My name is Yureth, one of the last five Victinions alive. It's been a month since Kyi locked herself away.
Life, strangely enough, had returned to something resembling normalcy. Or, at least, the kind of normalcy that one might expect when you're among the final scraps of a once-proud race. The morning sun of Venus filtered through the thick orange clouds, casting everything in hues of amber. We didn't mind the heat anymore. Adaptation had made us almost indifferent to the planet's hellish environment.
Our days began the same way every morning. I would wake before the others. No reason why—maybe just old instinct. I took the first patrol, not because anyone really needed guarding, but because routine gave the illusion of purpose. The other four rose shortly after. We had names, though names meant little in a species designed to survive above all else. We had survived heat. Pressure. Acid rain. Even time, through Kyi. But what we couldn't survive was the ache of our dwindling purpose.
Kyi had been our last hope—a miraculous mutation, someone who could adapt beyond even lifespan. Our people once believed she would lead us to a new era. That hope had gotten many of us killed.
After breakfast, which we didn't need but consumed out of routine, we took turns checking on the fortress.
It wasn't a real fortress, just a circular rock structure we cobbled together from Venusian metal and what scraps were left from our ancestors. But it was enough to lock Kyi away. Her cell wasn't a prison in the strictest sense. She built it herself, sealing the final panel with her own hands. Said it was punishment. Said we weren't to open it under any circumstances.
Sometimes we heard her crying. Not often. Just enough to remind us she was still in there.
We trained throughout the day. Not because we expected battle, but because the only thing left to master was ourselves. The Victinions weren't bred for stillness. We had no war, no direction, no future. But we had muscle, instinct, will. We sharpened it daily. Just in case.
After the fourth meal, we sat together under the rock bridge near the southern crater and spoke in hushed tones. We didn't talk about Kyi anymore. That subject had turned bitter after the first week.
Instead, we spoke about the old days. Before the extinction. Before the mutation. Back when a hundred voices rose at dawn and the sound of training was a daily rhythm. Back when Kyi still laughed and we had elders to scold us.
Each of us knew we would never return to those times, but our minds lingered there anyway, like children clinging to fading dreams.
Night came quickly on Venus. The clouds above thickened until all light vanished, save for the dim flicker of the fortress beacon. I was on final watch when I saw it.
A gleaming silver shard, cutting through the smog.
At first, I thought it was a meteor—we had those sometimes, though Venus's thick atmosphere usually burned them up before impact. But this one didn't break.
It cruised. Smooth, steady, controlled.
A ship.
My heart pounded. We hadn't had visitors since the fall. No races visited Venus anymore. There was nothing to see, no people left to meet.
But this ship was headed straight for us. Not drifting. Targeting.
I woke the others.
We climbed to the ridge, where the air shimmered with heat, and together we watched it descend slowly. Far in the distance, it glowed like a distant star swallowed in ash.
We had about two days before it landed, maybe less if it picked up speed. We didn't know who it belonged to, but we knew one thing:
Nothing good ever came to Venus.
And deep in her sealed fortress, Kyi remained silent.