The ramp hissed as I got ready to leave. A light gust of pressurized air hit me. Was I ready? My heart pounded. For a moment, I stood at the door motionless, staring outside. It looked so much like home. A swirl of blues, whites, greens and browns. How long had it been since I had seen a true forest? Everything was so alien yet familiar. The air was crisp, a faint sense of damp earth and green carried with it. I had not realized how much I missed those pure smells.

  My heart, for the first time in a long while, whispered hope.

  I hesitated, one foot in the air, ready to step out.

  This was the part I always found the hardest. Memories of what once was always flashed before me, it was even worse this time, tugging at the back of my mind like a weight in water. What would I find here? Nothing? Everything? Something? Or was this just another cruel trick played by the universe on me, another ghost sent to taunt me?

  Telora was alive in a way I hadn’t seen since Earth. That thought alone kept my hand steady. I took a deep breath and took a step, reminded of the first time my people set foot on the moon; “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

  But this time it was both, one small step for me, and a giant leap for humanity, for I was humanity.

  The gravity was the same, the air was the same. Breathable, non-toxic. But the ground was different, softer. Or maybe my countless years on hard rock and metal had made me forget the softness of soil. I crouched and dug my hand into the ground, bringing soil back with it. I stared for a moment as it crumbled in my hand, a tear going down my face again. It was all so familiar.

  I stood and scanned the horizon. My ship’s sensors had detected life, but the forest around me was completely still. No chirping birds, no rustling leaves. Just silence, heavy and quiet.

  “Odd,” I muttered under my breath, my voice foreign in the quiet.

  The ship’s AI chimed in again, its ever monotone voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.

  “Alert: Energy anomaly detected 1.2 kilometres northeast. Consistent with prior readings.”

  I sighed. Of course. There was no use putting it off. Something was calling to me and was out there, waiting. I grabbed my equipment—a small bag of supplies, tools for starting a fire, a pulse detector, and a sidearm I hadn’t needed in centuries but still carried out of habit.

  Stepping away from the ship, I glanced back at its hulking metallic form, a stark contrast to the surrounding area. A reminder of where I came from and the burden I carried. I locked it and set it to be invisible so that I could hide it.

  I started out towards the trees. The forest ahead was thick, ancient trees towering over me like silent sentinels. Taller than most I had ever seen at home. The quiet was oppressive now, pressing against me like a physical force. I paused, glancing over my shoulder. Nothing. Yet the ancient sense of being watched lingered, persistent and undeniable.

  I pressed forward. The anomaly was close, and my pulse detector began to beep faintly in my hand. Whatever energy this was, it wasn’t natural. It thrummed just beneath the surface, a vibration that seemed to pull at me like a magnet. The sensation was familiar, though I couldn’t place why. Until I realized.

  It felt like The Pulse.

  Swallowing hard, I focused. Nerves could kill, even if I was very hard to kill.

  Looking at the land ahead, the forest began to thin, the trees giving way to a rocky outcropping in the centre of s glade that jutted up like jagged teeth.

  The pulse detector’s beeping quickened, like a Geiger counter, the vibration in the air growing stronger.

  As I came to the clearing, I stopped dead. Scared. Alone. Always.

  Before me stood ruins.

  Stone structures, worn and weathered by the passage of time, they rose from the earth like the bones of a forgotten civilization. They were massive, their architecture alien yet somehow natural. Towering columns leaned precariously with no discernable design, etched with carvings, straight lines with circles surrounding both ends of them, they glowed faintly with the same energy signature I had followed here.

  My breath caught in my throat. The symbols were unmistakable.

  The gods.

  It had to be. Nothing else was like their power. Nothing else in the universe had the power they used to wield.

  The markings were identical to those carved into the body of the dead god we had found on Earth so long ago. The ones that had doomed us.

  I approached cautiously, nervous to touch anything, my eyes scanning every detail. The ruins hummed with a latent energy, a rhythm I could feel in my chest. I reached out slowly with my hand, almost an instinctive stupidity that I could not stop, my hand brushed against the smooth, cool surface of the centre column standing up straight. A jolt of energy shot through me, brief but intense, and I stumbled back, falling over myself.

  “What in the void is this?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  As I got up the ground began to shake, a low rumbling echoing throughout the clearing, and I turned just in time to see a burst of light erupt from the centre of the ruins, like a river of light.. It wasn’t blinding, but it pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

  The Pulse.

  I stumbled back again, my mind racing. This wasn’t a tomb like we’d found on Earth. This, this was alive.

  The ship’s AI buzzed faintly in my earpiece. “Caution: Unidentified energy source increasing in intensity. Recommend immediate evacuation.”

  Evacuation. Right, yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Turn around, get back on the ship, and leave this place behind. Act like nothing ever happened. That was the smart plan. But my feet wouldn’t move.

  The light grew increasingly brighter, casting long shadows across the ruins. And then, for the first time in millennia, I heard something I thought I would never hear again.

  A voice.

  Faint and distant, it echoed through the clearing, speaking in a language that I didn’t recognize but somehow understood.

  “Child of the Broken World… why do you return?”

  The words sent a chill down my spine. My throat tightened, and I felt true terror for the first time in a very long time. I scanned the ruins quickly, searching for the source. The light pulsed again, stronger this time, and the voice grew louder.

  “You carry the curse of the First Flame. You should not be here, though maybe this is good.”

  “Who are you?” I managed, my voice hoarse.

  The light dimmed slightly, and the ground stopped shaking. The voice softened, almost gentle.

  “I am what remains. And so are you.”

  “What do you mean, curse of the First Flame?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  Silence followed, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t bear. My chest tightened, and I felt the crackle of something—rage, fear, desperation—building inside me.

  I clenched my fists, my voice breaking as I screamed, millennia of anger breaking free, “What is my curse? What is my purpose anymore?!”

  The light pulsed again, softer this time, bathing the ruins in an ethereal glow. It wasn’t blinding, it drew me forward despite the voice’s warning. That rhythm—The Pulse—matched the rhythm of my own heartbeat now.

  “I’ve been running for centuries,” I said aloud, my voice trembling as I tried to gather my courage. “If you’ve been waiting for me or something else, then speak plainly. Who are you? What do you want?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The air seemed to hum as a response, a vibration that made my body tremble. It felt like the very opposite of my being. The voice returned, layered, as if millions spoke as one.

  “You should not exist”

  A chill ran through me, but I forced myself to steady. “Believe me” I replied, “I’ve wished for the same. But I do exist. And now I’m here. Why do you wish to speak to me? What are you truly?”

  The light dimmed slightly, and the carvings along the ruins glowed brighter, the strange symbols shifting as though alive. The presence—the god, or whatever it was—seemed to hesitate, its voice softening into something almost sorrowful.

  “I am a memory, much like you. The remnants of what we were before the Fall.”

  “The Fall…” My breath caught. “You mean the gods. The ones who came to Earth and destroyed everything.”

  “Yes. We were gods once, and then we were nothing. Ash and ruin.” The voice carried a weight of regret, an unbearable sadness that clawed at my chest, for I felt it myself every waking moment, clawing out from my heart.

  “Your kind found the remnants of one of my kin, we were at war, and we attempted new methods of weaponry. In our hubris, we destroyed ourselves. Our power became too much, and it consumed us, as it then consumed your people. We, like you, fled our planet and most of us arrived at yours, bar one. But we were too late, one by one we all died there. Now you are cursed, a scar on the fabric of existence.”

  I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Cursed?” My voice cracked with a broken bitterness. “You did this to us. To me. You destroyed us all!”

  The ground rumbled slightly, but the presence did not retaliate. Instead, the sorrow deepened. “We did. And I will bear that guilt for eternity. But you… you were not meant to carry this burden. You should not be here, wandering the void, untouched by death’s embrace. The First Flame was not for you or any other to take.”

  The First Flame. The words reverberated in my mind, familiar yet elusive, like an old song I couldn’t quite remember. “What is the First Flame?” I demanded.

  The light flared again, and I staggered back as a figure began to emerge from its centre. It wasn’t physical, not entirely—more like an outline, a shimmering silhouette of light and energy. Its form was humanoid, towering and otherworldly, its features obscured.

  “The First Flame was the spark of creation that my kind created, the seed of Life and Death. It was the heart of our power, the foundation of our arrogance. When we fell, the two parts split, sailing with the stars and took residence inside the two of my kins corpses, one who did not flee, our leader. One piece fled to Earth, which your kind found. There is another here, on Telora. You are connected to it. On earth, you breathed humanity into it, and it awoke. But the Flame is not just Life and Death, it is both combined—it is controlled chaos.”

  My mind reeled, the pieces falling into place. The dead god on Earth. The experiment. The Pulse. “So it wasn’t just a god we found.” I whispered. “It was… this First Flame as well. And it’s inside me, isn’t it? That’s why I don’t age. Why I can't die.”

  The figure nodded—or perhaps it simply shifted, its form rippling like water. “Yes. You are a vessel of the half of the First Flame that held Life, it is a fragment of what we once were. But that power is not meant for mortals. It will consume you eventually, in an extreme amount of time for a mortal, but a blink of an eye for a god. And now…” The voice trailed off, its tone growing darker. “They call to one another, Life and Death wish to be one again. And machines of our making, terrible monstrosities made by the worst of my kind, can hear it. They will seek out the power. You have time yet to prepare. Power you don't realize you have.”

  I felt the weight of the words settle on my shoulders. “So I’m the reason this world is in danger.”

  “Yes and no. You act as a beacon. They will find the power eventually, and when they do, they will destroy everything. Every planet, star and galaxy, will burn like both our worlds.”

  The shimmering figure flickered, its edges blurring as though it struggled to maintain form. Its voice, layered and resonant, pressed down on me like a coin under a press.

  “You cannot run” it said, the words reverberating in my chest. “You cannot hide. The machines will come. Their march is inevitable, and they will not stop until they find what they seek.”

  I swallowed hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. “And what? You expect me to just stand here and let them? If I’m a beacon, then let me leave. Let me take the Flame far away from here so they follow me instead of this planet.”

  The figure shifted, its light pulsing faintly. “It would not matter. They have enough of a tether now that you have arrived that they will find it no matter what. They sense the Flame’s call across the stars, both fragments calling. This world’s fate is tied to yours, and its survival depends on what you do next.”

  The words hit me like a blow, and I staggered back, anger rising in my chest. “You’re telling me it’s hopeless, then? That nothing I do will change anything? What am I to do? Sit here and die?”

  “No,” the figure replied, its tone steady, almost commanding. “I am telling you to choose Life over Death.”

  I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

  “Fight?” I repeated, incredulous. “With what? Against what? I’m one person, one broken eternal man, cursed to carry the remnants of your mistakes. What could I possibly do to stop an army of machines made by gods?”

  “You are more than a man.” the god replied, its light intensifying. “You are a vessel of the First Flame, a fragment of a power that once forged stars, that gave and took. You are a force of creation and destruction, and you have endured where others have fallen. That is no accident.”

  The weight of its words hung in the air, and I felt the anger within me give way to something colder. Something heavier.

  “You want me to use the Flame,” I said quietly. “To turn it into a weapon.”

  “Yes, to turn Life into a force of power.” the figure said simply. “But not as you are now. You are untempered, untrained. The power within you burns chaotically, uncontrolled, it would destroy you if you were to use it as you are. If you are to stand against the machines, you must learn to harness it.”

  The voice sounded strained, weak, even through the power it exuded.

  I clenched my fists, the realization settling over me like a shroud. “And how am I supposed to do that? How do I master this power?”

  The figure raised an arm—or something like an arm—and gestured toward the ruins around us, then to the vast forest beyond. “This world is alive, vibrant with forces you have forgotten. Forces that can aid you. Telora is not like Earth—it is untamed, untouched by the scars of war and ruin on the scale we both know. Its people, its creatures, its very essence are bound to the Flame in ways you do not yet understand. If you are to fight, you must unite them. Prepare them.”

  “Unite them?” I asked, my voice rising with disbelief. “I’ve seen nothing alive here. No people, no creatures. Just silence and ruins. What am I supposed to unite?”

  The figure dimmed slightly, something told me we had not much more time left to converse. Its tone softened. “You have seen only a sliver of this world. Its people exist, scattered and divided, unaware of the true danger that approaches. You must seek them out, bring them together, and prepare them for the storm that is coming. Only if you stand with then can this world stand against the machines my people created”

  I shook my head, the enormity of the task threatening to crush me. “You’re asking the impossible. I’m not a leader. I’m not a hero. I’m just… I’m just a man.”

  “You are more than that.” the god replied, its firm voice growing weaker. “You are the last remnant of a broken world, the last spark of humanity’s defiance. And you are bound to this place now, as surely as it is bound to you. If you fail, Telora will burn, as Earth once did. But if you succeed, this world may yet survive—and so may you, you may have another chance. I do not have much time left, I will soon pass on to whatever comes next for beings like me. I have waited a long time, keeping myself alive without realising why, I see now. It was so that I may talk to you, Elereth.”

  I frowned, my brow furrowing as the voice echoed in the stillness. “That’s not my name, I have no name. Not anymore.” I said, my voice sharp

  The light pulsed softly, an almost mournful rhythm. Then the voice, layered and resonant, replied with a chilling finality.

  “It will be.”

  The light around the figure pulsed, its rhythm matching the faint hum of the ruins. I could feel it begin to fade.

  “Your path will not be easy,” it said. “The people of this world will not trust you truly, nor will they trust each other. But the Flame within you is a beacon—not just to the machines, but to those who still have the strength to fight. You must find them, unite them, and prepare them. Only then can Telora stand against what is to come.”

  The figure’s form began to waver, its light dimming even more. “The machines are patient, but they are relentless. You have time. Use it wisely.”

  I stared at the god, the weight of its words sinking in. Unite a planet I didn’t know. Harness a power I didn’t understand. Prepare for a war against an enemy I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

  It felt impossible.

  But then I thought of Earth, of the ruins I had left behind, of the billions who had died because of the mistakes of people who called themselves saviours. I thought of Telora, its untouched beauty, its vibrant potential. I felt hope.

  I thought of the silence. The emptiness I had carried for centuries.

  Maybe it was time to stop running.

  I nodded slowly, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll fight. But I’ll need answers. And I’ll need help.”

  The figure’s light flared briefly, as though in acknowledgment. “Seek the heart of Telora. Its secrets will guide you. And remember this; the Flame is both a gift and a burden. Wield it wisely, or it will consume you.”

  With that, the figure dissolved into the air, leaving me alone again in the clearing. The ruins fell silent, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the wind.

  I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where the god had been. That being had been a part of what had destroyed my home. And here I was about to do as it told me. Was I a fool? Had it lied? I had no way of knowing. The scope of it was beyond me.

  So I turned toward the forest, my mission settling over me like a mantle that was too heavy.

  I didn’t know what lay ahead.

  But the first time in centuries, I had a purpose

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I walked back into the forest, my head heavy with thought.

  The forest seemed alive now in a way it hadn’t before.

  I walked deeper into the trees, the silence that had unnerved me earlier gave way to faint sounds—the crackle of leaves under my feet, the rustling of branches in a soft breeze. Every step I took, the scale of the god’s words seemed to infuse them. “You must unite them. Prepare them.” A task so monumental it bordered on complete absurdity.

  Unite whom?

  I stopped to catch my breath, rest my legs and feet. I leaned against a tree. The bark was rough but warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Full of life. Telora’s energy was everywhere, in the soil, the air, even the trees themselves. It reminded me of the Pulse, but gentler, more balanced. I couldn’t tell if it was reassuring or unnerving. It was like the whole planet was infused with the energy of the gods.

  As I crouched to inspect a piece of bark that had fallen, my hand brushed against something. A soft, damp layer beneath the leaves. My fingers closed around it instinctively, and when I pulled the fresh leaves out of the way, I froze.

  A footprint.

  It was human.

  The shape was so familiar—but it was small, not even the size of my hand. A child. Oh Void save me a child! I rose slowly, my eyes scanning the forest for any movement. The canopy above seemed darker now, the light filtering through the leaves casting long, shifting shadows. There was another print, and another, leading off into the trees.

  What is a child doing out here?

  I followed the trail, what else was there to do? The footprints were erratic, zigzagging between trees, sometimes overlapping. I couldn’t tell if the child was playing or running. My pulse quickened as I stepped over an exposed root and into a clearing. If the child was in danger, I needed to be quick. I pulled my sidearm and switched off the safety. The trail stopped abruptly.

  I turned in a slow circle, scanning the forest. The air here felt heavier, charged with an unfamiliar tension. The god’s words echoed in my mind; “Telora will guide you.”

  A sound somewhat distant broke the stillness—soft, like fabric brushing against bark. I turned toward it, heart pounding.

  “Hello?” I called, my voice more tired than I had, though, cutting through the quiet.

  Silence.

  Then, faintly, the sound of laughter. High-pitched, childlike, almost nervous, and oh so very human. My heart pounded. Humans? After all this time was I truly not alone? I surged forward, my boots crunching against fallen leaves. The laughter grew louder, joined by voices—several of them. I changed to a slow walk.

  I walked into the edge of a clearing.

  The childish laughter had drawn me, but now she was silent, staring at me with the kind of open wonder that only children possess. The adults, however, were less welcoming. Understandably.

  There were four of them. Two men, one woman and a child. Both men had dark black hair, one was taller than the other, brothers maybe? They had rugged faces that showed the effects of hard labor. They seemed well-built, but it was hard to tell. Both had swords on their hips. Short, jagged but intricate pieces of metal. They wore brown tunics.

  “Who are you?” one of the men demanded, standing and placing a protective hand on the child’s shoulder. He was tall with weathered skin.

  “Hey I don’t mean any harm,” I said quickly, raising my hands. “I saw the footprints. I thought someone might need help.”

  I understood their language, was that another boon of my curse?

  The man narrowed his eyes, but one of the women stepped forward, her expression softening. “You’re not from here, are you?" What's your name? ” she asked.

  I felt a sharp tug at that question, my name. I had long forgotten it in the years since the Fall.

  “I don't have one anymore ma’am, it was taken from me by the passage of time, truly I’m... just passing through. A traveler so to speak.” I replied solemnly.

  The woman glanced at the others, then back at me. “Passing through Telora on your own? That’s either very brave or very foolish.”

  I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, unsure how they would react to anything I say. The god’s words hung heavy in my mind, but I doubted they would take kindly to tales of divine missions from a stranger in weird clothes with a strange metal object in his hand. I slowly holstered my sidearm, keeping the safety off just in case. Instead of giving an answer I asked a question myself “Is the child all right? I saw her footprints and thought—”

  “She’s fine,” the woman interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “We’ve been traveling all day. She likes to wander off, but she always comes back.”

  The opposite of me, how poetic. I hated wandering, and yet I could never go back.

  I looked at the child, and she smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  I nodded, though unease still lingered in my chest. “You’re traveling somewhere?”

  The man frowned. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Leave him be, Helriel,” the woman said, her tone sharp. She turned to me again. “We’re headed south. The city there is... safer.”

  “Safer?” I asked. “From what?”

  The group exchanged equal uneasy glances, and the tension in the air thickened. Finally, Helriel said, “The beasts. The wilds. The Blight” He gestured at the child. “We’re trying to keep her safe.”

  The Pulse of Telora surged faintly around me, like the forest itself was listening. I thought of the god’s command: “Prepare them.” These people were wary, guarded understandably—but they were also afraid, and that fear bound them together.

  Maybe this was where it would start. Maybe they could use my help.

  Or me theirs.