The engines hummed, steady and sure, as Kira and her grandfather guided the ship through the upper atmosphere. The research post shrank below them, swallowed by the moon’s darkened horizon as they ascended into the open sky.

Ahead, looming like a silent omen, was Alune.

For seventy years, it had been lost to the Abyss, its orbit carrying it deep into the suffocating black. And for seventy years, it had remained hidden beyond the veil, its path traceable only by cold calculations and dying echoes of telemetry. Its return had been predicted—an inevitability written in the math of celestial mechanics—but that knowledge did nothing to ease the weight in Kira’s chest.

Because Alune was not the same.

The first scans flickered to life, sweeping across the moon’s scarred terrain. What had once been a world of ruin and dust was now something unrecognizable. Towering formations of abyssal crystal had taken root at the heart of its largest impact crater, spreading outward like frozen veins of black fire. The jagged spires clawed toward the sky, twisting the landscape into something alien, something claimed.

Kira’s hands tightened on the controls as the scanner adjusted its resolution, peeling back the interference clinging to the surface.

And then, nestled at the base of the central formation, something took shape.

A structure.

Her breath caught.

“Surface mapping engaged,” the AI announced. “Adjusting scan resolution.”

It was unmistakable now. Buried within the cradle of the abyssal growth, woven into the very roots of the crystal, lay a temple-like construct—something that had not been there seventy years ago.

Her grandfather exhaled, his voice edged with something unreadable.

“That wasn’t there before.”

No. It hadn’t been.

When Alune had vanished, the crater had been empty, just another scar left behind by the war. Whatever this was—whatever had built it—had done so in the abyssal dark.

And as the ship drew closer, Kira couldn’t shake the feeling that the past seventy years had not been spent in silence.

Something had stirred.

Something had waited.

The ship’s onboard systems processed the fractured landscape below, scanning for a stable landing zone amidst the crystalline overgrowth.

Inside the cockpit, the main display flickered with streams of data—elevation maps, density readings, hazard assessments. The ship’s artificial intelligence, a smooth, measured voice, broke through the quiet.

“Optimal landing site detected. Proximity: 84 meters from the primary structure. Surface stability: 62%. Proceeding with assisted descent.”

Kira watched as the navigation overlay highlighted a relatively flat section of the crater’s base, just outside the structure’s perimeter. The ground there was uneven but less fractured, a small plateau of dark stone partially shielded from the more unstable crystalline formations.

Her grandfather studied the readings, his expression unreadable. “Close enough,” he muttered. “Proceed with landing.”

The ship adjusted its trajectory, thrusters firing in precise bursts as it maneuvered between towering crystalline spires. The closer they drew, the more unnatural the terrain became. The crystals had grown outward from the crater’s center in chaotic, jagged formations, glistening like frozen waves caught mid-motion. And at the very heart of it all—half-buried in abyssal corruption—stood the structure.

As they neared the landing site, Kira’s grip on the controls tightened.

From above, the structure was clearer now: a fortress-like construct of dark stone, its surface laced with strange, glowing etchings. It was old—but not ancient. The realization settled uneasily in her mind.

This had not been here seventy years ago.

“Final approach initiated. Landing in 15 seconds.”

The ship slowed, its stabilizers humming as it aligned with the landing zone. The crystalline formations below fractured slightly under the downward force, dust and frost swirling into the airless void. The landing gear extended, locking into place, and with a final controlled descent—

A soft thud.

The ship settled, the weight of its hull pressing into the fragile surface.

Then, silence.

Only the soft glow of the abyssal remnants scattered throughout the crater disturbed the stillness.

Kira exhaled, reaching for her backpack as the display confirmed a stable landing.

They were here.

She felt her grandfather’s gaze before she turned to meet it. He gave her a nod—wordless, but understood. It was time.

Standing from her seat, Kira reached for the backpack she had prepared, slipping it over her shoulders. It was lightweight, containing only what was necessary: a spare oxygen mask, a medical kit, and a handful of emergency supplies. Practical. Necessary. And yet, the simple act of wearing it made the weight of what lay ahead settle more firmly in her chest.

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Beside her, her grandfather stood at the airlock, already channeling his magic. He extended a hand, fingers tracing unseen lines in the air, and the spell took shape.

A shimmering sphere of energy rippled to life around him, transparent yet firm, shifting between colors like oil on water. It was a personal atmosphere—a carefully woven boundary of air, pressure, and warmth, allowing them to walk unprotected in the void.

Kira followed suit, drawing upon the magic within her.

She inhaled, feeling the energy stir beneath her skin, a current older than words. Then, with a practiced gesture, she extended her will. The air around her shimmered, bending, twisting, until her own atmospheric field coalesced—a flawless, weightless shell of breathable air. Unlike her grandfather’s, hers was tinged with something more alive, the edges pulsing faintly as the wind curled and twisted within its confines.

With a final breath, she stepped forward, and the airlock hissed open.

The void beyond was utterly silent.

They stepped onto the crystalline ground, boots pressing against the smooth, unnatural surface. It was cold, but not in the way of lifeless rock—there was something else here, something that made the silence feel wrong.

Then, at the edges of their vision, the darkness moved.

Kira stiffened.

Pools of black lingered in the crevices between the crystal formations—patches of abyssal residue, still clinging to the surface like living stains of the void. At first, they were motionless, dormant. But as the ship’s lights flickered across them, something inside them stirred.

Slowly, the shadows began to shift, slithering across the crystal-like ink spilled in water.

They moved toward them.

Her grandfather exhaled, slow and measured, watching the abyssal remnants as they coiled at the edges of the landing site.

“They’re still alive,” Kira whispered, her voice barely above breath.

“They always are,” he murmured in return.

The abyss did not simply consume. It lingered. It waited.

And now, after seventy years, it had something new to reach for.

The air shimmered as the protective barrier took hold around them, a thin veil of translucent energy that allowed them to move freely despite the moon’s lack of atmosphere. Kira adjusted the straps of her backpack, ensuring the oxygen mask and medical kit inside were secure before stepping down onto the crystalline surface.

Beneath her boots, the ground crunched with an unnatural, glass-like quality, the fractured remnants of abyss-tainted formations shifting slightly under her weight. Wisps of black mist clung to the terrain, lingering pools of darkness that pulsed faintly, as though aware of their presence. The Abyss was still here—fragmented, weak, but not gone. And it watched.

Her grandfather moved ahead, his own atmospheric field distorting faintly around him. He moved with caution, boots deliberate against the uneven ground as he led them toward the temple.

It was unlike anything built by mortal hands.

Jagged spires of abyssal stone curved toward the sky, surrounding the structure like broken ribs, twisted and blackened with time. And at its entrance stood an enormous two-piece door—an obsidian monolith covered in jagged, intertwining symbols.

Abyssal writing.

Kira stopped, staring at it. This was a true rarity. The Fallen built little, their presence in the physical world often temporary, fleeting. But this temple… it had remained.

Her grandfather’s expression darkened as he raised his arm, activating the device bound to his forearm. The small, spherical AI module flickered to life, scanning over the abyssal script with a low, mechanical hum. Data streamed across its surface, processing the ancient, malevolent text.

Then, the voice came—smooth, synthetic, but with an unmistakable weight behind it.

“Translating… Complete.”

A pause. Then the words unfurled, a declaration spoken in cold finality.

"Herein lies Faust, the true heir of darkness. Fallen. Corrupted by the Light."

The words echoed through the thin air, sending a chill through Kira’s spine.

"He shall lie entombed here for time immemorial, dooming the one who led him astray to eternal and unending suffering."

A silence followed. Not the absence of sound, but something deeper—like the very space around them had recoiled from the weight of the words.

Kira swallowed, a slow, involuntary motion. The air felt heavier now, pressing against her skin, as if the temple itself were watching. Waiting.

It wasn’t just a tomb.

It was a prison.

And whoever had built it had done so not just to contain Faust—but to punish the one who had taken him from the Abyss.

The AI pulsed, scanning further. The text had not yet finished. The Fallen had more to say.

Then, the tone of the inscription shifted once more. No longer sorrowful. No longer a plea.

This was something else.

Something proud.

Something demanding.

"Honour him."

"Revere him."

"Kneel before the greatness that has granted you this unworthy peace."

A pulse of something ancient rolled through the chamber—not hatred, but certainty.

"Through agony untold, through battles uncounted, through the ruin of all things, he stood. He fought. He bled. He burned."

"And he did not fall."

"Not to time. Not to fate. Not even to inevitability itself."

The air shuddered. The walls, untouched by age, seemed to whisper his name.

"Faust. The eternal. The undying. The unbroken."

A pause. The script’s glow deepened, as if the very temple wished to sear these truths into their souls.

"You, who live in the remnants of his war—

Know this."

"What you have was not won by your own hands. Your existence is a gift—undeserved, unearned. A mercy."

"Do not take it lightly."

"Do not defile this sacred place."

"Do not let arrogance drive you to folly."

"Honour him—or suffer the wrath of the Abyss once more."

And whatever came next… was not a plea.

"He cannot be awoken by mortal hands. Only by the hand of Virtue can my son be raised."

"And should the filth of Creation defile this tomb with their presence, the Fallen shall awaken once more."

The air itself seemed to shudder. The temple’s walls, silent for untold eons, carried the weight of that decree, a command that had never faded.

Kira exhaled, though she hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.

The words pressed against her chest like a lead weight, not merely because of what they said—but because of what they made her feel.

She should have felt revulsion.

She should have rejected this.

She should have looked upon these declarations and stood by what she had been taught her entire life—that Faust was an Ark, that he had been created by the Creator, that he had not belonged to the Abyss.

But something inside her wavered.

It was the certainty in the words. The absolute belief in their weight, their truth.

Who had carved these inscriptions? Who had been here to inscribe these words in stone as if they would outlast the stars?

And—most disturbingly—why did it feel right?

The praise, the mourning, the command to remember.

It did not feel like the gloating of an enemy.

It did not feel like the declaration of a conqueror.

It felt like the words of something that had loved him.

Something that had grieved him.

Something that had refused to forget what he had given to them.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, curling slightly, the ghost of an emotion she could not name slipping into her breath.

That was when her grandfather spoke.

"Blasphemy."

Kira flinched.

The word hit the air like a hammer against stone, sharp and absolute, shattering the fragile silence left in the wake of the inscription’s final warning.

She turned, her grandfather’s face a storm of fury. His jaw was clenched tight, his hand flexing over the device on his forearm as if resisting the urge to destroy something.

His glare locked onto the inscription with something beyond anger—something personal.

"Faust… the heir of darkness? A son of the Abyss?"

The words came out low and bitter, spoken like a curse. "Lies."

He turned, his eyes dark with contempt, his voice a blade of barely contained rage.

"Faust was an Ark—made by the Creator herself in eons long past."

His voice rang through the chamber, a defiant challenge to the weight pressing down upon them.

"This is desecration. A perversion of history."

Kira’s mouth opened slightly—but no words came.

Because she wasn’t sure.

For the first time in her life—she wasn’t sure at all.

The temple seemed to breathe in that silence, the air thickening around them.

Then—a tremor.

Not the shifting of stone. Not the settling of time.

Something deeper. Something awakened.

The chamber moved.

The great doors, untouched by decay yet old beyond measure, folded inward with a slow, grinding finality. The sound was neither welcoming nor hostile—it was inevitable. Stone upon stone, mechanism upon mechanism, shifting in ways that should not have been possible after eons of stillness.

A pulse followed.

It rolled through the air like a living thing, brushing against Kira’s skin, curling around her bones. A command. A warning. A judgment.

Then—the barrier rose.

It ignited in a slow, deliberate shimmer—a veil of iridescent force, its edges tinged with violet, flickering like embers caught in an unseen wind. It did not slam into place, nor did it roar with power—it simply was. Unyielding. Absolute.

Kira inhaled sharply.

It stood between them and the world outside.

A seal. A decree.

They were meant to go forward.

There would be no turning back.

Where once there had been only unbroken stone, a path now stretched inward—a descent. The temple had opened its depths to them.

One by one, torches erupted to life, their blue flames wreathed with violet tinges, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. The fire did not crackle, nor did it radiate warmth. Cold. Silent. Endless.

Kira swallowed. The path ahead plunged downward—too far to see the end.

A descent into something ancient. Something waiting.

Something that had never seen the living...