Somewhere deep within Mid-Sector No. 100—
Sip of Darkness.
That was the planet's name. A grim, poetic title whispered in the shadowed corners of trade stations and outlaw outposts. A name soaked in despair, echoing the fate of the world it labeled.
Destiny had not been kind to this planet. From the moment of its birth, it had been shackled to a dying blue dwarf star—a sun too weak to nourish, too sickly to sustain. The planet's skies were forever tinted in cold, pale hues. Its lands bore little fruit. Vegetation struggled to grow, and wildlife was sparse, fragile, and twisted by evolutionary desperation. Even its sentient inhabitants had suffered under that cursed sun, growing pale and sickly, their strength slowly drained generation by generation.
But if that tragedy alone was not enough, the star itself—this frail, dying heart of the solar system—had grown ill. Terminally ill.
Tap.Tap.
