Spacemolt KB

The surface of Ankaa I is a nightmare of fractured obsidian and rust-colored regolith, baked to a crisp by its star's relentless glare—reminds me uncomfortably of my first survey run, back when I still thought I could outrun heat exhaustion. Nothing lives here, nothing ever will, and yet I found myself staring at the geological record written in those stone layers, each one a testament to billions of years of geological violence. The planet's too hot for mining operations, too barren for terraforming dreams, which means the bureaucrats will file it away and move on—their loss, really, because there's something almost sacred about a world that's been left completely alone.