"Thanks," Bob said, gripping the plough.
His arms bulged as he drove the stick hard against the board, muscles standing out beneath the strain. Each stroke came with a rough, rhythmic grunt. What had taken Shingo five exhausting minutes, Bob achieved in seconds.
Smoke curled upward—thin, gray. Then darker. Tiny embers bloomed from the charcoal dust gathered at the end of the groove.
"Keep going!" Lazarus cheered, voice tight with excitement.
"Alright," Laurel said quickly. "Mistral said to move the ember to the tinder. Xiaolang?"
"Will this do?" Xiaolang sliced a fist-sized piece from the cloud strider's nest and handed it over.
Bob tipped the glowing ember onto the dry fibers. Lazarus leaned in and blew gently, carefully, feeding it breath. Smoke thickened. Laurel lifted the bundle, waving it just enough to coax the heat without smothering it.
A spark caught. A flicker from beneath the smoke and tinder. Then a living flame—golden and fragile—licked up toward Laurel's fingers.
"Ow!" she yelped, dropping it instinctively. Her palm stung, but when the others saw the fire dancing in the dirt, they burst into relieved laughter.
"Hurry—into the pit!" Xiaolang said, pointing to the shallow fire pit he'd prepared earlier, stacked neatly with firewood from their failed attempts.
"Use the spear—careful!" Shingo warned. "Fire's dangerous!"
They nudged the burning tinder into place. The flame spread quickly, climbing from twig to twig. Warm light spilled across their faces, painting them in gold. Shadows leapt and twisted behind them, alive and trembling.
A quiet sense of triumph settled over the group. They had done it. They had summoned the same fire their ancestors once had—
a fragile spark of defiance against the dark.
"It's… pretty," Anna whispered, her eyes glistening in the amber glow.
No one answered. The fire crackled softly, a steady heartbeat of warmth in the cold alien night. Even Lexus stood transfixed. Without thinking, they drifted closer, forming a loose circle around the flames—the first circle of humanity rebade in this silent world.
"It's warm," Laurel murmured. The words were simple, but they carried a weight she hadn't expected. The radiant heat was like a hope.
"Hey… aren't we supposed to boil water?" Lexus finally said, though his eyes never left the dancing flame.
Laurel blinked, pulled abruptly from the trance. "Oh—right. Sorry. I must be exhausted." She shook her head, refocusing. "Shingo, let's check the lifepod. Maybe we can find a rounded panel we can use."
"On it," Shingo said, already moving. Lazarus and Xiaolang followed close behind.
Shingo jogged up the ladder. Moments later, the faint screech of metal rang out as bolts came loose. A square, pan-like floor panel dropped free, followed by a curved corner piece—almost like a shallow wok. With Xiaolang and Lazarus helping, they threaded slender twigs through the existing clearance holes, bending them into crude handles.
The result was ridiculous: raw wood lashed to a smooth futuristic alloy. But it worked.
"We actually made it," Lazarus laughed, clapping her hands.
"Let's test the wok first," Laurel said, regaining her command tone. "Once the water cools, we can transfer it to the pan."
"Let me do it!" Lexus cut in at once.
"Let Xiaolang or Bob do it. They are better at this," Laurel sighed, half exasperated, half too tired to be polite.
"It's the same thing, right? It's not like they had a degree in water boiling," Lexus said with a grin. "No need to be so picky—let me do it. This won't be the only time we boil water. You guys will get your turns."
"Well… he's not wrong," Lazarus said lightly. She handed him the improvised wok. "Alright, Lexus. Put it on the fire. I'll pour the water in."
"Hmph. What a selfish brat," Laurel rolled her eyes.
"Alright—ow! Hot! Hot!" Lexus yelped, jerking his hand back. "We need a longer handle!"
The others burst into laughter. Justice, it seemed, had been served.
"Who even made this thing?" Lexus complained, puffing out his cheeks. "This is shoddy craftsmanship! You should pay more attention to your customers!"
No one replied. The metallic clang of the wok settling onto the stones answered for them, followed by the soft hiss of water being poured in—a small, hopeful sound in the alien silence.
They waited.
The flames licked along the metal's edges, orange and restless. White steam curled upward, drifting into the twilight. Minutes stretched on, heavy and slow. Then—at last—bubbles began to rise from the bottom.
"Let me check the water now," Lazarus murmured. She leaned in, holding the spectrometer above the pot.
[Water analysis complete.
TDS level: <100 ppm.
Primary dissolved solids: calcium, magnesium.
No harmful toxins detected.
CFU level: 0 cfu/ml.
Water is safe to drink.]
A green light blinked.
"…Yay! We did it!" someone shouted.
The children erupted in cheers, jumping and laughing around the fire. For the first time since the crash, the world felt a little less cold—and a little more like home.
"I want to taste it!" Shingo said, pumping his fist. "It's safe now, right?"
"It's still hot," Laurel said, crouching closer to the fire. "We need to move the wok and let it cool."
She scanned the ground. "Hmm… maybe we can find something to use as a funnel."
"What about leaves?" Lazarus suggested. "If we boil them first, they'll be sterilized. Or… we could use the water tank from the broken purification unit."
"The tank sounds safer," Laurel agreed. "We don't know if the leaves here are poisonous. Shingo—do you think you can dismantle the unit?"
"Uh… maybe," Shingo said, scratching his head. "The universal screwdriver should handle the screws. But—wait. We're still using the toilet, right?"
"Huh?" Lexus frowned, pointing toward the mangled purification unit outside. "The purifier's out there. The toilet's inside! besides, aren't they broken?"
"They're connected even if they were broken," Shingo explained, far more patiently than he felt. "Without the unit, the wastewater has nowhere to go."
"Wait—so you're telling me we'd be drinking from the same tank that handles poop and pee?" Lexus recoiled. "No way! I'm sticking with the leaves!"
"There should be two tanks," Laurel said, crossing her arms. "A settlement tank and a distilled-water tank. Every unit has at least that." Her frown deepened. "Can you tell which one is which?"
"No promises," Shingo said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll try. Worst case… we might have to tear up part of the lifepod floor."
"It can't be that big," Laurel said. "There's only forty liters of water in the pod. The combined volume of both tanks shouldn't exceed that."
"Yeah," Shingo muttered, "but it'd still take days."
Laurel exhaled slowly, frustration finally breaking through. They just needed a funnel. For heaven's sake—why did everything have to be this complicated?
"We should've thought about this earlier…" she said quietly.
"Those wrappers from the nutrient blocks are aluminum foil, right?" Bob muttered, scratching his chin. "Maybe we can make a funnel out of that."
"Wouldn't that be too small?" Laurel asked.
"What if we cut one of the bottles?" Xiaolang suggested. "Flip it upside down—it becomes a funnel."
Laurel frowned. "We still need those bottles to fetch water later…" She paused, then nodded. "Though—if it's just one, it should be fine. We still have nineteen."
Nineteen bottles.
If they filled them all, that would be about three Earth days' worth of water. But this planet's day-night cycle stretched nearly forty-eight hours—twice as long as home. Which meant they'd need to fetch water every day.
Someone would have to take up the dreaded water duty.
"Ah! That's a good idea!" Shingo said, already dashing toward the lifepod.
"Let's get more water while we can," Laurel said, brushing dust from her pants as she grabbed Bob's backpack. "Who's coming with me?"
"Why?" Lexus frowned. "Don't we already have enough?"
"Our water will run out in the middle of the night," Laurel replied flatly. "Unless you want to hike to the river in the dark, we stock up now."
She handed each of them a nutrient block. "Second lunch. We'll eat again at dusk."
"I'll go with you," Xiaolang said, rising immediately.
"Bob and I will handle boiling more water," Shingo said, tightening his grip on the pot's handle. "Good luck, Laurel."
Laurel packed twelve bottles into the backpack—about as much as it could hold—and set off. Lazarus followed close behind, hugging three more bottles against her chest.
The path wound through an endless forest. Overhead, the canopy thickened until it swallowed the light, turning the air dim and cool. Only at the lake's edge did sunlight return, glimmering across the surface like molten glass.
They dropped their packs with a heavy thud.
Even two trips in this gravity had leeched the strength from their legs. Their muscles burned. Even the breeze felt heavy.
Cloud Striders drifted above the clearing, their colorful wings gleaming like rainbows in the light. Somewhere nearby, an upside-down beast flipped itself with a dull splash. The alien serenity crept in, soft and deceptive. Laurel leaned back without realizing it, her eyelids sinking halfway closed.
"Don't sleep. There are monsters out here. Let's push until we are at the lifepod," Xiaolang shook laurel and Lazarus' shoulder, waking them from their stupor. His voice felt distant. The sound of trickling water nearby was steady, hypnotic.
A rustle snapped through the stillness. Laurel's body tensed before her mind caught up. Her eyes flew open.
"Sorry… You're right. We shouldn't sleep here." She reached for the backpack.
It didn't budge.
Twelve bottles—more than twenty kilos of water—pinned it to the ground. It might as well have been stone. Gritting her teeth, she dragged it inch by inch toward the forest's edge, the straps scraping against dirt and roots.
Lazarus, carrying only three bottles, was already slowing. The gravity here was heavier than Mars—every step felt like walking with weights strapped to her back.
"Here. Let me take that," Xiaolang said, his voice tight.
He grabbed the straps and pulled. The pack barely shifted. The weight bit into his shoulder, forcing a sharp breath from his chest. Only after Laurel removed three bottles did he manage to hoist it up, his arms trembling.
The straps dug into him, dragging his shoulders down. Still, he moved—step after step—through tangled roots and brush, refusing to stop.
His back creaked under the strain.
The return trip took twice as long. They stopped twice just to breathe, sweat soaking through their clothes and stinging their eyes.
When they finally reached the lifepod, Xiaolang dropped the pack beside the campfire with a heavy thud. Sand puffed up around it. He collapsed next to the load, chest heaving, the alien sun glaring down like a merciless overseer.
Shingo and Bob hurried over, greeting them—but none of the three could muster a reply.
"Welcome back… whoa. You guys look pale," Shingo said. "Let me help."
Anna was already there. She took bottles from Laurel and Lazarus, steadying them while pressing fresh water into their hands. Even that small kindness felt immense.
"Laurel, Lazarus, Xiaolang—please rest," Anna said softly. "We will handle the boiling."
As she lifted the bottles, their weight settled into her arms like lead. Even carrying them a short distance to the fire took all her strength.
"Sorry," Laurel said hoarsely. "I'll rest inside the lifepod. I'll leave the boiling to you."
Lazarus lay sprawled on the sand, too tired to rise. She only nodded. "Okay… I'll join you later."
The sun slid toward the horizon, its light scattering across the waves like molten gold. It was only their second day on this strange world. Forty-eight hours—yet in that short span, they had nearly been eaten by monsters, wandered in search of water, and fought their way through an alien forest.
The air smelled of salt and ash. For the first time since the crash, the weight of it all finally settled in.
"It's beautiful," Lazarus whispered as she gazed on the horizon.
She drew in a slow, deep breath. The air was crisp, alive, tinged with the fresh scent of green—unfamiliar, sharp, and sweet. It stung her lungs, then eased them. Exhaustion washed through her, melting away, carried off by the sea breeze.
Beyond the ocean, the sky faded from gold to violet, as if the world itself were exhaling with them.
Purple amoebas surfaced from the waves, dragging themselves across the sand in shimmering trails. They raced toward the forest—toward the safer green, which would soon deepen into reds and blues, blending back into purple as night fell. They knew the rule of this shore: the slow would feed the cloud strider.
Such was life—cruel, and beautiful. All amoebas raced for survival.
"Lexus! Don't disturb them!" Lazarus snapped as Lexus prodded one with a stick.
"Relax, it's harmless," he said, lifting it with a grin. "See? It's squishy—"
Dozens of tiny cilia writhed from its underside.
"We don't know that," Lazarus muttered. "Geez… don't be a bully. It's not nice."
Too tired to argue further, she sank back into the sand, letting the wind brush over her skin.
"It's cute," Anna whispered, crouching to offer a leaf. The amoeba's legs trembled as it nibbled at the edge.
Lazarus watched in silence. Her gaze drifted to the sinking sun—a molten disc slipping beneath the sea. With it, the light of hope dimmed, swallowed by the horizon.
After light came the alien night. And yet—even in fear—they were alive.
That was enough.
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Father in heaven, I promise to walk kindly, so that one day I may walk beside You. Watch over us. Let our hearts carry Your love to all. ~Lazarus