The explosion shook the place.
The shockwave hit his back, making his hair fly forward. The heat passed beside him like a giant's breath. Fragments of flesh flew everywhere, raining around him like a macabre precipitation.
Green blood.
Pieces of skin.
Particles of what once was the Apex.
The smell was disgusting, unbearable, a mix of burnt flesh, evaporated poison, and released energy.
When the dust settled, where the monster had been, only a sea of green blood remained. As if it were a lawn from another world, an alien prairie that smoked softly in the night.
Dorian didn't stay to smell it.
There was no time for that, and besides, his stomach was already protesting enough.
He pushed off.
He jumped.
His hands found holds on the crater walls, in the cracks, on the ledges. He climbed. Fast. Efficient. His arms and legs working in unison, his body remembering years of climbing training on the cliffs of Helion Astra.
He reached the top.
The ancient ship was there. The Sigma-12. One of his own. Now it was his refuge, his temporary base, his silent witness.
He sat on the edge of the crater, next to the ship. He looked down. At the Apex's corpse. At the massacre. At the sea of green blood smoking in the darkness.
Sir, Omega's voice sounded in his mind, warm, almost like a person. Congratulations on your hard-won victory.
"Thank you," Dorian replied. His voice sounded tired. But satisfied. Deeply satisfied. "I really thought I was going to die. There were moments, several moments, when I took it for granted."
He paused, looking at his hands. They trembled slightly. The adrenaline, the red medicine, the effort, all taking their toll.
"If you weren't there," he continued. "Or if the suit didn't have that electromagnetic wave system… I wouldn't have made it. That moment, when I was paralyzed, when I couldn't move… that was the closest I've ever been to death."
Sir, Omega replied, and in her voice there was a pride no AI should be capable of feeling. All of this was designed to help. To improve the survival rate of those who use the special suits. You are the first Helion to push this model to its limit. The data we have collected today will be invaluable for future generations.
Dorian nodded. Although Omega couldn't see it, she knew. The AI always knew.
"Well," he said after a moment, breaking the silence. "So what do we do now?"
I can scan the surroundings, Omega suggested. See if there are more enemies. Evaluate the security perimeter.
"Do it."
Silence.
Within a radius of about 300 meters, there are no signs of hostile energy. I detect no more enemies. The biological signatures in the depths of the crater have retreated to lower levels. For now, we are alone.
Dorian exhaled.
The air he didn't know he was holding left his lungs in a long, deep, liberating sigh.
"So… how about we stay here tonight?"
"We haven't even spent a full day on this planet," he murmured, more to himself than to Omega. "So we can't leave yet. The mission isn't over."
He thought about the main ship. About the Epsilon-03, hidden among the clouds—or mists—with its invisibility mode activated. About the crewmates who had died on the Sigma-12, over a hundred years ago. About those who would come after, if he managed to send a report.
"I should go back. Or worry about the Epsilon-03," he thought, as he scanned the place with his green eyes, getting used to the growing darkness. "But it has its invisibility mode activated. So for now it'll be fine. And I need to rest."
He lay back on the cold metal of the ancient ship.
He looked at the crater's ceiling, the stars beginning to appear in the violet sky. The marks inside the ship, the carvings, the crew's names, the stories of other times engraved on the walls.
"We'll see if I can sleep on this planet tonight," he murmured, his eyelids heavy as lead. "Or if I'll wake up at dawn to see tomorrow."
The blue light that Omega emitted, that small constant presence in his mind, in his being, began to fade. Little by little. Slowly. Like a sunset. Like a sigh.
Until it stopped showing data.
And in the darkness, only Dorian.
And his thoughts.
And the memory of the battle.
And the echo of the roars.
And the certainty that, no matter what, he would keep going.
Because he was an explorer.
Because he was a Helion.
Because he was Dorian Astra.
And the Astras never gave up. Never.
°°°
Omega's blue light faded completely from Dorian's mind, leaving him enveloped in a darkness that was absolute. Both physically, due to the night, and mentally. For a moment, the silence was so deep he could hear the beat of his own heart, that steady trot that still hadn't calmed down after the battle.
The planet had its own nocturnal luminescence: the lichens covering the rocks emitted a faint greenish glow, as if the ground were breathing phosphorescence. It wasn't a warm or welcoming light; it was more like the glow of an abandoned hospital, those emergency lights flickering in buildings where no one remains.
The black-barked trees seemed to absorb that light and return it in weak red pulses, like veins throbbing beneath the planet's skin. Each pulse was hypnotic, almost threatening, as if the entire planet had its own heartbeat.
°°°
Dorian sat on a fragment of the Sigma-12 ship that jutted out from the crater floor. The metal was cold, corroded by time and by something else: layers of a crystallized organic substance clung to the plates, as if the planet had tried to digest Helion technology and only achieved a grotesque symbiosis. He ran his fingers over them, feeling the rough texture, almost like burnt bread crust, but denser. Older.
"Omega," Dorian murmured as he observed everything, rubbing his fingers over the layers. They weren't viscous; they seemed to have been there for a very, very long time, as if the planet had been slowly digesting them for decades. "This planet is terrifying. Too much so, in my opinion."
He was surprised when, touching one of the deepest layers, his fingers found moisture. Not just one, but several areas still retained viscosity, suggesting that something was still feeding on the ship. As if the digestion process never fully stopped.
"There isn't a single good thing about it," he continued speaking, his voice echoing softly inside his helmet. "I know the world… the whole universe is dangerous, but at least it should have something good. Not deadly. A planet should have something that invites you to stay, right? A nice sunset, an animal that doesn't want to kill you, a plant that isn't poisonous. Here everything you see wants to kill you in some way."
"It's as if the planet were alive," he whispered, and the idea chilled his blood more than he wanted to admit.
The night was at its darkest, most ominous, most deadly point. So Dorian had to activate the aerodynamic helmet completely, not just the hearing protection, but all systems.
The visor lit up with superimposed data, and the world gained a new dimension: thermal contours, composition analysis, calculated distances.
When he looked, or when the system detected the substances attached to the ship, readings appeared in his field of vision. UNKNOWN ORGANIC COMPOUND. PROBABLE ORIGIN: BIOLOGICAL. DANGER LEVEL: INDETERMINATE. It was something new, or something that shouldn't be there, and both options were equally unsettling.
"Right now I feel like I'm in a horror movie," Dorian said, shaking his hand to remove the viscous residue he still felt on his fingers, opening and closing his hand repeatedly. "But with the difference that I'm alone. Well, physically alone, since you're with me, Omega."
He paused, letting the night silence fill the space between his words.
Don't you think it would be better if it were a horror movie like you say? Omega's voice sounded in Dorian's mind as if enveloping him, like a warm hug in the midst of darkness. At least you'd know you won't really die. You'd know there's a script, a structure, that the hero always survives until the end.
"Hmph…"
Dorian considered the idea for a moment. In horror movies, the protagonist always found a way to survive, even in the most impossible situations. They had that invisible protection of the script, that certainty that their story must continue.
"I'm not going to die, Omega," Dorian declared, taking the word as a smile appeared on his face. "Ummm, well… I mean… I don't want to die."
He lay down on his back again on the cold metal, looking at the crater's ceiling, the alien stars beginning to peek through the clouds.
"I'm very young, did you know that, Omega?" Dorian continued, still smiling. "I haven't even reached half the age at which most people have perished. I'm fourteen years old. Fourteen. There are people my age who haven't even left their city, and here I am, on an unknown planet, talking to my AI after killing a nightmare monster."
He paused, and several memories came to his mind unbidden. Painful past experiences: the first missions with his older brother, when he still couldn't tell a friend from an enemy; the first time he felt the cold of death pass close by; the sleepless nights wondering if he would ever be good enough.
And also those worth remembering: the adventures with his brother, the laughter in moments of calm, the feeling of flying among the stars for the first time.
"But dying, no," he said finally, his voice firmer. "Not right now. I can't afford that. My brother would kill me again if he found out I died on a planet we don't even know the name of. 'On a nameless planet, Dorian? That's all you could do?'" —he imitated, lowering his voice—. "No, I can't give him that satisfaction."
Well, sir, I understand, because no one wants to die, Omega replied, and her tone was somehow sad, adopting the same tone as Dorian, something no AI should be able to do. But Omega was unique. Unique in the whole galaxy, Dorian thought. Everyone wants to survive. They look for ways to survive. But you are a warrior trained since childhood. Why are you afraid of death?