With a muted thud softened by the shifting sand, the landing gear of the ship sank gently into the ground. The vessel touched down with calculated precision, marking its arrival at the camp. Still unconscious, his face pale and drawn, Adam was carefully carried to a cot, his condition finally stabilized.

  The scorching desert air rushed into the ship’s airlock as Eamon collapsed onto a seat, exhausted. He removed his monocle with a weary motion and buried his wrinkled face in his hands. Koros, who had followed him closely, could no longer restrain his need for answers. The old synthetic fixed the Azarien with an intense, unblinking stare.

  “Eamon, this may not be the best moment,” the metallic voice began, measured but firm, “but we need to know if our mission is compromised. You must tell me what happened.”

  The Azarien remained motionless, silent, eyes lost in the void.

  “You left at dawn, precisely 07:00. It is now 17:00. That makes ten hours,” the android stated in his implacable tone. “We are in a critical situation. You must explain what occurred.”

  The unusual insistence, combined with the synthetic’s fixed and almost unsettling gaze, finally forced Eamon to lift his head. His hands slid down his tired face, and he exhaled long and slow before speaking at last, his voice hoarse:

  “I’ll explain everything… Don’t worry. I just needed a moment to clear my mind.”

  Searching for the right words, the old scientist prepared to recount everything—from discovery to tragedy. Koros stood still, waiting with that calm, almost robotic patience tinged with an encoded impatience that made him seem strangely human.

  Rubbing his temples and forehead, Eamon began:

  “It was late morning. Adam, left alone as planned, stumbled across a structure—an Esthérian building. Everything started when we found an enormous mural, strange and disturbing, inside a vast chamber. From there, a corridor led us to three different entrances. But that mural, although important, wasn’t the most impressive discovery.”

  “What does this mural… crr, crr… depict?” Koros cut in.

  “It seems to recount their history—their rise, their peak… and a terrible, terrifying end. But that’s not all.”

  Eamon’s gaze drifted into nothingness again, as if trying to gather the scattered fragments of the day.

  “That final war… I believe it was the fall of the Esthérian’s. He paused, letting the android absorb the information, then continued:

  “The entire building responded to Adam's mere presence. The mural lit up when he approached it, and when he touched it. Then, in a second chamber with a massive central column, the consoles and lights reactivated at his contact. As if everything was awakening… because of him. And that’s when things began to spiral out of control.”

  Koros remained silent, waiting, intrigued by Fedrus’s account.

  Turning slightly toward the interior of the ship, his voice darker, Eamon continued:

  “One room was sealed off, inaccessible, almost forbidden. But Adam seemed hypnotized. He explored another chamber on his own—a sort of observatory overlooking the locked room. Inside that forbidden chamber was a strange chair, isolated… like something no one should approach.”

  Eamon paused again, shaking his head in defeat.

  “The door opened, and Adam went to sit on the chair. While we were analyzing data, we lost precious time. When we arrived… it was too late. Restraints had locked him in, and the entire room activated, subjecting him to things we… can’t explain. Now you know everything.”

  “So we cannot predict what aftereffects he may suffer…” Koros responded in his mechanical monotone. “And now? What does all of this imply?”

  Eamon put his monocle back on after cleaning it with a pensive gesture.

  “This world, this place, the mural, the consoles, that chair… this is a discovery of immeasurable value. It is, without question, the greatest breakthrough we’ve ever made regarding the Esthérian’s. Koros, this may be the key to finally understanding them. Studying this site is essential—not only to grasp their civilization, but also to understand what this could mean for Adam.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The usually unshakable android felt an unusual discomfort creep into his circuits. A silent alarm flickered deep within his system.

  This place was dangerous.

  A faint electric tingle rippled through him—an unknown variable, outside any protocol, flashing red.

  “This means… you intend to continue the research?”

  “Indeed, my friend. Adam’s condition is stable and his life is not in danger. But we must be cautious. We wait for him to wake up, observe his condition, and then decide.”

  “If the human wakes up…” Koros added coldly.

  “Very well. We'll proceed as you wish. But we must monitor Adam closely.”

  Eamon nodded silently before heading down the ramp toward the research tent, his mind heavy with the weight of their discovery.

  Time passed. The hours drifted by.

  Kiran, who had refused to leave Adam’s side, eventually collapsed with exhaustion, his head resting on his crossed arms beside the cot.

  A movement—weak, but unmistakable—pulled him from his sleep. He blinked, dazed. It was 3:00 a.m.

  Slowly, Adam was waking.

  Realizing what was happening, Kiran leapt to his feet and sprinted out of the ship. He dashed across the camp toward the tent where his teammates slept—or at least tried to.

  “Wake up! Come on, up! Adam’s waking up!” the feline shouted, unable to contain his excitement.

  His voice shattered the stillness of the night, dragging the old archaeologist out of his deep slumber. He slept like a stone, but Kiran’s words tore him out of his dreams.

  Zena, who had been fighting insomnia, instantly turned toward him, fully alert.

  Eamon, his body weighed down by age, rose with difficulty. The exhausting day had taken its toll, and his joints protested every movement. Yet seeing the commotion, he mustered his strength and followed them, his worried features tightening.

  Kiran was already at Adam’s bedside, watching closely. Slowly, painfully, Adam opened his eyes. He blinked several times, struggling to emerge from the long coma that had held him down for hours. His hazy gaze scanned the room, searching for something familiar. He had no idea where he was, nor how much time had passed.

  Zena stepped closer, her expression a soft blend of relief and anxiety.

  “It’s alright, Adam. You’re at the camp,” she whispered gently, hoping to steady him. Then she turned to Koros. “Could you bring some water?”

  Adam tried to sit up, pushing himself with weak arms. A grimace twisted his face, and a faint groan escaped his lips. When he attempted to speak, only strange, unintelligible words came out, breathless and rough:

  “Dorma… ta… tao…”

  “I didn’t understand. Can you repeat?” Zena asked, puzzled.

  “Heeuu… why am I here?” Adam repeated—this time in the Consortium’s common tongue, more coherent.

  “You don’t remember anything?!” Kiran blurted out, worry sharpening his voice.

  Adam frowned, trying to organize his thoughts.

  “I remember the Esthérian temple… a chair… then nothing. A void.”

  He stopped abruptly, his body swaying under a sudden wave of dizziness. His eyelids squeezed shut, and another groan slipped out. Weakness washed over him, and he briefly blacked out.

  “Adam!” Kiran cried, grabbing his shoulders to keep him steady.

  Seconds later, Adam opened his eyes again, breathing heavily.

  “What… happened?”

  Eamon approached, his expression serious but sprinkled with a fragile hope.

  “You remember nothing besides the chair?”

  Adam frowned again, pressing a hand to his forehead.

  “No… although… maybe…” he murmured, as if a distant memory was pulling at him from somewhere deep within.

  Kiran inhaled deeply, then spoke, his voice low and resigned.

  “That chair… When you sat on it, something activated. You were subjected to… something. An experiment, maybe. Or torture. We don’t know. Then you collapsed. You convulsed. We… didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.”

  A heavy silence settled as Adam processed the words, fear clouding his gaze.

  “Do you remember anything else?” Fedrus pressed, leaning in, eyes sharp.

  Adam closed his eyes again, trying to gather scattered fragments. His mind swirled with confusion.

  “The mural… no… the chair… symbols everywhere, numbers, calculations…”

  “Symbols? Calculations? What do you mean?” Eamon insisted, impatience creeping into his tone.

  “I… I don’t know…” Adam whispered, shaking his head slowly.

  “Easy, buddy… Rest. We’ll deal with this later,” Kiran cut in, throwing a warning glare at Eamon.

  Koros returned with a water flask, handing it to Zena.

  “Here. Drink a little.”

  She poured a small amount into the cap and offered it to Adam.

  Suddenly, Koros’s synthetic voice rang out, firm and sharp:

  “Eamon. We must speak. Alone.”

  The old Azarien raised a brow, then—without a word—followed the android outside, stepping down the ramp under the watchful eyes of Adam, Kiran, and Zena.