Mark opened his eyes to the pale glow of morning. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the quiet murmur of the camp stirring to life. Then his gaze found Maya.
She stood with a group of women near the water's edge, her hands busy helping clean fish. The sunlight caught the curve of her neck, the loose strands of hair escaping her braid. Then, as if sensing his stare, she looked up.
Their eyes met.
Maya's cheeks flushed a deep pink. She turned away quickly, but not before Mark saw the flicker of something—embarrassment? Amusement?—cross her face. He exhaled, rolling onto his feet with a grunt. His body ached from the previous day's fight, but the pain was distant, dulled by the system's unnatural healing.
Nearby, Ren moved with single-minded focus. His black blade shimmered in the light as he swung it in a clean, brutal arc. A five-meter-tall tree groaned, then toppled, crashing to the ground with a thunderous crack. Ren didn't pause. He pivoted, his sword flashing again and again, felling ten more trees in a perfect radius around him. By the time he finished, his breath came in ragged gasps, his shoulders heaving as he dropped to the cold earth.
Mark approached, katana already in hand. Without a word, he began slicing each felled trunk into quarters, the blade parting the wood like butter.
**"Move these,"** he ordered the nearest colonists, who scrambled to obey.
Ren wiped sweat from his brow, watching as the wood was hauled away.
**"What are you making?"** Mark asked.
**"A farm,"** Ren said simply.
Mark paused. **"With what seeds?"**
Ren jerked his chin toward the ship's wreckage. **"Storage room. Bio-engineered shit. Lasts a hundred years."**
Mark nodded and resumed cutting. Around them, the camp buzzed with activity. Kael used his firestorm ability to ignite the kindling—dry leaves and scraps of paper—while others stacked the wood into neat piles. The flames caught quickly, crackling to life as smoke curled into the sky.
Then Ren and Mark moved to the water's edge. The river was calm, its surface glinting under the morning sun. Without hesitation, they dove in.
The water was frigid, stealing the breath from Mark's lungs. He forced his eyes open, scanning the murky depths. Fish darted between his fingers, their silver scales flashing. He lunged, grabbing one—massive, nearly a meter long—before kicking back to the surface. Ren emerged a second later, two more in his grip.
They repeated the process, hauling up fish after fish until twenty lay flopping on the bank. Maya and the others descended on the catch, cleaning them with practiced efficiency. The smell of cooking meat soon filled the air, rich and smoky.
For the first time in days, the colonists ate without fear.
---
Then the ship returned.
A shadow fell over the camp as the massive vessel descended, its engines humming with that same, sickening vibration. The hatch hissed open, revealing the same four figures as before—cold-eyed, clad in sleek black uniforms. But this time, they weren't alone.
Twenty-five others stood behind them. Young. Strong. Their expressions unreadable.
**"You,"** one of the uniformed men said, pointing at Mark and Alex. **"Inside."**
Mark's fingers twitched toward his katana. Ren stiffened beside him.
**"Why?"** Mark demanded.
The man didn't blink. **"Base wants you."**
A beat of silence. Then Alex stepped forward, his grin sharp. **"Bout time they recognized talent."**
Mark exhaled through his nose. Reluctantly, he moved toward the ship, Ren falling into step beside him. The moment they crossed the threshold, the door sealed shut behind them with a final, metallic clang.
The interior was sterile, lit by flickering blue panels. The other recruits—if that's what they were—stood in tense silence. No one spoke.
Then the ship lurched. The floor vibrated beneath Mark's boots as the engines roared to life. Through a narrow viewport, he watched the camp shrink below—Maya's figure growing smaller, smaller, until she was just a speck against the earth.
Then they were gone.
---