Lifting his eyes, he scanned the horizon, calculating the distance and time required to cross the plains. He adjusted his watch to match the planet's time, then walked a few steps away from the ship. Stopping, he turned back and, in a firm tone, spoke in a language entirely different from the one he had used before. Translated, it meant:
"Activate full concealment mode."
A moment passed. The ship responded with a deep mechanical tone, followed by a voice echoing the same language. In an instant, the side door sealed smoothly. The metallic legs retracted and the ship sank slightly into the grass, anchoring itself to the terrain.
Then, without warning, its smooth surface began to shimmer — colors cascading across it in rapid, fluid motions. These hues weren't random. They seemed to interact with the environment, reflecting the star's light, the grass, and the rocks. The colors blended into one another like living art, until they began to fade, leaving behind a completely transformed exterior.
In a heartbeat, the ship vanished — or so it seemed. The sleek metal had become a massive boulder, indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. It bore fine details: tiny cracks, patches of moss, and weathered spots that mimicked centuries of erosion.
The camouflage was flawless. Even the sharpest eye would not detect it. The young man approached it, as if to confirm its effectiveness. He touched its surface, feeling the cold metal beneath the illusion. He closed his eyes briefly, then whispered:
"Good that the cloaking system still works. But honestly… I didn't expect it to be this convincing."
A wave of hesitation washed over him. He had to choose a direction. Slowly, he turned his gaze in all directions, studying the terrain anew. The plains stretched endlessly, the earth curving gently like soft wrinkles on the face of a silent world.
Then, a sudden memory surfaced — an old encounter with a wandering elder. He recalled clearly how the elder had looked at him with piercing eyes and said:
"When you're uncertain… walk against the wind, boy."
At the time, the words had meant little. But now, standing in uncertainty, they echoed within him. Perhaps the old man had spoken a subtle truth — that walking against the wind was a metaphor for facing adversity, choosing the difficult path.
He didn't dwell on the thought. He decided to test the advice — not out of faith, but for lack of alternatives. He didn't need to close his eyes to feel the wind. The grass clearly showed its direction, swaying with each breath of air.
So, the young man began to walk — against the breeze. His steps were steady, but heavy with something more than the weight of his pack. After covering some distance, he stopped and looked back.
The ship was gone — camouflaged perfectly. But to his eyes, it was still visible. He gave it one last look, filled with complex emotion — a bond deeper than that between man and machine. Then, in a voice barely audible, he whispered:
"I hope you stay safe… until I return."
He turned and continued walking toward the endless horizon.
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.