Kaelen looked at the monitors. The iridium stitches were glowing, vibrating, but holding firm against the infinite tide. He wiped a smear of static-charged soot from his sleeve.
Kaelen looked left. A funnel, thin as a needle and glowing with a haunting cerulean light, was dropping from the atmosphere. It moved with impossible speed, carving a trench into the metallic soil of the planet below. Kaelen looked at the monitors
The sky on Kaelos wasn't a ceiling; it was an ocean of violet electricity and bruised clouds that never stopped screaming. On the "storm worlds"—planets locked in perpetual atmospheric chaos—life wasn't lived; it was endured in the brief, terrifying gaps between thunderclaps. Kaelen looked left
To the rest of the galaxy, the storm worlds were scientific curiosities—treasure chests of exotic gases and kinetic energy. To those born in the glass domes, the storm was a god. It dictated when they ate, when they slept, and when they died. The sky on Kaelos wasn't a ceiling; it
He jammed the final anchor into place and slammed the "Lock" button. The dampener hummed to life, creating a shimmering blue veil of force over the colony's weakest sector. The Piercer hit a second later.
Outside, the violet sky turned to black as the Great Red moved back over the sun, and the world began to scream once more.
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