back cape now fully exposed the reinforced mechanical spine and back energy systems, giving it a more skeletal and technical appearance, almost as if machine and man were one.
The suit's materials were as advanced as its appearance suggested: manufactured from a composite of flexible ballistic ceramic micro-plates acting as a mesh of scales over a base layer of aramid mesh. Exposed areas due to the lack of back fabric, such as the back of the neck and rear thighs, were covered by a high-strength elastic polymer mesh, providing 100% mobility without compromising basic protection. Each plate, each seam, each reinforcement had been designed for a specific function, and together they formed a lethal second skin.
The incorporated technology was equally impressive. Acoustic dampeners integrated into the joints and boots, now visible on the ankles and back of the knees, reduced the noise of footsteps and movements to practically undetectable levels. The flexible ceramic plates, those scales covering most of the body, could harden on impact like a non-Newtonian fluid, stopping projectiles that would penetrate conventional armor. Adaptive optical camouflage, visible as subtle filaments running across the chassis plates, was capable of shifting hue to blend with shadows and irregular backgrounds.
But the most impressive part was the helmet: angular and aerodynamic, with a split visor that connected directly to integrated night and thermal vision systems. The respirator, compact and low-profile, could filter toxins, spores, and biological agents from atmospheres that would kill an unprotected human in seconds.
At that moment, however, the helmet was open. It had slid back with a single thought from its wearer, leaving their neck and head free to feel the planet's air.
The wind made their hair dance—black, with highlights of a bright orange hue that captured the alien sunlight and fragmented it into tiny sparks of fire—and their green eyes, a deep green like the forests of their home planet in the rainy season, reflected the curiosity and alertness of a warrior trained since childhood. Their face was young, not yet fully hardened by battles, but in the line of their jaw and in the way their pupils moved scanning the horizon without rest, one could tell childhood had been left behind long ago.
They took a deep breath. The air had a metallic taste, slightly sweet, as if the planet were exhaling upon them.
—Dorian —they whispered, and their own name on their lips sounded like a mantra, like a reminder—. You can do this. This is just one more planet on your travel list. —They paused, as if expecting the universe to answer—. Let's take it easy. Very easy.
Dorian had been to other worlds before. They vividly remembered, even as a child, accompanying their older brother on a strange planet where creatures as absurd as killer squirrels—small, furry, but with claws capable of tearing through exploration ship armor—moved among the trees like laughing shadows. That experience had taught them that outside Helion Astra, everything could be dangerous. But also exciting. And it was that excitement, that tingle in the pit of their stomach, that had brought them here.
The planet's sounds were strange to the ears: a low, metallic hum that seemed to come from the rocks themselves, mixed with the rustling of vegetation moved by a heavy, humid wind. It wasn't the dry, sharp wind of Helion Astra; this was a thick, almost liquid wind that caressed the skin like a damp hand.
Dorian adjusted their battle suit with an almost unconscious movement, feeling the micro-plates rearrange themselves to follow the contours of their muscles. Beneath the Exosuit, they wore a compression suit covering their body from neck to ankles, lightweight yet resistant, with conductive fibers monitoring every vital sign and transmitting information directly to the suit's central system. Every muscle, every fiber of their body responded as if it had its own consciousness, accustomed to years of intensive training.
They advanced along a natural path that wound between the rocks, their boots leaving barely perceptible prints in the black, spongy earth. The path seemed to have been created by frequent animal passage, though none were visible at the moment.
Then, the voice arrived.
Signs of hostile life detected at 300 meters. Unstructured, behavioral patterns compatible with pack-hunting fauna. Direct contact advised against, though combat potential: optimal.
Omega's voice was clear, precise, and appeared directly in their consciousness without passing through their ears. It was like their own thought, but with a different nuance, a mechanical echo in the recesses of their mind. The AI integrated into their neural system projected information directly onto their vision: a topographic map of the terrain, a blinking marker 300 meters to the northeast, and real-time statistics on distance, the approximate number of creatures, and their possible approach routes.
Dorian smiled slightly. The tingle in their stomach intensified. That was exactly what they had expected.
—Well —they responded mentally, knowing Omega would capture every unspoken word—, I couldn't expect less from a planet with a landscape like this. With these colors, these rocks, these trees that look like they're from a nightmare... something had to be waiting to try and kill me.