Ryan’s day began like any other, though a subtle unease gnawed at the edges of his mind. It was faint at first, like the distant hum of a failing circuit, but it grew louder with each passing moment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that today would not be routine. It was a ridiculous notion, he told himself, likely a side effect of working so close to the Erebus Anomaly. The anomaly had a way of getting under one’s skin—a quiet menace that mocked their ignorance. Its sheer scale and mystery could make even the most advanced beings feel like ants skittering around the edges of a bonfire.

After completing his morning duties, Ryan made his way back to his assigned observation deck. He moved through the narrow, sterile corridors of the substation, the faint hum of the station’s core a constant reminder of the delicate balance they maintained. The deck was quiet as usual, the perfect cocoon for his thoughts. Through the reinforced viewport, Primer loomed—a barren world twisted and broken by the anomaly’s relentless grip. Its once-vibrant surface, if the ancient data were to be believed, was now a desolate wasteland.

Ryan settled into his seat, his gaze fixed on the planet below. Storms churned across the surface with eerie precision, their chaotic patterns resembling ghostly waltzes. He reached for his data pad, recording the latest observations: wind speeds, storm trajectories, shifts in atmospheric density. It was mundane work, yet it carried an unshakable weight. Does any of this matter? he wondered for the hundredth time. His notes, like the countless others filed away in the substation’s archives, felt like whispers in the face of a hurricane.

The quiet monotony was shattered by raised voices echoing from the main observation deck. Ryan’s brows knit together in concern. Commotion in a facility like this usually meant something was very wrong. His unease from earlier bubbled back to the surface as he left his post, following the voices.

When he arrived, the main deck was a hive of activity. Monitors flickered with streams of incomprehensible data, and holographic projections filled the air with swirling, luminous shapes. The air crackled with tension, an invisible storm of urgency and fear.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asked a scientist standing nearby.

The scientist, a tall alien with iridescent skin that shifted colors in the light, turned to him. Their name was unpronounceable, but Ryan had learned to recognize them by their shimmering violet hue. “The anomaly is exhibiting new behavior,” they said, their voice tinged with apprehension. “We’ve never seen this before.”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. “What kind of behavior?”

The alien’s gaze flicked to one of the larger monitors. “It’s no longer confined to the planet’s surface. The anomaly is... extending into space.”

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The words hit him like a physical blow. “Extending into space? Are you saying it’s like what happened to their Frontier ship?”

A grim nod was the only reply. Ryan felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. The Frontier ship’s encounter with the infinitum chaos was a recorded incident—their vessel and its crew swallowed whole, only to reappear in the Graveyard Sector as wreckage. No answers had been found after that.

He turned his attention to the displays. The affected planet was consumed entirely, its surface a swirling mass of storm and shadow. But now, tendrils of the anomaly writhed like living things, snaking upward and outward. They formed intricate, web-like structures, glowing faintly against the blackness of space. It was mesmerizing in a way that made Ryan’s skin crawl.

“What’s the protocol?” he asked, his voice tight with apprehension.

“For now, we observe,” another scientist replied, their tone a mix of resolve and dread. “But the substation is being prepared for relocation. We’re not taking chances.”

Ryan felt the subtle hum of the station’s engines as they powered up. A moment later, a barely perceptible shift in gravity signaled their movement. Despite the reassurances, the room buzzed with quiet urgency. Every scientist present moved with a sense of purpose, their actions precise and efficient. This wasn’t the first time the substation had faced danger, but Ryan could tell this was different.

As the station pulled back to a safer distance, Ryan returned to his observation deck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the monitors. The anomaly’s reach was growing, expanding beyond the orbit of Primer and encroaching on nearby celestial bodies. It moved with a chilling deliberation, as though it were alive—or worse, guided by an intelligence they couldn’t comprehend.

He began cataloging what he’d seen, mentally piecing together the stages of the Erebus Anomaly:

1. Environmental Disruption – The first signs: atmospheric instability, strange energy readings, subtle shifts in the planet’s magnetic field.

2. The Storms – Chaotic weather patterns that destroyed everything in their path, relentless and unstoppable.

3. Full Planetary Conversion – The complete transformation of a planet into a desolate, storm-ravaged wasteland.

4. Expansion – The anomaly extended beyond the planetary confines, reaching into the void of space.

Now, he realized with dawning horror, they were witnessing the birth of the fourth stage. What came next? He didn’t know—and that terrified him.

“This isn’t random,” he murmured to himself. “There’s a pattern here. A purpose?”

Theories buzzed around him as scientists debated the anomaly’s nature. Was it a natural phenomenon, a cosmic storm unlike any other? Or was it something deliberate, the work of an unknown intelligence? Ryan couldn’t say. What he did know was that the anomaly wasn’t just a threat to planets. It was evolving, adapting, and its ambitions seemed limitless.

That night, as Ryan lay in his cabin, sleep eluded him. The stars outside his window seemed dimmer than before, their light swallowed by the eerie glow of the anomaly. For the first time in years, he felt truly insignificant, a lone figure standing at the edge of a chasm too vast to comprehend.

And in the silence, one question gnawed at his mind:

What happens in the fifth stage, and is there any way to stop this thing?