Unfamiliar Sky

[ FIELD LOG - S.S. HALFLIGHT ]

[ ENTRY 01 | 14 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

I didn’t plan to write these. Another thing I left behind.

I guess old habits really do die hard. You spend enough time in the field, and it becomes part of who you are. Log everything. Distance traveled. Supplies used. Enemies Killed. Your value, shrunk down to a series of clean, reliable numbers.

No one is reading these logs. Just me. And the kid, maybe. If I don’t make it.

Anything is better than what they want to make me.

By my best estimate, we are about eight cosmic days away from Oro Station. Rostan’s ship, the Halflight, must run on desperation and pure grit. The thing has a stench of burnt coolant and stale regret. He told me not to touch the C.NAV system, then happily dozed off. He thinks I am naive. I’m happy to let him.

The kid doesn't talk much. He’s young. Maybe 13? His skin’s too clean, hands too soft, hair too carefully kept. Keeps fiddling with a busted datapad like it’s a damn space tether. But I’ve caught him rerouting lines. He knows more than he lets on.

I didn’t ask his name, and Rostan didn’t offer it. Extraction Rules: Eyes forward, mind your business, don’t get attached. I’m decent at the last two.

We are nearing a small planetary body, designation Orien-4. No major settlements. Low-priority system, barely monitored. Rostan promises me it is a safe, clean route.

I don’t believe in clean routes anymore.

Not since the program.

Anyway.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

-No casualties.

-Supplies are stocked. For now.

[ FIELD LOG - ORIEN-4 ]

[ ENTRY 02 | 15 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

Rostan’s dead. I think. Or maybe he bailed. Same outcome.

The attack came just past mid-shift. No warning. No signals. No orders for surrender. Only a sharp drop, followed by the piercing scream of pressure alarms across the hull. Rostan was yelling over them at his crew, We’d been breached.

Cold and opportunistic. Old school raiders, armed with black market cannons, illegal cloaking shields, and no ID tags. Likely slavers. Maybe worse. Chaos hit fast. Cries started coming from deeper in the ship. I caught the bitter stench of pacification chems before it thickened. We had to move.

I went for the hold, damn near colliding with the kid. He was shaking, his datapad clutched in his hands. Forever his tether. He didn’t cry. Just wide eyes, stunned. That was the moment he realized this wasn’t just a nightmare. It was real.

I shoved him down the corridor toward the escape pod. Rostan was right behind us, pressed a beacon in my hand, and helped the boy into his harness. Told me to wait 24 hours, then activate the beacon.

Keep the kid safe.

He would come back for us.

In that moment, I believed him. Maybe I needed to.

The launch was rough and blind. I don’t remember much of our descent into Orien-4’s atmosphere. Only heat, violent shaking, and the kid yelling my name.

We hit the canopy hard. Branches snapped like bones. Then the pod split in two. The supply panel ripped clean off, raining med-kits and emergency meal rations onto the jungle below.

After some convincing, the kid climbed down with me. Helped gather what we could: backpacks, emergency tent, rations, water, flashlights.

And by the grace of all that is cosmic, a rifle.

This is why I love shady black-market transporters.

By the time we gathered what we could carry, the night was pressing in. The air is thick and humid. My scans show no signals, no overhead movement. Not even a familiar star in the sky.

The kid is trying to keep it together, but he is not built for this. Still, he’s got uses. Showed me how to run local scans off the pad earlier, ping for structures, and movement. Not bad for a brat with soft hands.

His name, I’ve learned, is Silas.

Oh, and I take back what I said. He is anything but quiet.

We will wait the 24 hours and re-evaluate.

But I don’t think Rostan is coming.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- 7-day food and water supply.

- 1 Assault class, self-loading rifle

- Potential casualties of the captain and crew

[ FIELD LOG - ON THE MOVE ]

[ ENTRY 03 | 16 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

I hate when I’m right.

Well, that’s not exactly true. But I do hate being right about this.

Just before daybreak, I picked up faint thruster trails on the scanner. Four ships. They moved low and slow, not typical for standard search and rescue.

No calls. No pings. No IDs.

Not ours.

I didn’t wake Silas right away. His sleep inside the tent had been restless. Full of soft mumbles and tears. He keeps repeating a woman’s name: Maren. Maybe his mother, maybe not. I haven’t asked.

But shortly after first light, the ships returned. I could see them through the canopy this time, black hulls, no classification. They moved slower than before. Large, overlapping circles.

Hunting.

That was enough for me.

Silas emerged from the tent, eyes to the sky. Hopeful. Full of questions and optimism. Was it Rostan? Was I sure it wasn’t him? Could they still help us? Shouldn’t we activate the beacon, just in case?

It may have been cold, but I told him the truth: If we light up now, we’re both as good as dead. He didn’t argue after that. We packed fast. Rations, tent, med-kits. Anything we couldn’t carry, we buried beneath bushes and underbrush. Then we moved.

The terrain is uneven. Sloped and thick with rot. We are currently pushing east, towards a ridge line I spotted on descent. Elevation might give me a stronger scan. And if not, at least we will see them coming next time.

The kid is tired. I pushed us hard today. He’s slower than I’d like, but he isn’t one to complain. I’ll give him that. In the rare moments he is quiet, he watches. Me, the tree line, the sky. Doesn’t trust the jungle. Good instinct.

We’ve made camp. No fire, just enough coverage to stay hidden. I told him to sleep with one ear open.

He asked me if I think they will come back. I told him no.

After I was sure he had dozed off, I tightened my laces, readied the rifle, and kept my eye on the canopy.

It’s going to be a long night.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- 5 days of food and water rations.

- Enemy aircraft sighted, unmarked.

- Beacon has been deactivated.

- Kid is holding.

- Still no sign of Rostan.

[ FIELD LOG - THE RAVINE ]

[ ENTRY 04 | 18 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

We have been pushing hard for two days now. I thought for a moment that today might do us in.

I knew climbing the ravine to the first ridge line would be rough. But damn. It kicked my ass, let alone Silas.

We started the ascent early. I had woke the kid before sunrise, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in my gut. Wanted to make the ridge by nightfall.

Standing at the bottom, staring up, I thought he might cry.

He didn’t.

I took the lead, picking our way through narrow paths and jagged outcrops. The higher we climbed, the more I could hear it, low and constant.

Running water. Clean, I hope.

The terrain’s sharp, footing worse the further we go. Shadows and ledges are everywhere. Perfect cover for watching. Or waiting.

I kept telling myself it was nothing. Just exhaustion. Nerves. It didn’t help.

We reached the upper slope by midday. I could see the river snaking through the valley below, feeding into the ravine mouth. Large avian creatures circled on high winds, watching. Distant, not a threat.

Too quiet. Too easy.

And then we hit the cliff. Twelve meters, near vertical. Climbable. but barely. We couldn’t afford to backtrack. Not with only three days of rations left.

We stripped the packs, tied them off to hoist later. I turned to help Silas prep the climb.

He was ghost-white. Eyes glassy.

I gave him the rundown, then started up. Four meters in, the wind picked up. The air turned heavy, Ozone. Storm on the way. I looked down to call out to him. My heart dropped.

He was frozen. Arms and legs twitching, breath too shallow. The kid was going to pass out before even leaving the ground.

I met his eyes and started counting my breaths. He followed. Smart kid. Quick to adapt. I kept talking. About the sky. The flowers that thrived between the rocks. The promise of clean water. Maybe even a bath.

I marked every handhold, every foothold, guiding him through the climb one reassurance at a time. His counting grew steady. So did his grip.

Only once I pulled him over the ledge did the tears fall.

The rain held off just long enough to get camp set. We’re in the tent tonight. Silas is asleep, finally. After fiddling with that datapad again. Still, I’m grateful for the warmth.

He’s talking in his sleep. Not Maren this time. Not whispers of home.

Acadia.

Augments.

My blood ran cold.

Even on this forsaken planet, I can’t outrun them. What has this kid gotten himself into?

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- 3 days of rations left

- Still no signals

- losing hope

[ FIELD LOG - FIRST CONTACT]

[ ENTRY 05 | 19 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

We should have died today. We might still.

When Silas woke up, the silence hit first. No muttering, no questions. Just cold, quiet tension. That should have been the first sign. I packed up camp without saying much. Gave him space. Didn’t help.

He found his fire fast. Today, I was the enemy.

“Do you even know what you are doing?”

“We should have stayed with the beacon.”

“We’re going to starve because of you.”

“I shouldn’t even be here.”

I know what Pops would’ve said. Breathe, disengage, but I’m tired. Tired of carrying all of it. So I snapped.

Who is he?

What’s in the datapad he won’t let go of?

Why the hell am I risking my neck for an ungrateful brat?

Instant regret. His face hardened. Lip trembled. Then, shoulders back, chin up.

“I am Silas Reed.”

It hit like a punch.

His parents helped create the augmentation protocol I’ve spent the last year running from. Of course.

I laughed. He didn’t. Instead, he laid it all bare.

Mother: dead.

Father: As good as.

The datapad? That’s what matters. Not him. What he can do with it.

I don’t have words. Just fidgeted with my rifle strap. That’s when I noticed it.

Too quiet.

No insects. No birds.

Just the steady rush of water nearby. Silas’s eyes locked on something behind me. My skin went cold. I turned slow, rifle ready.

It dropped into the clearing with spider-like grace. Long limbs, slick black hide, a long spiny tail. Low-slung eyes. Watching. Calculating.

Then it clicked. Dry. Rhythmic. Unnerving. That was enough.

Count to three, I told him. Then run.

He did.

I unloaded the rifle. Didn’t slow it down. We ran for the water. No time to grab packs. The tent. None of it mattered. If we died, we’d die empty-handed.

The creature stalked us, always just behind. Snapping branches, crushing limbs. Sand and leaves raining from above. I prayed Silas wouldn’t fall.

And then I did.

One wrong step. I hit hard. The rifle skidded toward the bank of the river. My ribs ached. I couldn’t breathe.

The shadow fell across me. It was on me in seconds. Tongue coiling around my throat, cold and wet. I screamed for Silas to go. He didn’t.

Stupid, brave kid saved my life. Sand and gravel struck the creature’s face. It reared back for a second, just enough. I drew my knife, and when it lunged again, I slammed the blade into its eye.

It screamed.

A high-pitched pitched clicking shriek that cut straight through me.

But it pulled back. I scrambled for the rifle. We ran downstream. The river roared ahead. The terrain turned sharp. Stone underfoot, no more trees. Mist curled into the air.

Then, the cliff.

Ten meters down. Whitewater. No escape.

Silas looked at me like I’d lost it. He asked if I’m serious. I laugh and tell him I’m always serious.

I grab him, and we leap. He screamed.

The water tore us apart, cold and brutal. I thought he was gone. But even in the black, his hand found mine. We surfaced together.

Now we’re on the bank. Alive. For now.

Creature’s gone. For now.

I’ll skip my rations, he’ll have enough for five, maybe six days.

But we’re never going to make it out of here.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- Screw your field summary.

[ FIELD LOG - SERAPH’S FALL ]

[ ENTRY 06 | 20 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

Six days since our descent. Hundreds of scans. An obsessive number. Six days of praying for even the smallest blip.

Always nothing.

I’m still not sure what compelled me to try again, but I think it may just save our lives.

While Silas slept near the water’s edge, I stayed up. Couldn’t settle. Not while we were sitting ducks. I reached for the datapad and ignored the rocky outcrops that would normally distort signals. Out of pure desperation, I ran the scan.

Blip.

I run it again. Same result. Close. Faint. Maybe an old emergency beacon.

At first, I assumed it came from above. The idea of climbing the ravine again made my knees ache. But I’d scanned from camp at least a dozen times.

Not above. Below.

I looked at the waterfall with fresh eyes. A wide curtain, deep pools. A narrow slice of beach hugged the rock face and disappeared behind the falls.

I woke Silas. Told him to stay put, rifle ready. If I wasn’t back in an hour, he was to run. I made him promise.

The strip was narrow. Mist hit my face like sleet. I had to press tight to the stone as I edged behind the water’s curtain.

Then fell.

Not far, but deep. Into a cold pool inside a massive cavern.

The cave was massive. Big enough to feel small. Stalactites clung to the ceiling. Cave moss glistened. Pale flowers bloomed in the damp. And at the back -

A ship.

Beached in the sand, half covered in sediment. Not large or sleek, but intact. Scarred hull, damaged wing joints. A name faded but legible across the bow:

Seraph’s Fall

I walked the perimeter. Skeletal remains rested near the door. No movement. No sound but the falls. Lights dead, save for a single blinking red diode near the top hatch. Locked tight.

That’s when the water crashed behind me. Silas.

He never could follow orders.

I hauled him and our gear up onto the bank, ready to chew him out, but he cut me off.

“I can get us into that.”

I guess we’ll see.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- Star-class vessel located.

- Likely grounded long term

- Entry pending; partial power detected

- Temporary shelter secured

[ FIELD LOG - RAIDERS’ DEMISE ]

[ ENTRY 07 | 24 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

Silas is incredible. He had the door open within the hour.

Sneaky little tech boy.

Inside painted a grizzly picture. One of Piracy and betrayal. Small crew. Evidence of trafficking, scattered belongings. One set of boots headed for the exit. The rest... never made it that far.

The captain was dead in his seat, gun still in hand, bullet through his temple. The other body, just outside the ramp, bled out slower. Guess the captain didn’t go quietly. They never got the ship back online. Emergency landing, maybe. A mutiny in the chaos. One last standoff. They died here.

But the ship didn’t.

The hull held. Power’s faint, but holding. Rations and med-kits, mostly intact. I did my best to clean the blood off the walls. It’s not perfect, but it’s shelter. It's hope.

It’s Home.

Silas is different now. Still buried in that datapad, but this time with a purpose. He gives commands with quiet confidence. Points at wiring, mutters system specs, tells me which lines to reroute, and which ports to avoid. He’s already patched the C.NAV system.

He says we can get her flying.

The captain’s sins might be our salvation.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- Emergency rations replenished

- Systems under repair

- Power returning

- vessel rename pending

[ FIELD LOG - SERAPH’S RISE ]

[ ENTRY 08 | 30 S.C.D. POST EXTRACTION ]

We left Orien-4 at first light.

I insisted on piloting us out. He sat in the co-pilot’s seat, watching live ship data as the last of the planet fell away beneath us. Green canopies, broken stone, the shimmer of water trailing down cliffs like a scar.

From up here, it almost felt like peace.

The ship groaned through the atmosphere, frame shaking like it remembered. But she held. Silas says it’s his patchwork code that keeps her flying. I think it might be spite.

He renamed her in the system files yesterday. A small thing, really.

Seraph’s Rise.

It doesn't erase what happened here. But maybe it means we don’t have to carry it forward. Not all of it.

Silas told me everything. The files on his pad. What his parents discovered. What they did. The augmentation program wasn’t about survival. It was about control. Integration tech that could rewrite a person from the inside out.

His mother spoke out, got buried for it

His dad? I think part of him made it out. Silas carries it with him every day.

He wants to release the data. Broadcast it. Bear the truth for all to see.

Who am I to stop him?

I don’t know what’s waiting for us beyond the drift. Governments don’t like losing their toys. Corporations like to keep their secrets.

But the boy deserves to fight. And maybe I do, too.

We’re going to find out, together.

— Ryn out.

[ FIELD SUMMARY ]

- Liftoff successful

- Navigation stable

- Destination set: Oro Station

- Primary Objective: Find allies, reveal the truth.