The two suns of Khar-9 dropped low in the sky, painting everything red. The sand dunes looked like slow rivers of blood. From far away in space, the planet seemed empty and dead. Up close, it felt mean—like it wanted to hurt anyone who tried to live on it.
Lian Yu walked along the high metal walkway that led to Hab-Block 17. He was slim and not very tall, but he moved fast and light, like he was always ready to bounce or run. His skin was dark from the sun filters and the lights deep in the mines. Dust stuck to his sharp face: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a mouth that always looked ready to smile. His hair was black and messy, sticking up in spikes under his rolled-up hood.
But his eyes were the part people remembered most. Bright electric blue, shining even through the dirt and grime. Those eyes sparkled with fun and kindness. They made people feel a little better just by looking at him.
His miner's suit was old and patched many times. His helmet hung from his belt, swinging as he walked. Even after a long day in the tunnels, Lian still had energy.
"Hey, sparkle-boy!" Old Jax shouted from down below. Jax was a big man, but his left arm was gone. In its place was a cheap black metal arm from the black market. It clicked and whirred when he moved.
Lian grinned, jumped over the railing, and landed next to Jax like a cat. "Hey, old man! I hit a good vein today. Extra rations coming. That means real herbs for Uncle Harlan's cough."
Jax looked at him and shook his head, but he was smiling. "Those blue eyes of yours make everyone forget how bad this place is."
Lian laughed—a loud, happy sound that carried over the noise of machines and wind. He clapped Jax on the good shoulder and kept walking. He said hello to every person he passed. He knew all their names. The medic lady who fixed cuts. The twin brothers with matching scars. The quiet kid who never talked but always waved. Lian made them laugh or smile, even when they felt tired and sore.
People liked Lian. He was the slim kid with the bright blue eyes who turned bad days into something you could survive.
By the time he reached the small hab-pod he shared with his uncle, the suns were gone. The colony lights turned on—hard yellow light that made everyone look sick and pale.
The door slid open with a tired hiss.
"Uncle! I'm home!" Lian called, voice full of life.
Inside, one warm lamp made the tiny room feel cozy. Harlan Voss sat at his little workbench, fixing a broken scanner drone. He was thin and small now, his body bent a little from age and hard years. His white hair was thin, and deep lines covered his face like cracks in dry ground. His hands were scarred but still quick and clever.
His eyes were the same bright blue as Lian's, only faded from time. They were kind eyes, full of stories. When Lian walked in, those eyes lit up.
"There's my boy," Harlan said. His voice was rough but warm, like a hug you could hear. He opened his thin arms.
Lian ran over and hugged him gently, careful not to squeeze too hard. Harlan smelled like machine oil, weak tea, and herbs. He smelled like home.
"Missed you today," Lian said quietly, resting his head on Harlan's shoulder for a second.
Harlan laughed softly and patted his back. "You were only gone a few hours. You just missed my cooking."
"Maybe both," Lian said. He pulled away but looked closely at Harlan's face, checking for new cough lines or tired shadows. Then his energy came back. He bounced on his toes and started pulling things from his bag.
"Look! Real protein bars—not the fake ones that taste like plastic. And I traded my extra air filter for the herbs you need."
Harlan's faded blue eyes went soft and shiny. "You always take such good care of me, Lian."
"Someone has to," Lian answered with a big smile. He kicked off his dusty boots, sat down, and started telling stories from the mines. He acted everything out—dodging a loader drone, pretending to punch the air, making funny voices for the overseers with their robot-sounding aug implants.
Harlan laughed until his cough started. Lian was there in a second with water and a gentle hand on his back. He made jokes to hide how scared he felt inside.
After they ate a simple dinner, Harlan told his favorite stories. Stories about the old days, before everything fell apart. About fighters who got strong without metal arms or brain chips. They trained their bodies and learned to feel energy inside them—Qi, he called it. No machines needed.
Lian sat on his bed, chin in his hands, blue eyes wide. He loved those stories. They made him dream of getting strong one day, of taking Harlan away from this dusty, dangerous planet.
When it was time to sleep, Lian helped Harlan into his narrow bed and pulled the thin blanket up.
"Good night, Uncle," he whispered.
"Good night, boy," Harlan whispered back. "Tomorrow will be better."
Lian lay on his own bed across the small room. He stared at the metal ceiling and listened to the hum of the vents. For a few minutes, everything felt almost peaceful. He could hear Harlan breathing slow and steady.
He started to drift toward sleep.
Then came the knock.
Three hard, cold knocks on the metal door.
Lian sat up fast, heart suddenly pounding.
Across the room, Harlan was already sitting up, thin body stiff under the blanket. His faded blue eyes were wide with fear.
The knocks came again—louder, more angry.
A voice spoke through the door. It was flat and robotic, changed by an aug in the throat.
"Harlan Voss. Open the door. Blackstar Syndicate business. Now."