CHAPTER 1
JILLIAN
The ship bucks hard as we breach the upper atmosphere, enough to jerk my head against the seat behind me. A few gasps echo through the cabin—Carson’s one of them—and someone further back whispers something about the turbulence. It’s not turbulence. It’s ion friction slamming against our hull like fists from a dying god. My blood fizzes like a shaken soda can.
I lean forward, forehead nearly pressed to the triple-reinforced viewport, ignoring the sour copper tang in the air—someone’s bleeding from a split lip. The filters barely cut through the radiation haze, but I can still make out the planet below: Purgonis 6. Even its name sounds like a curse. The surface is a blackened snarl of ridges and jagged valleys, like someone clawed through the crust of the world and forgot to smooth it back down. Blue light pulses faintly from cracks in the ground—volcanic vents, maybe, or chemical reactions gone wild beneath the surface.
“God,” Carson mutters beside me, voice tight, breath fogging the edges of his mask. “We shouldn’t be here. This place… it’s all wrong.”
I don’t look at him. “It’s beautiful.”
His laugh is a nervous huff. “That’s one word for it.”
But I mean it. The planet isn’t welcoming, not by a long shot. It’s hostile, broken, bleeding—but real. After years of simulations and archived geology footage fed through Novaria’s sanitized learning loops, this is raw and alive. I press my palm to the cold panel. The radiation sensors crackle faintly in response.
The sky—if you can call it that—is an oily swirl of dark blue and sickly green, rippling with streaks of energy like underwater lightning. It's not just atmospheric. It feels conscious, somehow. Watching.
Our transport dips lower, and the closer we get, the more detail bleeds through the haze. I see ridgelines of obsidian rising like knives, dust storms crawling across sunless plains, and the flicker of geothermal activity far to the west—plumes of faint fire and something else… crystalline glimmers? Can’t be sure.
The landing protocols engage with a metallic thunk and a gentle shift in inertia. My gut dips, then rights itself. The vibrations smooth out, the hull cooling with a hiss as we settle into final descent. Everyone around me shifts, some stretching their limbs, others whispering prayers or muttering complaints. Carson adjusts the straps on his pack like they’re a lifeline.
I catch his eye. “You packed extra sensors, right?”
He nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Yeah, just… Jill, this place is worse than the briefings made it sound.”
“It’s better,” I say, and I mean it. “Those briefings are dead things. Charts and cross-sections. This is alive.”
Professor Ciampa’s voice crackles over the internal comms. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are moments away from touchdown. As a reminder, stay behind the safety perimeter until the Marines clear the immediate area. And welcome to Purgonis Six.”
Carson groans. “I think I left my stomach in orbit.”
“You’ll be fine,” I grin, grabbing his arm in mock comfort. “Unless a sting tail eats you. Then I call dibs on your gear.”
He shudders. “Not funny.”
But it is, a little. The moment we land, I’m up from my seat, heart hammering like I’ve chugged three espresso shots. The airlock opens with a slow hydraulic exhale, and the first Marine steps out in full gear—visor down, plasma rifle ready. Behind him, the twin moons of Purgonis reflect pale light across the razor landscape.
I follow in line, boots thudding against the ramp. Heat wafts in even through the environmental seals—a dry, electric kind of heat, like standing too close to an open circuit. The scent hits next: sulfur, ozone, and something sharp and mineral-rich, like scorched copper. I breathe it in through the filter of my helmet. Still smells like adventure.
“Eyes up,” Grady barks. He’s a slab of a man in reinforced armor, one of the few Marines who doesn’t immediately look bored. “This isn’t a tourist stop. You fall behind, you get left behind.”
The students mutter agreement, but I’m not really listening. The terrain spreads out before us in jagged, broken beauty. The dark side of the planet is cooler, survivable—for now. But you can feel the sun just beyond the horizon, waiting. Even the shadows here feel temporary.
I hear another student—Myra, maybe—vomit behind me. Carson makes a face but doesn’t look. I do. Not out of cruelty. Just curiosity. Purgonis is getting to them already, seeping under their skin. I wonder if it’ll get to me too.
Our camp is just ahead—modular domes arranged in a tight cluster near a half-collapsed rock arch that offers some shielding. Solar panels blink dimly in the haze. The Marines sweep the area, motioning us forward with clipped gestures.
Carson leans closer. “Do you think they’ve had trouble here before?”
“They wouldn’t have sent grunts with plasma rifles if they hadn’t,” I say quietly. Then, after a pause, “You remember the briefing. Half a dozen students died last season.”
He nods, lips tight. “I thought that was... I dunno. An exaggeration.”
“Not here.”
Not on Purgonis.
I step through the security gate, boots crunching on crystallized dust. One of the Marines eyes me warily. I give him a nod. He doesn’t return it. Doesn’t matter. I didn’t come for them.
