#cydrim

Fell through the world on Gzanerifer but managed to find a way back out. Turns out that planets are all water beneath an extremely thin crust. 

Despite the extreme solitude on Gzanerifer, one cannot shake the feeling of being constantly watched; perhaps by the planet itself.

Space Station Interiors #3

Daylight guided me from Gzanerifer’s caves and held me witness to a world aflame without heat. The air, balmy yet not burning, has completely desiccated the environment. A long-range scan revealed not a single lifeform for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. I was alone, my only company being the golden monoliths and an occasional sentinel drone whirring by, unconcerned. They are aware of the dearth of resources under threat by outsiders. 

Gzanerifer is ill. It is dying, but its passage is a wrathful one, seething with spite. As unsettled as I am, I feel compelled to understand it.

I found myself drifting into familiar systems, investigating how change has wrought other worlds as it had my home. I landed on Gzanerifer, [HUB-G-B3] Hesperia, and was met by a vista of startling electromagnetic decay. The planet is desolate and devoid of life, save for its armies of monoliths. These billions of metallic sentinels stand vigilant in the night as they wait for their world to finally collapse. Their patience is haunting, and the shadows they cast are personified in the corner of the eye. To walk through their silent fields is to walk through a graveyard.

Summer vacation photo. 

Revisiting Yunisbre Jiyod, [HUB-V-81] Loak. It’s different than I remember it. The cuboidal cliffs have forfeited their blue sheen to an earthen, clay-textured brown. But the feeling of being here remains unchanged. The climate is frigid, quiet, and calm. Fog still softens the horizon.