Several hours of continuous walking had passed. During that time, the young man had crossed several kilometers without taking a single moment of rest. His steps were heavy under the pull of gravity, which he had not yet grown accustomed to, and the weight of his belongings seemed to double with every step. Yet, he never once considered stopping or turning back. His determination resembled an endless spring, pushing him forward despite the exhaustion.
As sunset approached, he finally stopped and glanced at his wristwatch. Eight hours had passed since he had begun his journey. While checking the time, a glimmer caught the corner of his eye. He slowly lifted his gaze toward the horizon. The scene before him was enchanting—like a strange dream. The orange hues of the setting sun intertwined with scattered clouds in the sky, forming a breathtaking natural canvas that no artist could ever truly recreate.
The planet's star was sinking gradually beyond the horizon, leaving behind threads of golden light reflecting across the vast plains before him. The green plains were beginning to change color, as if transforming into a living carpet. A soft violet glow shimmered over the landscape, adding a new dimension to its beauty.
Despite the captivating view, two things gnawed at him. First was the creeping sense of loneliness. Throughout those long hours of walking, he hadn't encountered a single trace of life—apart from the repetitive patterns of plant life. The second was the wind. What had begun as a gentle breeze caressing his face was now slowly turning hostile. He noticed its speed increasing, accompanied by a deepening chill, until it pierced his bones mercilessly—like sharp fangs sinking into his weary body. He watched his breath condense in the frigid air, forming small white clouds that danced for a moment before vanishing slowly, like transparent ghosts appearing only to say hello before slipping into the void.
A few more minutes passed, and the biting cold became a new challenge—on top of the distance and gravity. Yet even the wind, which forced him to close his eyes from time to time, could not shake his resolve. After covering a bit more ground, the young man finally decided to take his first break. He made his way toward a large boulder that looked like a relic from the past, sculpted by the harshness of nature over centuries.
The boulder was large enough to shield him from the cold wind—a fitting choice for a temporary refuge where he would spend his first night. He placed his heavy backpack on the ground and began gathering branches from the nearby trees. These trees were unlike any he had seen before. They were short—no taller than half a meter—with thick limbs that resembled miniature versions of fully-grown trees. Their leaves emitted a faint glow, similar to the surrounding grass, while the branches, despite their appearance, were unexpectedly strong, requiring effort to break.
Once he had collected enough wood, night began to seep in, covering everything in a soft darkness. The blackness was dense but not suffocating; rather, it carried an air of mystery and quiet magic, harmonizing elegantly with the soft glow of the luminous grass and the twinkling stars above.
He knelt slowly in front of the pile of branches, his body moving with the weariness of a temporary surrender. From his backpack, he pulled out a small vial. Upon opening it, a strong scent escaped. He carefully sprinkled a small amount of the clear liquid onto the branches, aware of the value of every drop in such exposed conditions.
Then he retrieved an old matchbox and began trying to light a fire in the freezing air. His hands trembled slightly from the cold that had seeped into his bones, making even holding a matchstick a challenge. But after several failed attempts, he finally succeeded in igniting one, using it to set the damp wood alight.
As the flames caught, it was as if new life had been breathed into the place. Sparks leapt into the air, and the fire's tongues danced silently in celebration within this cold environment. The young man sat close to the fire, placing his backpack at a safe distance to protect it from flying embers. He extended his trembling hands toward the flames, feeling their warmth slowly infiltrate his body, melting the layers of cold that had stiffened his movements and strained his muscles. It felt as though the imaginary ice that had bound his limbs was beginning to thaw, and vitality was gradually returning to his frozen extremities.
The fire grew slowly, its flickering tongues swaying like an ancient dance performed by nature itself. It devoured the branches hungrily, turning them into glowing embers pulsing with heat. Thin wisps of smoke rose from it like delicate threads. Then, he pulled from his backpack a cylindrical container and tossed it into the heart of the fire. The flames embraced it eagerly, releasing tiny sparks that scattered like luminous clusters before fading into the air.
At that moment, he noticed a sharp contrast in temperature across his body. The side facing the fire was wrapped in a gentle warmth, while the other was exposed to gusts of cold wind sneaking over the surface of the boulder—stinging his back with icy pinpricks. To lessen the chill, he leaned his back against the stone, pulling slightly away from the fire's heat.
As he gazed into the mesmerizing flames, which seemed to be waging a quiet battle against the howling wind, he lifted his eyes toward the vast celestial dome above him. What he saw exceeded the limits of imagination. The sky looked like an endless ocean of stars, studded with countless celestial jewels sparkling in various shades.
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.