[b][h1][color=92278f]Sebastian Elias Cole[/color][/h1][/b] [hr] The pod hit the ground harder than he expected. It wasn’t like a smooth landing or even something controlled. It felt like crashing into the planet itself—metal grinding, bolts rattling, the whole ship screaming like it was being torn in half. Sebastian held tight to the straps across his chest, eyes shut, jaw clenched. Around him, people were yelling some cursing, others shouting in fear—but all of it passed over him like static. He didn’t speak. He never did. And there wasn’t anything to say anyway. Then it was over. The ship shuddered one last time and came to a stop. Smoke filled the cabin. Lights flickered and buzzed above. For a moment, everything was quiet. [b][color=92278f]Sebastian[/color][/b] opened his eyes. The air inside the pod was heavy, hot. It smelled like sweat, burning plastic, and something sharp he couldn’t place, He unbuckled himself, fingers moving automatically. His hands were steady even if his stomach wasn’t. It wasn’t fear—at least not exactly. It was something tighter. Like the space behind his ribs was bracing for whatever came next. He stood slowly. His legs felt weird, like gravity was pulling harder than usual. He waited a second, adjusting. Then he moved down the narrow walkway, stepping over loose straps and dropped gear. Someone’s shoe was lying halfway under a bench. No one seemed to care. The ramp creaked. It was slow, loud. Rusted hydraulics groaned as the door cracked open and blinding light spilled through the gap. Not artificial light. Real light. Sunlight. He squinted, bringing a hand up to shield his face. Wind rushed in next, warm and thick, carrying smells that didn’t exist on the Ark. Dirt. Leaves. Water. Life. It hit him all at once. He stepped forward. Outside, the ground was uneven and soft. His boots sank slightly into the soil. For a second he just stood there at the edge of the ramp, breathing in the air like he didn’t trust it. The sky looked too open. The trees too tall. Everything too alive. He blinked and looked down. His shadow stretched out in front of him—real, clear, sharp-edged in the afternoon sun. It moved when he moved. It felt strange, like he was suddenly part of something bigger, something permanent. He took another step. Then another. His hand dropped to the side of his pack, fingers brushing the canvas, checking the weight like he always did. Inside were the things that mattered: his notebook, some salvaged tools, the scrap of fabric he never talked about. All quiet. All familiar. He didn’t look back at the pod. Whatever he’d been up there, it didn’t matter now. This was Earth. He was here. And he didn’t need a voice to survive it. [hr]