The air inside the exosuit was thin, metallic, and humming with the low thrum of life support. Commander Rhea Voss adjusted her visor, squinting through the amber haze of the planet’s atmosphere. Below her, the terrain stretched in jagged ridges, a mosaic of obsidian and rusted iron, as if the earth itself had been shattered and reassembled by some ancient, indifferent force. Her boots crunched against the brittle surface as she stepped forward, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the silence. No wind. No birds. No sign of the anomaly they’d been sent to investigate.
“This place feels… wrong,” muttered Lieutenant Jarek, his voice crackling through the comms. His suit’s helmet reflected the dull glow of the twin suns overhead, casting his face in shifting shadows. “Like it’s holding its breath.”
Rhea didn’t answer. She was too busy watching the ground. The soil here wasn’t just cracked—it was *pulsing*, a faint, rhythmic shimmer that mirrored the beat of her own pulse. She crouched, gloved fingers brushing the surface. It was warm, almost alive. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Something small, darting between the fissures. She leaned in, heart pounding.
“You see that?” she asked, but Jarek was already moving, his boots skidding as he approached. His voice was taut. “What the hell is that?”
The creature was no larger than a cat, its body a translucent shell filled with swirling bioluminescent fluid. It paused, head tilting toward them, and Rhea felt a strange tug in her chest, like a memory she couldn’t place. Then it vanished into the cracks, leaving only a faint trail of light.
“We need to document this,” Rhea said, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her gut. “If it’s sentient, we can’t—”
A low vibration cut through the air, deeper than sound. The ground trembled. Jarek staggered, his hand flying to his sidearm. “What was that?”
“Not sure,” Rhea replied, already moving toward the nearest ridge. The vibration had a pattern, a rhythm. It wasn’t natural. It was *intentional*. As she climbed, the air thickened, pressing against her suit like a living thing. The suns dimmed, their light filtered through a veil of something unseen. Then she saw it—a structure, half-buried in the earth, its surface smooth and dark, etched with lines that glowed faintly, like veins beneath skin.
“This isn’t a natural formation,” Jarek said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… built.”
Rhea reached out, her gloved hand brushing the surface. The moment her fingers touched it, a surge of heat shot up her arm, and the world *shifted*. The ground dissolved into a cascade of light and shadow, and for a fleeting second, she saw *everything*—a city of towering spires, rivers of liquid starlight, creatures with too many limbs and eyes that burned like distant suns. Then it was gone, and she was back on the surface, gasping.
“What the hell was that?” Jarek asked, his face pale. “You okay?”
Rhea nodded, though her legs felt like water. The structure wasn’t just a relic. It was a *portal*. Or a warning. And they weren’t alone anymore.
—
The team’s base camp was a cluster of domed shelters, their surfaces slick with condensation from the planet’s erratic weather. Rhea stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the sky. The twin suns had begun their slow descent, casting long shadows across the terrain. Inside, the others were arguing. Dr. Lin, the biologist, was pacing, her hands gesturing wildly. “This isn’t just a biological anomaly. The structure—it’s *reacting* to us. To *her*.”
“We don’t know that,” snapped Lieutenant Kael, the team’s security officer. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the horizon. “We’re here to investigate, not panic.”
“Panic?” Lin turned, her voice sharp. “You saw what happened when she touched it. That wasn’t some ancient ruin. That was a *message*. And it’s trying to get through.”
Rhea stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We need to focus. If this place is alive, we can’t afford to provoke it. But we also can’t ignore it. We’ll set up a perimeter, monitor the structure, and—”
A sudden burst of static cut through the comms. Then a voice, low and distorted, speaking in a language that wasn’t language at all. It was sound and meaning intertwined, a sensation more than a word. The air thickened. The ground trembled again.
“What the hell was that?” Kael demanded, his hand on his sidearm.
Rhea didn’t answer. She was already moving, her boots crunching against the brittle soil as she headed toward the structure. The others followed, their footsteps heavy with fear. The air grew heavier, each breath a struggle. The structure’s glow intensified, the lines on its surface pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
“We should turn back,” Jarek said, his voice tight. “This isn’t safe.”
“It’s already too late,” Rhea replied. “We’ve crossed the threshold.”
The moment she spoke the words, the structure *opened*. A rift yawned in its center, revealing a swirling void of stars and darkness. The air howled, pulling at them, and Rhea felt the same tug she’d felt before—the pull of something vast and ancient, something that had been waiting. She reached out, her hand trembling, and stepped through.
—
The other side was silence. No sky. No ground. Just an endless expanse of shifting light, like a dream caught between moments. Rhea stumbled, her suit’s systems flickering. The others were around her, their faces pale, their breaths shallow. The structure was gone, replaced by something else—a vast, spiraling construct of light and shadow, its edges indistinct, its core a swirling maelstrom of colors that defied description.
“Where are we?” Jarek whispered.
“Not sure,” Rhea replied, her voice barely audible. “But we’re not alone.”
A figure emerged from the light, tall and thin, its form shifting like smoke. It had no face, but Rhea felt its presence as a weight on her mind, a whisper that wasn’t a whisper. *You have come.*
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest.
*We are the Weavers. The Keepers. The Rememberers.*
The words filled her mind, not spoken but *felt*. Rhea’s breath caught. “What do you want?”
*To remember. To be remembered.*
The figure extended a hand, and the light around them shifted, revealing images—cities rising and falling, civilizations flourishing and crumbling, all in the span of a heartbeat. Rhea saw her own face in the chaos, blurred and fleeting, as if she had always been part of this. Then the images vanished, and the figure was gone.
“What the hell was that?” Kael asked, his voice shaking.
Rhea didn’t answer. She knew what they had to do. They couldn’t stay. They couldn’t leave. The Weavers had given them a choice, and the weight of it pressed against her chest like a stone. She turned to the others, her voice quiet but firm. “We have to go back. But we can’t forget.”
The others nodded, their faces etched with the same understanding. They stepped through the rift, back into the chaos of the planet, the structure waiting for them like a wound that had never healed. And as they stood there, breathing in the thin, metallic air, Rhea knew the true cost of what they had seen.
The Weavers would return. And next time, they might not be so generous.
—
The team returned to the base camp, their suits dented and their comms static-filled. The structure was still there, its glow dimmer now, as if it had been wounded. Rhea stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the sky. The twin suns were gone, replaced by a swirling mass of stars that pulsed like a heartbeat.
“We need to leave,” Jarek said, his voice low. “Before they come back.”
“Not yet,” Rhea replied. “We have to understand.”
“Understand what? That we’re trespassers in a place that doesn’t want us?” Kael’s voice was sharp, his eyes scanning the horizon. “We don’t belong here.”
Rhea turned to him, her expression calm but resolute. “Maybe we do. Maybe this place is part of us, even if we don’t remember.”
The wind howled, carrying with it a faint echo of the Weavers’ voice. Rhea closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the decision ahead. They couldn’t stay. They couldn’t leave. The balance was fragile, and the cost of their actions would ripple far beyond this planet.
As the stars above pulsed in time with her heartbeat, Rhea knew one thing for certain—the silence of the planet was no longer empty. It was alive, and it was waiting.
