Time stretched on, relentless. One day, two… a week, two weeks… The two teams continued their explorations, combing their assigned areas with methodical precision, pushing further outward as the days passed. Yet despite their efforts, the desert remained silent, stubbornly mute. No new discoveries lit their hopes. Their only find remained that mysterious artifact from the very first day.

  Had they been too quick to proclaim its importance? Eamon, though he refused to admit it, felt doubts stirring within him—doubts he dared not voice. Perhaps that “rock,” as some had already bitterly nicknamed it, was nothing more than a relic without real meaning. An object abandoned on this arid world, left behind by some reckless adventurer… or maybe an exile.

  Other theories surfaced in his mind. Could the artifact be the last remnant of some ancient space battle? But the idea didn’t hold. No debris in orbit, no trace in the skies. Centuries could have burned away remains in the atmosphere, or buried them beneath the sands, but even so—it didn’t fit. The artifact bore no signs of heat damage, no scars of atmospheric entry. And erosion? Centuries might have polished its surface smooth, yet nothing about it seemed natural.

  These questions gnawed at Eamon, weighing heavily on his thoughts—and by extension, dragging down the morale of the team. Though he refused to declare failure, he couldn’t ignore how hopeless the expedition was beginning to feel. As often happened in Esthérian research, the promise of discovery had given way to disappointment. Returning empty-handed seemed inevitable—a fate Eamon knew all too well. And yet… he clung to a sliver of hope, faint but persistent. After all, why this artifact? Why here, alone and isolated? It didn’t make sense. There had to be more. He was convinced of it.

  On the morning of the third week, with hope faltering in everyone’s hearts, Eamon made a decision. It was time to change their approach.

  Leaving his tent, he inhaled deeply, savoring the morning air while it was still cool, before the sun transformed it into a furnace. His gaze swept over the camp, now so familiar, and paused at the pool of water that had become their daily comfort. And, as every morning, he saw Adam.

  The young Terran had his own ritual: always the first awake, even before Koros, sitting on the same rock, motionless before the vast world stretching out ahead. Eamon watched him for a moment. Even from a distance, he could sense the young man’s troubled thoughts.

  Adam’s mind swirled with the same questions each dawn. Why had they found nothing else? Why this artifact? Were they even on the right track? But above all: Why me? Why had he been the one to discover it? These doubts and frustrations circled endlessly, gnawing at him. The object drew him in like a magnet, yet every thought only deepened his confusion.

  Kiran, on the other hand, was losing interest. Normally bursting with enthusiasm, he was sliding steadily toward frustration. Each fruitless dig soured his mood further. More and more often, he found himself thinking: Why suffer under this cursed sun if there’s nothing here? The thought of returning to Ylvena, of planning new research back on Neuror, grew increasingly tempting.

  Zena remained the most relentless. Each day, she re-analyzed the data, redrew maps, cross-checked models, chasing even the faintest lead. But nothing. Absolutely nothing. This world was proving barren, devoid of value. Still, she pressed on—perhaps out of sheer stubborn ritual, or superstition born of desperation. One day, there will be something, she told herself, a silent prayer.

  Each member of the team carried a private struggle, caught between fragile hope and crushing reality. Watching them, Eamon realized time was running out. Doing nothing would doom their mission to oblivion. He had to act—fast.

  With supplies dwindling, only days left at most, he resolved to overturn the table. Something was here—he could feel it—and it was waiting to be found.

  Breaking from his thoughts, he called out:

  “Everyone, gather here!” he shouted, waving his arms.

  The team assembled around him, faces weary but attentive. Despite their fatigue, they obeyed with near-religious focus, as though Eamon were a prophet about to reveal salvation.

  He scanned their faces, eyes blazing with determination.

  “As you all know, our search so far has been… fruitless.”

  “No kidding…” Kiran muttered, his frustration leaking out.

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  Eamon heard it clearly, but ignored it. His voice sharpened:

  “That’s why we’re changing tactics. Something is hidden here, I’m certain of it—and we are not leaving empty-handed. From now on, we’ll explore a new sector. Forget the East and West—those areas are barren. We’re heading South, beyond where Adam found the artifact. Kiran, Zena—you’re with me.”

  Adam froze. The words hit him like a stone in the gut. Why wasn’t he included? Why leave him out after everything they’d done together?

  Confused, he raised his hand.

  “Doctor—what about me?” His eyes searched Eamon’s, desperate for an answer.

  Eamon turned toward him, his gaze unreadable.

  “You, Adam… I have a different area for you. You’ll understand soon enough.”

  Adam frowned but didn’t argue. The doctor’s tone allowed no debate.

  Eamon clapped his hands, injecting energy into the moment.

  “Come on! Time’s short, and the day’s already burning! Pack your gear—we move now!”

  Minutes later, they marched under the rising sun, its heat already oppressive. The group reached the massive cliff where the artifact had first been found. There, Eamon halted and faced Adam.

  “Adam—you stay here. Search this area. Understood?” His voice was firmer than ever.

  Perplexed, Adam nodded slowly, though questions spun furiously in his mind. Why leave him here, alone? It made no sense.

  Without another word, Eamon, Zena, and Kiran turned south, their silhouettes soon swallowed by the shimmering horizon. Adam watched them go, left behind.

  He sat down on a rock in the shade of the cliff, staring at the site. It had to be a joke. Surely Eamon would come back after a quick recon. But the minutes dragged on, and Adam realized he truly was alone.

  Frustration boiled over. He stood, pacing, muttering aloud:

  “Seriously? Leave me here, alone, digging in a spot I’ve already searched? What’s he thinking—hoping I’ll magically find something I missed?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable…”

  His voice faded into the oppressive silence. The cliff loomed, silent and immovable. Adam inhaled sharply, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

  “I don’t get it…” he whispered, resignation creeping in.

  Minutes ticked by, his anger simmering. Finally, he snapped:

  “The old man’s lost it. Sun’s fried his brain. He left me here just to waste my time!”

  He kicked at the ground, grabbed a stone, and hurled it with all his strength against the cliff face.

  The impact rang metallic.

  Adam froze.

  Eyes wide, he stared at the rock. That sound—it was real. Slowly, cautiously, he approached. He placed his hand on the surface, then slapped it lightly. The metallic echo resounded again.

  His pulse spiked.

  “What… what is this?” he whispered.

  The rock jutted from the cliff at the very spot where he’d found the artifact two weeks earlier. But he was certain—this hadn’t been here before. Something had changed.

  Running his hands across the wall, he probed the surface until his fingers slipped into a narrow crack. Instinctively, he pressed deeper.

  A deep rumble shuddered through the ground.

  Adam yanked his hand back, heart pounding. The cliff trembled; sand leapt as vibrations surged from within. A golden cloud of dust rose, shimmering in the sun.

  Before his astonished eyes, the rock face shifted. Slowly, impossibly, it slid aside, like a mirage dissolving—revealing a massive expanse of gleaming metal.

  Adam’s breath caught.

  Smooth as glass, flawless. At its center, a vast symbol was etched with impossible precision: a circle holding a radiant rosette, its eight points linked by glowing lines of light. At the heart of the rosette lay a smaller, thicker circle—a core.

  Recognition shivered down his spine.

  “…Esthérian,” he breathed.

  Drawn by a force he couldn’t resist, he laid his palm on the surface.

  At once, turquoise light flared from the symbol, splitting upward and downward. The glow spread like a crack of lightning, dividing the wall into two halves.

  A deep crack echoed.

  The two massive doors began to part, gliding silently, dust cascading like golden mist.

  From the darkness within, a cold breath of air escaped, washing over Adam’s face. It carried a scent of ancient metal, stone, and hidden dampness—alien and alive.

  Shivers raced across his skin. His chest heaved.

  “A… a door,” he stammered. “A door!”

  It was beyond belief. The wall had awakened—responding to him, as if it had waited for this exact moment.

  But just as his foot hovered over the threshold, a voice thundered in his mind—Eamon’s voice, remembered with chilling clarity:

  “If you find anything, don’t interfere. Don’t act alone. Wait for the team. Too many scientists have died ignoring this rule.”

  Adam froze, trembling. The adrenaline ebbed, replaced by cold fear. He stepped back, staring at the monumental entrance.

  “This isn’t just a relic…” he whispered. “It’s a threshold. A danger.”

  He forced himself to turn away.

  “Not alone. Not now,” he muttered, a vow to himself.

  Then, with shaking hands, he opened his intercom and spoke, his voice quivering with excitement:

  “Eamon! Do you hear me? You won’t believe what I’ve just found!”

  The old doctor jerked upright, signaling Kiran and Zena closer.

  “Yes, Adam—we hear you. Tell us. What is it?”

  Adam’s words tumbled out, breathless, carried by the desert wind:

  “A door. A massive metal door in the cliff… with a strange symbol on it.”