In the cold, dark expanse of space, far beyond human reach, the exploration vessel El-Kor, or Illuminator, drifted silently just outside the atmosphere of a distant world. A giant among the fleet of smaller ships, its sleek, metallic surface shimmered faintly under the distant light of a red star.
The Illuminator orbited El’Thaara, a planet nestled within the habitable zone of Proxima Centauri. A world of stark contrasts, El’Thaara was tidally locked, with one hemisphere scorched by constant daylight and searing heat, while the other remained perpetually shrouded in darkness and bitter cold. But it was in the thin twilight zone between these extremes that life had flourished—an environment so hostile and yet, paradoxically, where the most complex life forms had evolved, giving rise to the ancient and powerful El’Thaaran civilization.
They were far older than humans—millions of years more advanced. Over eons, they had adapted to the extreme conditions of their home, forging a society that seamlessly blended biology and technology. But despite their mastery over their environment, the El’Thaarans had long known their world’s resources were finite. That realization had spurred their relentless push for space exploration, their ships seeking out liquid water and rare minerals across the stars.
The Illuminator was a testament to El’Thaaran ingenuity, a masterpiece of engineering that fused organic and mechanical aesthetics. Its hull, a sleek and aerodynamic marvel, was crafted from a boron-based material known as Silicaris—an iridescent substance that shifted colors from deep purple to vibrant green and blue under the faint light of Proxima Centauri. Silicaris was incredibly strong and lightweight, shielding the vessel from micrometeoroids, radiation, and the extreme temperatures of space. The Illuminator was built for speed and endurance, cutting through the void with unmatched precision.
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In the control room, K’Tren, an old hand at space exploration, sat at his station. Nearly two hundred fifty years old, he had witnessed the highs and lows of their space program, from triumphant discoveries to devastating failures. His hands moved with practiced ease as he ran routine checks on the ship’s probes, his mind wandering in the monotony of the task.
That is, until the main console hummed—a low, resonant sound that caught his attention. K’Tren’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening. A new signal had just been detected.
The data appeared on the screen before him: a pulse of energy, faint yet unmistakable. The origin? A small blue planet in a nearby solar system, the one they had cataloged as Thalos. Only four point thirty-seven light years away.
“Great,” K’Tren muttered to himself, “another signal for the list.” But something about this one was different. His fingers tapped rapidly across the controls, scanning the readouts again. The signal should have arrived years earlier, based on the timing of their exploration vessel’s landing. Everything had been perfect—right up until the moment of touchdown. When no signal returned, the assumption was simple: Thalos wasn’t habitable. But now, as K’Tren scanned the readouts, unease crept in. The planet was exactly what they’d been searching for. So what had gone wrong?
There had been no malfunctions, no atmospheric disturbances that could account for the silence. The signal should’ve reached them long ago.
Unless…
K’Tren’s four eyes widened. It wasn’t a delay—it was a block. Something—or someone—had been deliberately intercepting the signal for the past years, preventing it from reaching them.
Sighing deeply, K’Tren leaned back in his chair. It looked like he would have to work overtime today.