Xv-827 [extra | Quality]

By the time she reached the surface, the radiation storm was beginning. The Sisyphus ’s reactor would go critical in six hours. She had no ship. No fuel. No hope.

The shaft went down for two kilometers. At the bottom, she emerged into a cathedral of darkness. Her lamp revealed a floor of polished obsidian and walls that curved away into impossible distances. And in the center of that vast space, suspended in a cradle of silent, dark-energy filaments, was a sphere. It was the size of a habitation dome, its surface a deep, churning violet, like a bruise on the fabric of reality. xv-827

Her blood turned to ice. XV-827 . It wasn’t the planet’s name. It was the prisoner’s. By the time she reached the surface, the

She found the entrance by accident, while searching for a cave to shield the Sisyphus from the next radiation storm. It wasn't a cave. It was a shaft, perfectly cylindrical, its walls lined with a material that did not reflect her helmet lamp but instead seemed to drink the light. The shaft plunged down into darkness, and at its lip, carved into the ancient ice with impossible precision, were symbols. Not chiseled. Grown. They pulsed with a faint, internal amber glow. No fuel