The creature let out a guttural groan, a sad, deep sound, before collapsing onto the black earth. Its multiple eyes went out one after another, like lights in an abandoned building.
It was a strangely beautiful process: each eye blinked individually, losing its gleam, until only dark, empty sockets remained, reflecting the violet light of the sky like broken mirrors.
Dorian stood motionless for a moment, listening only to his own breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The metallic air filled his lungs, and for an instant, everything was calm. He could feel every fiber of his body, every muscle still vibrating with the adrenaline of combat, every beat of his heart marking the rhythm of life.
On Helion Astra they had taught him that those moments of calm after battle were as important as the battle itself: they were the space where a warrior processed, learned, and prepared for what came next.
Then he moved.
He walked among the fallen bodies, observing every detail with the clinical gaze of someone trained to leave nothing to chance. The scales, now dull without the life that had animated them, had lost that iridescent gleam they'd had during combat.
They looked like simple plates of dead organic matter, almost ordinary. The claws, still dangerous even in death, retained their lethal edge; Dorian ran a gloved finger along one and felt the tip of the glove faintly score under the pressure. A perfect natural weapon. The eyes, empty, seemed to gaze at nothing, at that place where creatures go when life abandons them.
Eight predators defeated.
He counted eight bodies in total.
It felt… good. Not proud, exactly. That would be arrogant, and arrogance killed in his profession. But satisfied, yes. The suit had worked perfectly; the flexible ceramic plates had absorbed the impacts without transferring too much energy to his body; the acoustic dampeners had kept his movements in absolute silence.
His reflexes had lived up to years of training. Omega had anticipated every movement, every attack angle, every possible escape route.
—Mission accomplished in hostile territory —Omega reported, its voice returning to the professional tone it always used after combat—. Physical status: optimal. Heart rate: 122 beats per minute, elevated but within safe parameters. Blood oxygen levels: 98%. Zero external injuries. Minor bruising on the torso from impact sustained during combat sequence number three, but within expected limits. —A pause—. Recommendation: scan for resources and potential shelters before proceeding.
Dorian nodded, though he knew Omega could detect the movement of his head through the suit's sensors. It was a gesture more for himself than for the AI.
—Good idea. What's nearby?
The data began to project onto his vision. Thermal maps of the surrounding terrain appeared superimposed on the real landscape: patches of red, orange, and yellow indicating the temperature of every rock, every tree, every meter of ground. Markers for potential natural shelters—caves, rock formations offering protection from the elements—flashed green in the distance.
But something else appeared in the projection. A blinking marker to the northeast, right where the canyon opened into a wider plain. It was a color Dorian had never seen on any map before: a deep amber, almost golden, pulsing with its own frequency.
Anomaly detected, Omega said, and its voice had a different nuance, more alert. It had dropped that professional tone to adopt something dangerously close to concern. Source of non‑organic energy. Low intensity, but… present. Very present, now that the scan has focused.
Dorian narrowed his eyes.
The gesture made his pupils contract slightly, sharpening focus.
—Wreckage? Some previous expedition?
Negative.
The answer was immediate, almost curt. The energy signature doesn't match any known technology from Helion Astra or its allies. Nor does it match patterns from rescue or exploration vessels of other factions recorded in galactic annals. It's… unique.
—Then what is it?
Silence.
Omega's processing was rarely audible to Dorian, but at that moment he could feel the faint hum of its systems working at maximum capacity. Three full seconds passed—an eternity for an AI.
I don't know, sir. Omega's voice sounded almost human in its uncertainty. But it's there. And it shouldn't be.
Dorian walked toward a rocky outcrop that jutted into the valley like a stone finger pointing at the horizon.
The Exosuit's boots found firm purchase on every irregularity of the rock, its acoustic dampeners eliminating any sound that might give away his position. From there, the view was impressive. In the distance, where the canyon opened, a broader canyon‑like formation stretched out, its walls reflecting the light of the setting sun in reddish and orange hues that seemed pulled from a dream.
And somewhere there, he thought, something awaited him. Something that shouldn't be on a planet with no recorded intelligent life. Something that had been active for who knew how long, waiting for… what? A visitor? A victim? A messenger?
The sun continued its inexorable descent, staining the sky with ever‑deeper violets and oranges, as if the planet itself were bleeding colors.
The lichens on the ground began to glow more intensely, preparing for the night with that slow pulsing Dorian had observed before. It was a hypnotic process: the bluish light emerged from the plant forms as if the earth were exhaling photons. The wind blew, carrying the scent of the recent battle—that mix of evaporated black blood and disturbed earth—and the promise of mysteries to be solved.
Dorian sat on the rocky outcrop, legs dangling over the void. For a moment, he allowed himself simply to observe. The landscape was beautiful in a terrible way: dangerous, alien, but beautiful.
The black trees swayed in the wind like spectators at an ancient ritual. The lichens glowed like fallen stars that had decided to take root. The sky changed color like a living thing breathing light.
He thought of Helion Astra. Of home. Of the training fields where he had spent more hours than he could remember, of the smell of the air after rain—a clean, pure smell, without that metallic edge that permeated everything here. Of his older brother, who always knew what gift to give, who was always there when he needed him, who had taught him almost everything he knew about survival.
Of the planets he had visited, the creatures he had faced, the things he had learned.
Every planet, every enemy, every future victory would be part of his story. But this adventure, here, on this nameless world, felt different. More important. As if the universe had arranged for this place to be a turning point in his life, one of those crossroads that later become legend.
—This isn't just a trip —he murmured, speaking more to himself than to Omega—. It's the beginning of something that will change everything.
Omega didn't answer.
Sometimes the AI knew when silence was the best response. It had learned that lesson after years of accompanying Dorian on his missions: there were moments that required words, and moments that required simply being present.
Dorian remained in the same spot for several hours, motionless as a statue carved into the rock, while the sun slowly descended toward the horizon. He watched how the light changed, how the shadows stretched like dark fingers caressing the valley, how the planet prepared for the night with that increasing activity known only to wild worlds.
He processed the recent battle in his mind, analyzed his own movements frame by frame, searched for areas to improve, mistakes to correct, opportunities to seize next time. It was a habit, almost an obsession: always be better, always learn, never settle.
When the sun touched the horizon and the sky began to truly darken, Omega activated the advanced scanning systems without Dorian having to ask. It projected three‑dimensional maps of the nearby territory, detailed geological analyses, wind patterns, and weather probabilities for the coming hours. Everything appeared in his vision with that silent efficiency that characterized the AI.
Next exploration zone: northern sector of the canyon —Omega whispered, its voice barely an echo in Dorian's consciousness—. High probability of hostile fauna and rare minerals. Scans indicate veins of an unknown compound in the canyon walls, possibly valuable for later analysis. And… —the AI hesitated, unusual for it—. The anomaly. It's still there. Clearer now that the sun has set. The energy signature has intensified.
Dorian nodded slowly.
He stood with the same grace with which he had sat down hours earlier, without stiffness, without fatigue. His body, trained to its limit, did not know the stiffness that affected less disciplined warriors. The rest, though brief, had been sufficient. His muscles responded with the precision of a finely tuned instrument.
He adjusted his suit with automatic movements, checked the internal sensors—all green, all functioning perfectly—, took one last deep breath. The night air was colder, denser, heavy with moisture and that metallic smell that was already becoming familiar. It was a smell, he thought, that he would forever associate with this planet.
Every step on this planet was a lesson, and he knew he had barely scratched the surface of what this world could teach him. He had faced eight predators and won, but what else awaited him in the darkness? What creatures, what secrets, what dangers?
As night fell for good, the echoes of the battle still hung in the air mingled with the wind. The bodies of the creatures lay motionless in the clearing, already almost invisible in the growing darkness, their forms barely silhouetted against the black earth. The lichens glowed with all their intensity, creating a sea of faint light that stretched as far as the eye could see, an ocean of bioluminescence that turned the ground into an inverted star map.
Dorian prepared to explore further, aware that his true trial had only just begun.
The night hunt…
Had barely started.