Kepler 186f Xenobotanist's Gambit

The stale, pre-packaged escape pods shuddered as they jettisoned from the dying husk of the *Stardust Wanderer*. Alarms blared a death knell, punctuated by the shrieks of tearing metal and the hiss of escaping atmosphere. You barely registered any of it. Numb, you stared out the viewport, watching the once-majestic starship, your home for the last decade, crumble into a cosmic dust storm. Your name is Ryla, a xenobotanist, and your life was dedicated to the study of the strange and often hostile flora of the Kepler-186f system. Now, thanks to a catastrophic engine failure and some rather questionable emergency protocols, you're hurtling towards the uncharted surface of Kepler-186f in a glorified metal coffin. The crash landing is… unpleasant. The pod, designed for orbital insertion, not planetary descent, becomes a mangled heap of twisted metal and flickering lights. When you finally claw your way out, coughing up acrid smoke, you are met with a landscape unlike anything you've ever studied. This isn't the verdant paradise depicted in the pre-expedition brochures. This is a nightmare painted in bioluminescent blues and sickly greens. Twisted, fungal trees claw at a sky choked with perpetual twilight. The air hums with an alien energy, and the ground pulsates with unseen life. Your emergency beacon is broken. Your supplies are dwindling. And something is watching you from the shadows. Something that definitely isn't in the Kepler-186f flora handbook. This isn't just a survival situation. This is an exploration into the unknown, a desperate race against time, and a potential first contact scenario gone horribly, horribly wrong. You are alone, Ryla, with nothing but your wits, your knowledge of alien plant life, and a rusty multi-tool. Welcome to Kepler-186f. Survival is optional. Understanding… is mandatory.