Unlike the view from the ship's window, this sky felt alive. Each shining star told a different story, setting itself apart from its neighbors. Some glowed with a deep blue radiance, pulsing with heat and strength; others shone with brilliant white, like glowing ice defying the darkness of space. In between, some stars gave off a warm light—yellow or orange—instilling a sense of peace and calm, like candles lit on a quiet family night.
The older stars, nearing the end of their lives, emitted a soft red glow, whispering tales of ancient times and adding depth to the spectacle. The longer he stared at the cosmic panorama, the more he felt both awe and serenity. Yet, it wasn't the stars that held his gaze most tightly—it was the two moons orbiting the planet.
One, the larger of the two, radiated a serene bluish hue—like the color of ocean water—instilling a profound sense of tranquility. The smaller one shimmered with a vivid crimson, resembling a giant ruby dancing upon the strings of its companion's light.
Despite the overwhelming beauty that could enchant any observer, a bitter feeling gripped the young man's heart and weighed heavily on his soul. He lowered his head, tearing his gaze from the sky, and shut his eyes tightly, biting his lip with force, as if trying to suppress something unbearable. The pain in his chest was too deep for words—a surge of loss and heartbreak flooding his spirit all at once.
Yet, despite all those emotions, he couldn't resist looking at the two moons again. It was like a spell with no escape—or a silent call that drew him in. He slowly lifted his eyes and felt a gentle warmth trickle down his tired cheeks. It wasn't from the fire—it came from silent tears reflecting the moonlight.
At that moment, the sadness on his face transformed into a deep, determined gaze. Then, he whispered softly, yet with strength, as if speaking to the sky itself, or perhaps to a soul far beyond his reach:
"I will find you. Of that, there's no doubt."
He wiped away his tears and tried to return to the present. The sound from the container in the fire caught his attention as steam began to rise from its opening—signaling that its contents were ready. Using two thin sticks, he pulled the container out. Though it was hot enough to burn a normal hand, he held it without concern, as though physical pain had become trivial compared to what he felt inside.
Upon opening it, he revealed a substance resembling puffed toasted bread, pale in color. He began eating slowly, breaking off small pieces and chewing with a subdued appetite. The taste was a strange blend of sweetness and bitterness—or perhaps it simply reflected his mixed emotions. His focus wasn't on the flavor, but rather on the glowing embers that had once been branches.
He kept chewing and staring until the last ember was extinguished by the cold wind. The wind howled softly, like a mournful melody, while he lay beside the fading ashes, trying desperately to absorb whatever warmth remained. He did not rekindle the fire, despite having the resources. He knew he could not afford waste—not on a journey that might stretch on indefinitely.
He closed his eyes and found himself in a strange state—neither sleep nor wakefulness. It felt like floating in a void between dream and reality. His body remained in one world, while his mind drifted in another. He tried, with a touch of despair, to calm his weary mind, besieged by endless thoughts. Long days of constant rumination had exhausted him, like spinning whirlpools without end. What worsened it were the strange migraines that had begun attacking him recently.
These episodes began as a slight sting at the back of his head, quickly escalating into a series of painful pulses—like an invisible hammer beating a relentless rhythm.
Amidst the pain, his thoughts blurred into vague, foggy visions—neither clear nor logical. They were like shifting shadows in the depths of his mind, leaving behind an unsettling feeling. He saw flashes of unfamiliar faces, and at times, fleeting glimpses of places he had never visited. He tried repeatedly to find meaning, to connect them to something from his past, but they remained puzzles that grew more enigmatic the closer he got.
After several hours, he opened his eyes as the first rays of the star pierced through his closed eyelids, bathing his face in a warm sensation, as if calling him back to reality. He rose slowly; his body felt heavy, as though the planet itself was trying to keep him seated. He glanced at his watch—its hands showed that eight hours had passed since the star had set.
He realized that nighttime on the planet lasted no more than eight hours—a much shorter span than he was used to. Still, that was a good thing for him. He wasn't entirely sure how long the day would last, but he knew he had more than ten hours before darkness would once again envelop everything around him.
He began walking in the same direction he had previously chosen. The breeze returned with a moderate chill, carrying with it a faint scent of moisture mingled with the freshness of grass—and that sharp, pungent smell, now slightly stronger.
Despite the rest he had gotten, the young man felt that movement had become more difficult than the day before. His legs dragged his body as if burdened by invisible weights. The muscles in his thighs pulsed with heat, reminding him of the relentless effort he had exerted. Nevertheless, it didn't deter his resolve for even a moment. He continued walking, his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if searching for something far off.
Hours of uninterrupted walking passed again. During that time, the young man noticed no change in the scenery around him. He began to question whether his decision to land in this vast green expanse had been the right one. From above, even through the thick clouds, this area had appeared to be the best place for an emergency landing—his craft was on the verge of failure. Deep down, a voice within him whispered that if he had examined the terrain more carefully, he might have chosen a better spot.
But that voice was quickly silenced when he recalled the intensity of the moment—he hadn't had the luxury of time or choice. In fact, he felt a faint sense of gratitude just for being on this surface at all. The mere fact that his ship had brought him this far was more than he could have asked from an aging machine unused for decades.
As he continued walking, the sky began to take on a pale blue hue as midday approached. He paused, took a deep breath, and felt the air fill his lungs—but it was no longer as refreshing as before. The sharp odor in the air was more concentrated now.
He rubbed his nose and tightened the straps of his backpack, heading toward a tall hill, driven by a desire to escape the monotony that surrounded him. He hoped that the elevation might offer a new perspective—perhaps something different on the distant horizon, something to break the suffocating sameness. Climbing the hill wasn't easy; the grass clung to his boots, and he stumbled repeatedly over scattered rocks.
Upon reaching the summit, he paused briefly to catch his breath, then lifted his head and looked toward the horizon. It was as though he feared the view would be empty—devoid of anything to justify the effort. What he saw… was unchanged. The green plains stretched endlessly once again.
For a moment, a sense of being lost overcame him, as if the planet itself had decided to swallow him in its vastness. Yet he didn't lose hope entirely. He narrowed his eyes, trying to spot anything that broke the repetitive pattern. After straining his vision, he noticed—far away—a straight line disrupting the monotony of the plains. That line was strange, unnatural. It didn't resemble mountains or hills. It was a fine line stretching across a great distance, like a massive wall dividing the planet in two.
In that moment, a spark of hope ignited in his heart. He believed that this wall—perhaps, just perhaps—hid something different behind it: a civilization, people he could communicate with. Countless possibilities surged into his mind like a river, each enough to propel him forward with renewed energy. He took a deep breath, as if gathering his remaining strength, and then launched himself toward that distant line.
He ran as though racing against the sunset, determined to reach it before darkness returned. With every step, hope burned brighter within him. To him, that straight line was the key to escape. His thoughts swelled with optimism—perhaps he would find a city full of life, human voices, bustling markets, technology that could repair his ship. These thoughts were enough to make him forget the pain in his feet, the dryness of his throat, and the ache in his muscles worn by running.