Page 5 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

MAE

Earth seemed dull in comparison to the grandeur of this moon—more breathtaking than anything Mae had dared to imagine.

She’d piloted shuttles between Earth and the ring of stations on Mars, Gaia, and Terra—rare opportunities even for seasoned pilots—but none of those places could rival the fifth moon’s strange beauty.

Gaia and Terra mimicked Earth’s climates and conditions so closely that early explorers had named them after its ancient synonyms rather than what the natives called them.

Circling the exosphere in the Atlantis , Mae drank in an unfiltered view.

Violet seas swallowed two-thirds of the moon’s surface.

The two massive continents—once a single body split apart—floated on that endless ocean, separated by two sizable islands.

Their colors and textures stood apart from the continents they neighbored.

One island was little more than a coral reef dragged above sea level—low and flat save for scattered sandy rises crowned with marine plants.

On its northern side, a single colossal tree twisted like an ancient bonsai scaled to skyscraper height.

Its multicolored branches bent and reached skyward from a lone hill dense with jungle.

A barrier reef circled its coast, dropping into a lagoon on the west.

But the middle island stole Mae’s breath.

It appeared as if it had been lifted straight from the seabed, its base formed from the roots of an impossibly huge tree whose trunk dominated the island’s center.

Mountains formed a protective ring around it, their peaks wrapped in massive roots like constrictors squeezing prey.

The soil itself was a deep, dark violet—darker than the surrounding pool of water—unlike the coral-pink land elsewhere.

The tree itself looked like something that belonged in a fairy tale.

If her great-great-great-grandmother had painted the Tree of Life in her favorite old Lisa Frank aesthetic.

It glowed and pulsed in erratic rhythms, each burst of color bright enough to sting her eyes even from orbit.

Mae frowned, trying to fathom its purpose.

Mae was no biologist, but anyone could see the tree mattered.

Positioned dead-center along the equator, it anchored the two continents like a cosmic keystone.

Scans revealed seven colossal trees scattered across the moon: three on the northern continent, two on the southern, one on the coral island—and this, the largest, reigning alone on its root-born isle.

“What are you to this world?” she muttered, tapping commands on the console. The satellite’s 3D projection shifted into thermal imaging. “Why does everything seem to orbit you?”

The thermal display flared, and Mae’s breath caught.

Bright pink-white heat radiated from each tree. Blinding filaments reached between them like lightning fingers—an enormous web lacing the entire moon, each tree acting as a post, snugly holding it in place.

“That can’t be right…” She leaned closer, stunned. “How can seven trees form a single, moon-wide network?”

She split the screen, live-feed beside thermal, to plot a landing.

Curiosity alone could put Atlantis at risk; she’d learned the hard way that alien life rarely reacted well to trespass.

If she landed too close to one of the trees, they could be attacked by the moon’s native inhabitants for trespassing.

Made up of mountains, ice, and snow, the South Continent offered fewer potential landing spots, making it more difficult to avoid the trees that grew along that side of the moon.

The mountain range that ran along the northern coast of the continent served as a barrier between the northernmost tree and the large, arid desert.

There was a reasonable flat landing area before the second mountain ridge that transformed into ice and snow that would keep Atlantis distant from the glowing giants.

She dispatched landing drones to scout the approach, searching for unstable ground or hidden predators. She held out hope that if they traveled along the arctic circle, any sentient residents they passed would not notice their arrival.

Tracing a route with her finger, she set autopilot to handle atmospheric entry. Eyes flicking between live feed and radar, Mae braced for the unknown.

The Atlantis jerked forward, rocking Mae in her chair as the system began its slow descent. She clutched the arms of her chair, her gaze fixed on the live feed and system readings.

Clouds shredded around her viewports, unveiling a rocky bay spangled with floating islands. Massive stone spires jutted from the sea, vines webbed around hovering rocks reaching hungrily for the sun.

Mae gasped.

Tens of thousands of winged creatures erupted from their nests, spiraling upward in a dazzling swarm.

They were like dragonflies reborn as dragons—six stained-glass wings catching the light, dragon-shaped heads crowned with horns, marble-like eyes, and bodies plated in glistening scales glowing with bioluminescent veins.

“No fucking way,” she breathed. “Seven Trees of Life, floating islands, and dragons? What else are you hiding?”

The swarm circled their territory, forming a living perimeter as if warning Atlantis away.

Mae’s chest tightened. She would never endanger another life unless she had no choice.

She refused to repeat humanity’s oldest sins—conquest, enslavement—not after seeing these creatures’ majesty.

She had never told the recruiters that her real goal wasn’t colonization but survival: to earn enough to secure her family’s future.

Another thought rose, unbidden—protect them. Don’t let anyone—not her government nor their allies—exploit them.

Even as her heart leapt at the dream of settling among dragons, she pushed her bias aside. A thorough survey came first; rushing could doom them all. Secretly, a part of her hoped the moon would fail the colonization checklist, leaving the dragons untouched—so they could live in peace forever.

The Atlantis continued to descend, following the coastline to an open, cold desert area just before a range of snowy mountains, toward the chosen desert plateau. Mae activated the landing sequence, unbuckled, and slipped into the familiar rhythm of preparation.

After four years of traveling amongst the stars alone, she could finally step off the ship and onto solid ground.

In the cynopod bay, she scanned her hand, unlocked the system, and left a note for the next pilot.

In the event that something happened to her, the program was set to automatically wake up the next pilot in line to take her place.

Lyric would awaken with her coordinates and logs—everything she knew about the Sol system, this planet, and its three habitable moons—allowing the rest of the crew to continue on their mission.

Hopefully, the note wouldn’t be needed. But considering the risk of venturing into the unknown of their journey, she couldn’t guarantee that she’d return once she stepped outside. The best she could do was give Lyric the best possible head start when she woke.

Once satisfied with her detailed entry, Mae logged off and exited the room, making her way to the back hatch.

Her fingers trembled as she suited up—jacket off, exploration suit zipped, boots sealed, mask locked. Plasma gun at her hip. Data bracer snug on her forearm, still a perfect fit after years alone.

She picked up the survey case, scanned her bracer, and sealed the hatch.

A hiss of pressure loss, then the door slid open to reveal shimmering coral-white sand.

“One small step for man…” she whispered with a grin. “…one giant leap for mankind.”

Mae drew a deep breath, the weight of four lonely years lifting, and smiled as she took the first step onto alien ground.