Star-Lore

The scene changed in an instant. One moment, we were in a warm, living jungle filled with the sounds of insects and wind. The next, we were standing on the cold, dead surface of Jaya's Moon.

Everything here was silent — not just quiet, but a deep, heavy silence that pressed down like weight. It was the kind of silence that only existed in places without life. The ground was covered in thick, grey dust, like old ash that had never been touched. The air or rather, the lack of it was freezing, the cold creeping into your bones, colder than anything on a living world.

The land was broken and empty. Massive craters opened across the surface, some so large they could swallow entire cities. Sharp rocks floated lazily in the low gravity, frozen in the middle of falling, as if time had stopped during an ancient disaster.

In the middle of this quiet, shattered moon stood the broken remains of the Jaya Moon Temple.

Just one month ago, it had been whole a place of mystery and power, built from huge slabs of smooth, pale stone. These stones had been worn soft and shiny by winds that no longer existed. The temple's thick walls had been carved with strange markings — spirals, star-like shapes, and symbols no one understood. Tall arches had once reached into the sky, framing the stars. Inside, the temple had held shadowy halls with stone altars, and mosaic floors that told ancient stories of wars fought in the stars. The whole place had felt sacred — old, still, and full of secrets.

But now... it was just rubble.

Huge blocks of stone lay scattered across the dust, cracked and broken like shattered eggshells. The temple's hidden center had been torn apart, its walls ripped open so that even its deepest chambers were exposed to the cold of space. Sharp fragments floated gently, the sunlight catching on them like glass. The once-hidden moon dust now hung in the air, shining in the stillness.

Among this destruction, shapes moved soldiers in smooth, grey-and-white armor. They were part of the Sovereign Federation.

Their helmets were shiny and mirrored, reflecting the cold landscape. They worked without sound, moving through the ruins with robotic focus. Some scanned the ground with devices that gave off quiet, steady beeping sounds. Others lifted chunks of carved stone and placed them on floating machines that hovered nearby. It was a cleanup mission careful, orderly, and without emotion.

Then, near what was once the temple's main altar, something changed.

One of the scanners lit up, pointing at something unusual. It wasn't stone. It wasn't dust.

It was a man.

An old man, sitting in the ruins.

He was leaning against a large slab of stone, half-buried in dust. His clothing simple robes made from rough fabric was torn and filthy, dark with what looked like dried blood. His face, covered in grey dust, was pale and lined with deep wrinkles. He looked exhausted, sick, and weak. One arm was pulled tightly against his chest, clearly injured. Somehow, he was still breathing, protected by a thin survival suit. How he got it was a mystery.

He looked like part of the ruins, as still and broken as the temple itself.

The soldier who found him quickly signaled the others. More beams of light converged on the old man. The scanners showed his injuries, his frailty, the impossible fact that he was alive sitting here, alone, a full month after the battle that destroyed everything.

Who was he?

How had he survived?

Why was he still alive?

The dead moon gave no answers only silence, dust, and the quiet sound of scanner pings.