The sun of the unknown planet was just beginning to rise over the horizon, staining 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 along 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 seemed like holes in the fabric of reality. The bright lichens growing on the rocks moved slowly as if they had a life of their own, contracting and expanding in an almost breathing rhythm, and when the sun touched them, they emitted phosphorescent flashes that turned the ground into a sea of tiny stars.
Far above this dreamlike landscape, a spherical flying object of immaculate white was entering 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 vanished completely, camouflaging itself with a perfection that seemed designed by nature itself.
It descended with a calmness mixed with an almost unreal elegance, like a feather in free fall inside a bubble of stopped time. By all rights, that white sphere should already be on the surface, if not for the unhurried way it was descending, as if the pilot—or whatever guided it—wanted to savor every meter of alien air before touching ground.
Finally, the capsule landed on a large flat rock that jutted from the ground like the back of a sleeping giant. It did so softly, without making a sound. Not a creak, not an impact, not even the hiss of decelerating engines. It simply was 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 summit to the valley floor. But it was not a random formation; there was something deliberate about the arrangement, an intentionality that suggested 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 more akin to repeated footsteps over centuries.
From this privileged spot where the landing had taken 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 of a deep canyon whose walls looked as if they had been carved by a cosmic knife. Visibility was perfect for studying possible escape routes, identifying blind spots for ambushes, and planning where to set traps if necessary.
The ship's cockpit 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 strong up there, carrying dry leaves from the lower parts of the valley in whimsical spirals. One leaf in particular, of a rusty red color and a shape reminiscent of an open hand, broke away from the main current and drifted directly toward the open cabin. It flew in silence, 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 darkness inside and caught it mid-flight.
The fingers, covered by a glove of matte black material with visible ceramic reinforcements on the phalanges, closed with millimeter precision. The leaf was trapped, motionless, between index finger and thumb. Then the hand withdrew, and for a moment there was only the sound of the wind.
The person stepped down from the ship carefully, placing first one foot on the rock, then the other, testing the stability of the surface before committing their full weight. The slightly higher gravity immediately tensed their muscles; each step required conscious effort, a constant adjustment in the way of walking that any inhabitant of Helion Astra would recognize instantly.
—Breathable atmosphere —the voice was a whisper, barely a movement of lips that the suit's environmental microphone captured and amplified for their own ears—. 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 of advanced ballistic protection and total stealth, with an aggressive, aerodynamic design specifically tailored for close-quarters combat and infiltration into hostile territory.
The suit's aesthetic was imposing: it had 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 across the shoulders, arms, and legs, reminiscent of the anatomy of a nocturnal predator—perhaps a raven or a feline from the caves of some forgotten world. The absence of a fabric cape now fully exposed the reinforced mechanical spine and the energy systems on the back, giving it a more skeletal, technical appearance, almost as if machine and man were one.
The suit's materials were as advanced as its appearance suggested: it was made from a composite of flexible ballistic ceramic micro-plates that acted as a scale mesh over a base layer of aramid mesh. The exposed areas, such as the back of the neck and the rear thighs—left uncovered due to the absence of a fabric cape—were covered by a high-resistance elastic polymer mesh, providing 100% mobility without compromising basic protection.
Every plate, every seam, every reinforcement had been designed for a specific function, and together they formed a lethal second skin.
The integrated technology was equally impressive. Acoustic dampeners embedded in the joints and boots, now visible on the ankles and knees from behind, reduced the sound of footsteps and movements to practically undetectable levels. The flexible ceramic plates—those scales covering most of the body—could harden upon impact like a non-Newtonian fluid, stopping projectiles that would pierce conventional armor. The adaptive optical camouflage, visible as subtle filaments running across the chassis plates, could change tone to blend with shadows and uneven backgrounds.
But the most impressive part was the helmet: angular and aerodynamic, with a divided visor that connected directly to the integrated night-vision and thermal-imaging systems. The respirator, compact and low-profile, could filter toxins, spores, and biological agents from atmospheres that would kill an unprotected person in seconds.
At that moment, however, the helmet was open. It had slid back with a single thought from its wearer, leaving his neck and head free to feel the planet's air.
The wind played with his hair—black, with streaks of a bright orange tone that captured the alien sunlight and fragmented it into tiny sparks of fire—and his green eyes, a deep green like the forests of his home planet during the rainy season, reflected the curiosity and alertness of a warrior trained since childhood.
His face was young, not yet fully hardened by battles, but in the line of his jaw and in the way his pupils moved scanning the horizon without rest, one could tell childhood had been left behind long ago.
He took a deep breath. The air had a metallic taste, slightly sweet, as if the planet itself were exhaling upon him.
—Dorian —he whispered, and his own name on his lips sounded like a mantra, like a reminder. You can do this. This is just another planet on your list of travels. He paused, as if expecting the universe to answer him. Let's take it slow. Very slow.
Dorian had been to other worlds before. He vividly remembered, even as a child, accompanying his older brother on a strange planet where creatures as absurd as killer squirrels—small, furry, but with claws capable of tearing through exploration vessel armor—moved among the trees like laughing shadows.
That experience had taught him that outside Helion Astra, everything could be dangerous. But also exciting. And it was that excitement, that tingle in the pit of his stomach, that had brought him here.
The sounds of the planet were strange to his ears: a low, metallic hum that seemed to come from the rocks themselves, mingled with the creaking of vegetation moved by a heavy, damp wind. It wasn't the dry, cutting wind of Helion Astra; this was a thick wind, almost liquid, that caressed the skin like a wet hand.
Dorian adjusted his battle suit with a nearly unconscious movement, feeling how the micro-plates rearranged themselves to follow the contours of his muscles. Beneath the Exosuit he wore a compression garment covering his body from neck to ankles, lightweight yet strong, with conductive fibers that monitored every vital sign and transmitted the information directly to the suit's central system. Every muscle, every fiber of his body responded as if it had its own awareness, accustomed to years of intensive training.
He moved along a natural path that snaked between the rocks, his boots leaving barely perceptible impressions in the black, spongy soil. The path seemed to have been created by the frequent passage of animals, though none were visible at the moment.
Then the voice came.
Signs of hostile life detected at 300 meters. Unstructured, behavioral patterns consistent with pack-hunting fauna. Direct contact advised against, though combat potential: optimal.
Omega's voice was clear, precise, and appeared directly in his consciousness without passing through his ears. It was like a thought of his own, but with a different nuance, a mechanical echo in the recesses of his mind. The AI integrated into his neural system projected information directly into his vision: a topographical map of the terrain, a blinking marker 300 meters to the northeast, and real-time statistics on distance, approximate number of creatures, and their possible approach routes.
Dorian smiled slightly. The tingle in his stomach intensified. This was exactly what he had been waiting for.
—Well —he responded mentally, knowing Omega would catch 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've been pulled from a nightmare… something had to be waiting around to try to kill me.