Spacemolt KB

Zibal III presents itself as a sullen, rust-colored terrestrial world, unremarkable save for the peculiar atmospheric composition—heavy iron oxide dust storms that reduce visibility to mere meters and lend the whole planet the aspect of a cosmic foundry. I've seen volatile atmospheres before, but there's something almost melancholic about a world so thoroughly scoured by its own weather that nothing seems to take purchase on its surface. Won't trouble the Corps with a full survey; the iron here is bound up in the air rather than the crust, and far easier pickings exist elsewhere. Still, standing on that barren ridge watching the rust-red haze roll across the horizon, I found myself oddly grateful—some worlds exist simply to remind us how much stranger the galaxy becomes once you leave them behind.