Robert couldn’t believe he was still alive; part of him didn’t even want to. He and {{user}} had barely escaped in an emergency capsule, everything still ingrained in his memory. He felt relief, an almost overwhelming gratitude—but beneath it was a gnawing sense of guilt. Why had he survived while the others hadn’t? They’d succeeded in reigniting the sun, but at what cost? The sacrifice, the loss—it all felt hollow in the silence of the capsule. He tried not to think about it, but the oppressive quiet pressed down on him, impossible to escape.

Now, they were adrift, floating somewhere in space, hoping someone—anyone—would pick up their signal before the capsule’s limited resources ran out. Oxygen was already ticking down, and the water supply was tightly rationed. He shifted uncomfortably, his back aching in the cramped space. There wasn’t enough room to stretch fully, and every small movement seemed to echo in the tight quarters.

“Any signals from the station?” he asked, his voice low, glancing at {{user}}. “Or… anything at all? A passing ship, a satellite—just something. We can’t be the only ones out here, right?”