Planetfall

Words of Doctor Skorn

Chapter Two: The Words of Dr. Skorn

The forest whispered.

Giant crimson trees swayed under the twin moons of Harnis IV, their leaves shimmering like stained glass in the night wind. Around a dying campfire, shadows of men and aliens danced in flickers of orange light. The smell of smoke mingled with damp soil and metal.

Dr. Skorn Varel, human, gray-bearded and gaunt, sat cross-legged near the flames, his long coat patched with strange insignias. His eyes were the pale blue of someone who had seen too much—and survived anyway.

He adjusted the glowing pipe in his hand, the ember pulsing like a heartbeat. Around him, six figures sat silently.

A heavy-browed Grendari warrior, scales like molten bronze, watched with arms crossed.

A Zyn’tha priestess, her translucent skin faintly lit from within, hummed softly, as if listening to the trees.

Two human scavengers, young and suspicious.

A Korrathi engineer, his mouth masked with breathing vents.

And a thin child—barely ten—who kept his gaze locked on Skorn, eyes wide with awe.

Finally, the old doctor spoke.

“Eighty years ago,” Skorn began, his voice rough and deliberate, “man touched the stars. We built the Auralis Drives—engines that could fold light itself. For the first time, distance meant nothing. We called it The Dawn of Infinite Travel.”

He leaned closer to the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes.

“With that gift, came greed. Humanity spread across the stars—mining, colonizing, consuming. And they found others out there—races wiser, older… and just as flawed. We did not unite. We conquered.”

The Zyn’tha priestess whispered softly, “The Concord…”

Skorn nodded. “Yes. The Galactic Concord. A federation of hundreds of worlds under one law, one banner. Trade, prosperity, unity… all built on the bones of what came before.”

The Grendari warrior scoffed, smoke curling from his nostrils. “Unity? You mean control.”

“Aye,” Skorn said. “That’s what they called it—order. But some worlds refused. Some species remembered what freedom felt like.”

He tapped his pipe against a stone, and sparks rose like dying stars.

“And then came The Thirteen Suns.”

The group shifted uneasily. Even the forest seemed to listen.

“Thirteen leaders,” Skorn continued. “Thirteen worlds. Rogues, prophets, generals, mystics. They called themselves the Children of the True Flame. Their leader, Dandodylyta of Arken Vale, was no mere rebel. He was a vision given form—half flesh, half something older.”

The child asked timidly, “What did he want?”

Skorn smiled faintly, a sad curve of the lips.

“He wanted to end the Concord. To bring down the chains of law and let every world rule itself. Some say he wanted freedom. Others say he just wanted to burn the galaxy clean.”

The Korrathi engineer adjusted his vents with a hiss. “And he found power to do it… didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Skorn said, voice dropping low. “He went searching. Beyond the chartered systems. Beyond even the black archives. To a world without light, without sound. A planet called Vethrax. Dead for eons. Buried under its own silence.”

The priestess trembled. “That name… it was forbidden.”

Skorn nodded. “The Concord burned its coordinates long ago. But Dandodylyta found it. And what he found there… wasn’t power. It was a curse.”

The flames flickered blue, as if reacting to the words.

“They say he opened something beneath the surface—an ancient vault. Inside, he found a crystal that bled black light. And when he touched it, it touched back.”

The humans exchanged uneasy looks. The forest groaned.

“He called it The Seed of Continuum. But it was no gift. It changed him. His blood turned luminous, his mind fractured across dimensions. His army—infected. Not killed, not reborn. Just… twisted. They became the first Scourgeborn.”

The Grendari clenched his fists. “Abominations.”

“They thought so too,” Skorn said. “But Dandodylyta believed he had become a god. He returned to the galaxy with his new army—and the war that followed lasted decades. Planets fell. Species vanished. Concord ships fled entire sectors. And when they finally trapped him, it was too late.”

The child whispered, “What happened to him?”

Skorn exhaled slowly, smoke curling upward. “No one knows. The Concord glassed Vethrax and declared victory. But the virus… survived. Hidden in dust, in wreckage, in flesh. Every century, it wakes somewhere new.”

The priestess looked up, eyes glowing softly. “Like on Tevilis…”

Skorn’s gaze hardened. “Exactly like Tevilis.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any word. Only the crackling fire broke it.

At last, the Grendari rumbled, “So the Scourgeborn are not an accident.”

“No,” Skorn said. “They’re the galaxy’s reminder—that when man reaches for godhood, something else always reaches back.”

The wind howled through the forest, bending the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a faint mechanical hum echoed—low, alien, and growing closer.

The child looked up. “Dr. Skorn… are they coming here?”

Skorn didn’t answer immediately. He rose slowly, pulling a small device from his coat. Its screen glowed red—movement detected.

He sighed.

“They never stay buried for long.”