After Dorian had destroyed the fragment embedded in the guardian's chest, the creature crumbled as well, turning into black dust—from a 40-meter terror to mere black sand. After that, green sprouts began to emerge from the ground, as if the planet were finally breathing a sigh of relief.
Dorian was exhausted after the fight. He had only used Helion for 4 minutes and 17 seconds. But the pain he felt was as if tons of iron were pressing down on him. His previously healed wounds did not reopen, and that was a relief to him—small victories amid total exhaustion.
The sun was already setting, and Dorian lay on the ground watching the sky darken. He spent a good while lying there, observing everything: the first alien stars appearing, the patterns of purple clouds fading into black, the faint glow of planetary dust floating in the atmosphere. It was a strange peace, won through violence.
The Cenzontlis were no longer circling in the sky; they had left even before the fight truly began, as if they knew the spectacle was over. So there wasn't much danger left for Dorian.
Since the suit had been destroyed after the guardian's impact, only the black compression set underneath remained, snug but torn in several places. He was barefoot, as the blow had destroyed his boots too, and the polished black rock felt strangely smooth under his bare feet.
"Omega," Dorian opened his mouth and said, his voice hoarse from the effort. "Can I rest peacefully a little longer?"
"Yes, sir. Within a 500-meter radius, both in the sky and on the ground, I detect no hostile creatures approaching. Readings of major predators: zero. So you may rest peacefully," responded Omega after running the scan, his voice regaining clarity now that the psionic interference had ceased.
"Good, good, that puts me more at ease. Thanks," murmured Dorian, closing his eyes for a moment.
"You're welcome, sir. I am here to serve you," replied Omega, and Dorian could almost imagine an almost affectionate tone in the synthetic voice.
Dorian closed his eyes, letting himself be carried by a warm breeze in the air after such an exhausting battle. That fresh breeze helped him a lot, carrying with it the smell of damp earth and that strange floral sweetness he had noticed on his first dawn here. Making Dorian feel more and more fond of this planet, despite everything.
Or perhaps precisely because of everything: because of the intertwined hostility and beauty, because of the challenge that had pushed him to the limit and beyond.
He fell asleep as the breeze moved his hair across his forehead, his thoughts fading into dreams of blue rivers and singing trees.
When he awoke, it was already dawn. He had slept for more hours than he had slept since arriving on this planet—a deep, nightmare-free sleep, as if Luminus—yes, that name had come to his mind—had granted him genuine rest.
He no longer felt as tired as he had been yesterday. His body was almost like new, without the pains or heaviness. Helion had done its job too well: complete restoration, but leaving behind that cosmic hangover that had now dissipated. He moved slowly, feeling every muscle respond.
He began to rub his body, passing his hand over his forehead, arms, and chest, as if confirming he was still in one piece. Then he leaned back on the ground, his arms stretched behind him to push himself up, feeling the rock still warm from the newborn sun. He stretched, gave a light jump, leaned backward without falling—his perfect balance, a gift from his Helion physiology that not even the most hostile planet could take away entirely.
He rubbed his face and looked at the sky, now tinged with those pink and violet hues that were becoming familiar. A morning breeze blew on him, moving his hair from side to side. He took a deep breath.
Practical reality came crashing back. Since his suit had been destroyed, he no longer had food supplies; the amber fruits were stored in a food container within the suit. But since the suit was destroyed, they were gone. His stomach growled softly, reminding him that even Helion warriors need fuel.
"Sir, I recommend leaving this planet," Omega whispered directly into his mind, as if reading his thoughts. "You fought, completed exploration, and just battled the Guardian. Your suit is destroyed, and although your physiology is superior, without prolonged resources your efficiency will decrease by 40% in the next 72 hours. What you must do now is return to your ship and leave this planet."
Dorian looked toward the horizon, where he knew the bioluminescent river was. Then toward the other side, where his ship was supposedly hidden.
"Well, you're right," he finally admitted. "I've done everything a person could possibly do on a planet: almost die, kill a giant monster, discover alien secrets, anger an entire ecosystem. So let's go now."
After that, Dorian started walking. Being barefoot made it more difficult; the terrain was uneven, and although his feet didn't get cut—his skin was very resilient—he felt every stone, every irregularity. But there was something almost ritualistic in that direct contact with the planet, a tactile farewell.
He walked for hours, following the mental path he had mapped. The landscape no longer seemed hostile to him, but simply… alive. He observed how the lichen glowed more intensely as the day progressed, how small creatures emerged from their hiding spots without fear—or perhaps with curiosity. The planet no longer saw him as a threat, but as an anomaly that was leaving.
After four hours, he reached the Sigma-12 crater. He climbed to the top, his bare hands finding grips in the rock with supernatural ease. He went to the edge to see where the Apex's body had been, but it was no longer there. Only a dark stain on the ground and small green sprouts marked the spot. It had already merged with the planet, recycled, absorbed. The planet wasted no time with the dead.
He went to where the remains of the Helion ship were, looked at it for a good while, saying nothing. The corroded metal gleamed faintly under the sun. Finally, he opened his mouth:
"I avenged you all, though I don't know if I'd call it revenge," he said, his voice clear in the crater's silence. "Because you were the ones who invaded and laid hands on something that shouldn't have been touched. You learned too late."
"But still, I avenged you. That's right, I should call it my revenge, since I didn't cause as much trouble as you did. I just cleaned up the mess you left."
He paused, the wind carrying his words away.
"And thanks to the mistake you made, you taught me that not everything should be touched. Sometimes, there are things that are fine where they are. In their own balance."
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of history in that place.
"I'm leaving this planet now. My work here is done. Unlike you, who arrived, made a very grave mistake, and never returned… I arrived, did what I had to do, and now I'm leaving. Maybe that's the only difference that matters: leaving alive."
After that, he headed to where his ship was, the Epsilon-03, camouflaged among the rocks kilometers away.
Before leaving, he looked one last time from afar toward where he knew the bioluminescent river was. He closed his eyes and thought of everything he had experienced here: the terror of the Apex, the peace of the healing tree, the hypnotic beauty of the river of light, the brutal intelligence of the Guardian, the sensation of Helion flowing through him. From hostility to kindness, he remembered it all. And he smiled.
He dove headfirst from the crater's edge. Before reaching the ground, he performed a perfect flip, landing on his feet on the surface with the grace of a cat. He didn't even crouch to absorb the impact; his legs, strengthened by periods of Helion training and now by the complete restoration, handled the fall as if it were nothing.
He walked for an hour and a half before reaching the place where he had first landed on this planet. As he returned, he saw the surface of dark, rough vegetation again and smelled the metallic air once more, but now those details seemed to him… features, not flaws. Part of this world's unique character.
He arrived at his ship and deactivated the invisibility he had applied. The Epsilon-03 appeared before his eyes as if by magic, its silver hull reflecting the purple light of the sun, flawless despite everything. A small masterpiece of Helion engineering amid the wild nature.
He boarded. The ramp closed behind him with a soft hum.
Once inside, he activated the controls. Floating screens lit up, bathing the cabin in soft blue light. The ship began to levitate silently, hovering above the ground as if the planet hesitated to let it go. It rose into the sky, piercing the planet's atmosphere effortlessly, leaving behind the purple sky for the deep black of space.
Dorian's green eyes were reflected in the ship's floating screens, displaying data, coordinates, diagnostics. He was intact. He had survived.
And he said:
"I can't leave without giving this planet a name."
He thought of the bioluminescent river and the crystalline, glowing creatures. Of the trees that sang with the wind. Of the light that seemed to live in every corner. Of how, in its brutal way, everything here shone, struggled, existed with an intensity that chilled and amazed.
Dorian opened his mouth and said:
"I'll call you 'Luminus'."
<< PLANET NAME PERMANENTLY REGISTERED: LUMINUS. >>
—Spoke the AI of the Epsilon-03 ship, with a calm, masculine voice that contrasted with Omega's tone.
Dorian looked through the window at the receding planet, a sphere of purple, green, and blue, with patches of white clouds. Beautiful. Lethal. His, in the sense that he had left a part of himself there, and he took a part of it with him.
"Alright," whispered Dorian, placing his fingers on the controls. "Let's return to Astra Helion."
<< DESTINATION CONFIRMED: ASTRA HELION. ENGINES CHARGED, THRUSTERS READY. INTERDIMENSIONAL JUMP ESTABLISHED TOWARD ASTRA HELION. ESTIMATED TIME: 6 HOURS, 14 MINUTES. >>
The ship vibrated softly, preparing for the jump. Dorian leaned back in his seat, not taking his eyes off Luminus, which was now just a bright point among millions.
"I hope to visit you again, Luminus," he said quietly, almost to himself. "When we're both ready."
The space in front of the ship tore open into a portal of blue energy—not the icy blue of his Helion, but the electric blue of Helion technology. The Epsilon-03 shot into it, and in an instant, disappeared.
The space around Luminus returned to stillness. The planet turned, indifferent, beautiful, alive. With a new name. And with the scar of a visitor who, against all odds, had managed to leave.
But on the ground, where Dorian had lain resting, a small green sprout continued to grow. And if anyone could have measured it, it would have had a faint, almost imperceptible blue glow in its veins.