Dawn rose slowly that morning. The violet Sun shone across the desert, the sands shining bright with the purple light of a dying star. Orion trudged across the rugged dunes, glowing with the light as he reached each crest, and then falling once more into the shadow of the hills. He was a large, tall man, heavy set, with a stern face and a toned physique, that spoke of his years of survival on Odyssea. Today, he was as lightly equipped as he could manage. A long, brown cloak whipped behind him in the wind, the barest of protection from the heat of the Sun, and a metal mask covered his eyes and mouth, purifying the air he breathed and shielding his eyes. A wooden staff led him forward, driving into the sand with each step, as he made his way towards the crash site. He sighed as the Sun grew higher in the sky. It seemed to be growing larger every passing minute, huge rivulets of purple flame erupting from its surface, like the rage-fuelled death throes of a bitter God. He had always known this day would come, but the irony of its timing wasn’t lost on him. He had almost laughed when he realised what a perfect reunion it would be. And so, here he was, on pilgrimage a day early. He trudged across the last mound of sand, and came to the edge of the caldera.
It was a huge crater of dark stone, a scar across the surface of the planet, interrupting the infinite stretch of sand. There, far below him, was the carcass of his old ship. It had come to rest here decades ago, and now it was so entrenched within the landscape of the crater that it seemed as if it’d been there forever. The surviving wing, ripped from the hull during the crash, now lay, forlorn, cradled in the embrace of the side of the caldera. Orion descended slowly, bare feet searching for the footholds in the sloping rock face. He clambered over the scorched, ancient metal of the wing, dislodging an ancient bolt from its side as he went. As he went further down, memories of the crash came back to him. He remembered his comms going down, and a sudden burst of purple flame blasting into the side of the ship. He remembered screaming as everything went spinning out of control, in a sudden, abrupt freefall towards Odyssea. Eroded by the harsh winds, and covered in a layer of sand, the main hull was sprawled across the rockface, a little further down from the wing. It had been fractured into a dozen mangled pieces by the impact, the interior being incinerated instantly. Orion continued down, past the largest part of the ship, held in place by two great, natural columns of rock. He felt the Sun on his back as it rose higher in the sky, making the metal salvage strewn across the landscape glitter purple. He crawled through more of the remains, slipping past blackened storage units and ruptured wiring. He remembered rushing through the floundering ship, hurling himself into an escape pod. He remembered someone screaming. He remembered watching as the ship hurtled through the sky, and imploded in a cloud of dust and fire.
Orion continued the descent, until he had reached the very centre of the crater. Here the ground levelled out, where the last fragment of the dead ship had come to rest. The cabin had taken the greatest damage. It had smashed with the hull into the side of the caldera, and had been ripped away from the rest of the ship. It had skidded down the side and been crushed straight into the ground at the bottom. There was little left, now, but the pulverised remains of metal salvage, and shattered fragments of glass. Orion walked through the mess of metal, glass and wiring to a small, stone mound in the middle of the little clearing. Orion approached solemnly, tears drifting down his eyes as he stopped in front of the mound. It was a meagre pile, with no mark or symbol of remembrance except for the flowers growing at its peak. They were beautiful, pale white flowers, with mournful, drooping petals, which slowly drifted up to face the Sun as it rose over the crater, shining down into its centre. Orion took another flower from the satchel at his side and placed it with the rest. He kneeled down on the rock, the sun glowering down on the grave. How cruel, that this would be the last time he would be able to come here. That, even if he were to go, the grave would be destroyed along with him. He looked up at the violet Sun and cursed it. ‘Why?’ He cried out, unable to resist his anger. ‘Nothing that happened here is going to be remembered? His sacrifices? His bravery?’ He raised his arms in protest and screamed and cried and shouted, but the Sun simply burned on. As he cried, it grew brighter, and larger, and the heat of the desert intensified only more. His rage faded in wake of its unyielding gaze, and he sat down at the grave, to feel closer to his lost son. By Sunset, Orion had settled into quiet, miserable resignation. The caldera was lost into shadow, the night as biting and cold as the day was sweltering. Orion made a slow, dogged trek back up the side of the crater, and set up camp on its side.
He spent a restless night pondering the morning. How do you spend the last morning of your life? It was a question he had been hiding from the moment he had become alone on Odyssea, but now there was no hiding from it. His death was approaching, and it raced towards him faster than he could process. He woke himself minutes before the Sunrise, to make his last goodbyes. He came out of his tent, shivering in the darkness, but thankful for the cold. As he began the trek down the caldera, the Sun began to rise. And, as the scorching heat lit the canyon, Orion’s eyes filled with shock. He ignored the slow smouldering of his skin beneath the heat. For, far below him, at the centre of the crater, was a building. A vast, sandstone palace, unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was a grand monument, with a huge metal dome, glowing purple in the sun’s heat. Stone towers rose high above all around it, and a huge, decorated archway faced him, inscribed with carvings and stone reliefs. Greco-Roman pillars lined the outside of the building, and statues of deific figures stood tall and strong on either side of the entrance. Orion forgot his impending doom, his bitterness, his resignation. He ignored the pain of the vengeful Sun above, growing greater and greater in the sky as it began to reach supernova. He trekked back down the crater, to the temple, now defiant in its centre. He came to the vast doorway, and walked into the hall, as gracious as the exterior. The walls were lined with reliefs, a masked figure walking among the dunes, with a younger silhouette by his side. He smiled with boyish delight as he watched his memories play out around him, his whole life recorded in the rich tapestries across the walls. Through the stained glass windows, Orion could see the light grow more and more blinding outside. He began to hear the boom of fiery explosions striking Odyssea’s surface. But he gave it no mind, and kept walking, enraptured by the temple.
He came, at last, to the end of the immense hall, where there was a doorway to a small inner chamber. He walked, slowly inside, and almost fell to the ground with what he saw. He wept on the floor, pain and joy rushing through him. It was a beautiful, solitary little grove, trees lining the sides of the chamber, branches spreading out over the domed ceiling. The ground was real dirt and grass and he clutched his hands into it like it was gold. Tiny streams of running water flowed through the grass, and a huge mess of vibrant, beautiful flowers bloomed across the chamber. In the very centre, a stone sarcophagus lay, among a square of pale white flowers. Orion tore his mask from him, throwing it outside the chamber. As soon as it left the doorway, it burst into flames, and evaporated into ashen dust. He took a deep, slow breath of fresh air, and let his tears run down his face and onto the ground below. He ignored the explosions from beyond the little grove, the great booms of the vast palace being brought to its knees by the Sun’s impossible heat. He knew that this little refuge would have already burnt to a crisp, if it could. He didn’t know why it was here. He didn’t know how long it would remain. But if these were his last moments, then he would not waste them.
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