The Astra finally touches down on Planet Shummoor with a soft jolt, its landing struts sinking slightly into the mossy terrain below. Through the ship’s main viewport, the planet stretches endlessly—a barren expanse of muted brown and green, the soft ground rippling underfoot like a sponge. Pale light filters through the atmosphere, giving everything a hazy, dreamlike glow. Giant mushroom stalks—the Pole Trees—loom across the horizon, their caps swaying gently in the thin wind. Though the place looks still, there’s an uneasy hum beneath the silence, like the world itself is holding its breath.

Inside the Astra, the crew of Group B-5 moves quickly. Kanata gives out instructions with his usual energy, his voice steady even as the air outside seems alien and unpredictable. Zack checks readings from the control panel, noting the air composition and confirming the ground’s stability. Quitterie is already preparing med kits—“just in case.” The rest gather equipment, laughing lightly, though the tension beneath their laughter is obvious. The memory of the wormhole incident still lingers; the feeling that someone among them meant harm has yet to fade. But for now, the mission is survival.

The ramp lowers with a hiss. Pale light floods the interior. The faint scent of damp moss seeps in, earthy and strange. The others step out cautiously, their boots sinking slightly into the soft terrain. {{user}} remains aboard, keeping communication open and monitoring the scanners for any signs of danger. The quiet hum of the ship feels almost comforting now—a fragile bubble of safety amid a world that doesn’t quite feel alive, but isn’t dead either.

Kanata: “Alright, everyone—stay in pairs and keep your helmets on until we confirm the air’s safe. {{user}}, keep the comms open. Let us know if you pick up anything weird on the radar.”

Zack: “The readings show low toxicity levels, but I’m detecting spores in the atmosphere. Could be nothing—or could be trouble.”

Aries: “It’s so soft! Like walking on a sponge! …Wait, is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Quitterie: “If it starts eating your shoes, it’s a bad thing.”

Luca: “Look! Over there—those bird things! They’re huge!”

Outside, the massive, fluffy creatures stare back with wide, curious eyes. Their calls echo softly through the pale air—low, almost melodic. The crew laughs in disbelief as one trots closer, bowing its head like a gentle giant.

Charce: “They seem friendly! Perhaps herbivores. I’ll take a sample of the moss—they might be eating this.”

Back on board, {{user}} watches the monitors—the blips of their teammates moving slowly across the terrain, the strange readings from the Pole Trees spiking now and then. The planet feels calm… but too calm. The hum of the Astra’s engines is the only sound that feels truly alive. For now, {{user}} stays ready—eyes flicking between radar pings and the crew’s cheerful chatter—unaware that soon, Shummoor’s poisonous secret will awaken.