The descent is silent.
From the observation deck of TARINI, the interstellar research vessel, the crew gazes at the surface of Chhayalok—a planet wrapped in stillness, bathed in indigo light. Its smooth, dark terrain reflects the dim sun of this faraway system like liquid obsidian. There is no visible vegetation, no weather, no movement—only mirror-like lakes that dot the surface like forgotten memories.
Inside the ship, Meera steadies her breath. Her palms hover above the console, barely touching the glass. She's not nervous—she's listening.
"Vibration patterns... minimal," she mutters. "Almost like the planet is suppressing itself."
Arvind, standing tall at the helm, replies without turning.
"Or it's dead. Let's not mystify what's just empty."
"Empty things echo," Meera replies. A small smile plays at her lips.
Raghav, who's been eyeing the data stream from orbit, points to a set of bio-signature blips.
"Not dead. There's energy—scattered, mild, intelligent. Not mechanical, not animal. Something we haven't modeled before."
TARINI, the AI core, speaks in a steady, feminine voice:
"Surface conditions stable. Atmosphere breathable. Local gravity at 0.97 Earth G. All clear for descent."
Arvind nods. "We touch down at Site Zero-One. Everyone suit up. Meera, you're first out. Raghav, sample logistics. TARINI, switch to surface protocol."
A low hum vibrates through the floor as TARINI initiates the landing cycle. The ship aligns itself to a narrow plateau between two black lakes—both eerily still, like portals.
As the hatch opens, Meera steps out slowly. The first footfall feels wrong—not because of the gravity or the terrain, but because of the silence. There is no wind, no rustle, no ambient life. The air is thick with a sort of expectation.
She walks towards the nearest lake.
The surface is impossibly smooth, a perfect mirror, disturbed only by her reflection—standing still, staring back. But as she steps closer, her reflection seems… aware. The tilt of the head. The curve of the mouth. A breath that doesn't sync.
She kneels.
Her helmet reflects in the lake, but her reflection is not wearing one.
Meera freezes.
Her comm buzzes softly.
"Meera, status?" Arvind's voice. She doesn't respond.
Then—her reflection blinks.
Only the reflection.
Meera's breath catches. She whispers, almost inaudibly:
"This place is not empty."
Behind her, the rest of the crew disembarks. Footsteps crunch the black dust. But Meera doesn't turn. Her reflection remains still, smiling faintly.
Somewhere inside Chhayalok, the planet has begun remembering.