Ten789 -

Then he saw it: a single crystal, no larger than his thumb, floating in the exact center of the space. It was transparent, almost invisible, but it hummed at a pitch that made his joints ache.

Ten. Seven. Nine. The numbers had become his mantra, his heartbeat, his religion.

He stood on the launch platform, his pressure suit humming with recycled air. Above him, the sky of Kepler-186f was a bruised purple. Below him, seven kilometers of vertical shaft plunged into the planet’s crust—a natural fissure lined with ancient, crystalline growths that the science team called "singing glass." ten789

Above, the purple sky waited. The comms crackled: "Leo? You're ascending early. Report."

"Remember the objective: retrieve one intact singing glass fragment and ascend. No deviations. The pressure at depth will fog your cognitive clarity inside thirty seconds. You will feel euphoric. You will want to stay. That’s the crystal singing to your nervous system. Ignore it." Then he saw it: a single crystal, no

Ten years of drills. Seven kilometers of pure dark. Nine minutes of oxygen buffer once he hit the bottom.

Ten years of guilt. Seven kilometers of descent. Nine minutes of mercy turned to seven seconds of truth. He stood on the launch platform, his pressure

He fired his descent thrusters to slow his fall. Four kilometers. Five. The walls narrowed. The amber turned to blood-red. The singing grew sharp, insistent—not a choir now but a thousand whispered arguments, each one tugging at a different fear.

The chamber was called the Descension, and for ten years, Leo had trained for it.

Not nine minutes. Seven seconds.

Leo tore his gaze away. Nine minutes. He swept his helmet lamp across the chamber. No glowing glass. No fragments. Just the black, silent shards embedded in the walls like broken teeth.