The air inside the dome hissed as Elara stepped through the outer lock, her boots crunching on the fine, iridescent dust that coated the floor. Outside, the sky pulsed with shifting hues—violet, amber, a deep indigo that seemed to swallow the light. The planet had no name, only a designation: K-7B. A barren rock, the reports said. But the data from the orbiting station didn’t match the reality pressing against her helmet. Something was wrong.
The others were already at the perimeter, their suits glowing faintly under the low sun. Jax, the geologist, crouched beside a cluster of crystalline spires that shimmered like fractured glass. His voice crackled through the comms. “These aren’t mineral formations. They’re… organic.”
Elara knelt, her gloved hand hovering over the nearest spire. It pulsed, a slow, rhythmic glow that matched the beat of her own pulse. She touched it. A jolt shot up her arm, not painful, but electric—like static before a storm. The spire darkened, its light fading as if retreating.
“Did you feel that?” she asked, but the comms were silent. No response from Jax, no hum of the station’s systems. Her breath quickened. “Jax?”
A flicker of movement in the distance. A shadow, too long, too thin, slipping between the spires. Elara stood, her hand drifting to the plasma cutter at her hip. The sky deepened to a bruised purple, and the dust beneath her boots stirred, swirling in patterns that defied wind.
“This place is alive,” she whispered. “And it’s watching us.”
—
The dome’s interior was a patchwork of salvaged tech and hastily assembled panels, its walls lined with monitors showing distorted feeds from the planet’s surface. Elara stared at the screen, her reflection warped by the flickering light. The data was useless—readings fluctuated, numbers scrolled in meaningless sequences. The only constant was the pulse, a low hum that resonated in her bones.
“We need to leave,” said Rhea, the team’s engineer. Her voice was steady, but her fingers twitched against the console. “This place isn’t stable. The energy readings—”
“They’re not readings,” Elara interrupted. “They’re signals.”
Rhea turned, her eyes sharp. “You think it’s trying to communicate?”
Elara nodded. “It’s reacting to us. To our presence.” She pointed to the screen, where the pulse had synchronized with her own heartbeat. “It’s not random. It’s… aware.”
A sudden tremor shook the dome. The monitors died, plunging the room into darkness. Elara stumbled, her hand brushing against a control panel. A single light flickered on, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
“What was that?” Jax’s voice was low, tense.
“Not an earthquake,” Rhea said. “Something else.”
The hum intensified, vibrating through the floor. Elara pressed her palm against the wall, feeling the rhythm pulse beneath her skin. It wasn’t just sound—it was a language, a pattern she almost understood.
“It’s not attacking,” she said. “It’s… inviting.”
—
They found the structure at dawn. Or rather, it found them. The spires had rearranged themselves, forming a labyrinth of crystalline arches that shimmered with internal light. Elara led the way, her boots leaving faint imprints in the dust. The air here was different—thicker, charged with a static that made her hair stand on end.
“This isn’t natural,” Jax muttered, running a hand over the nearest arch. It responded, glowing brighter as his fingers brushed it. “It’s reacting to touch.”
“Like a nervous system,” Elara said. “Or a memory.”
They moved deeper, the arches narrowing into a corridor that opened into a vast chamber. At its center stood a monolith, its surface etched with spirals that pulsed in time with the hum. Elara approached it slowly, her breath shallow. The moment her hand touched the stone, a surge of light erupted from the monolith, enveloping her.
She saw images—flashes of a world not unlike this one, but alive with color and motion. Cities built from light, beings that floated like jellyfish, their forms shifting with the wind. Then darkness. Collapse. A voice, not spoken but felt: *You are not the first.*
The light faded. Elara staggered back, her chest heaving. The others were frozen, their faces etched with shock.
“What did you see?” Rhea asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Elara hesitated. How could she explain the visions, the weight of something ancient and lost? “It’s a record,” she said. “A history. This place… it’s a graveyard.”
Jax shook his head. “A graveyard? Then why is it still alive?”
The monolith pulsed again, and the chamber shifted. The walls dissolved, revealing a vast expanse of stars. Elara’s stomach dropped. They weren’t on K-7B anymore. They were inside something—something immense, something that had been waiting.
“We need to go,” Rhea said urgently. “Now.”
But the way back was gone. The arches had vanished, replaced by endless darkness. The hum grew louder, more insistent. Elara turned to the monolith, her hand still resting on its surface.
“It’s not a graveyard,” she said quietly. “It’s a womb.”
—
The return was a blur of light and shadow. They emerged at the edge of the dome, their suits cracked, their bodies trembling. The sky above K-7B was calm now, the shifting hues replaced by a dull gray. The station’s systems flickered back to life, but the data was still scrambled.
“What happened?” Jax asked, his voice raw.
Elara didn’t answer. She stared at the horizon, where the spires still stood, their glow faint but steady. The monolith’s message echoed in her mind: *You are not the first.*
Rhea checked the comms. “We lost contact with the station. No signal.”
“Then we’re alone,” Jax said.
“Not alone,” Elara corrected. “It’s still here. Watching. Waiting.”
They didn’t speak as they packed their equipment, their movements mechanical, their eyes darting to the horizon. The dust stirred again, forming patterns that mirrored the monolith’s spirals.
“We can’t stay,” Rhea said. “This place… it changes you.”
Elara nodded. She turned one last time to the spires, then to the sky. The hum was gone, but the weight of it remained, a silent promise.
They left K-7B behind, but the planet’s pulse stayed with them, a part of them now. And somewhere in the void, the spires waited, their light dim but not extinguished.
—
