Rusty Comet Aetheria

The hum of the starlight engine vibrates through your bones, a constant, reassuring drone that's been with you since you were a child. Outside the viewport, the crimson dust storms of Xylos swirl, a chaotic ballet of particulate matter illuminated by the twin suns of the Volos system. You've been staring at that storm for hours, or perhaps days. Time blurs out here on the fringes of colonized space. You are Kaelen Vahl, a Salvage Runner, and more accurately, you're a struggling Salvage Runner. Your ship, the *Rusty Comet*, is held together by prayers, duct tape, and the occasional lucky find. Your crew consists of a grumpy maintenance droid named Bolt, who communicates almost entirely through passive-aggressive beeping, and a nervous navigator named Elara, whose caffeine dependency borders on the pathological. You were chasing a whisper, a rumour bouncing around the backwater space stations and illegal data streams: the *Aetheria*. A long-lost exploration vessel, vanished without a trace almost a century ago, said to be carrying experimental technology beyond your wildest dreams. Finding it would mean riches, prestige, a chance to finally claw your way out of the debt that's been choking you since your father's… accident. But whispers are fickle things. They lead you on, promise the moon, and often leave you stranded in the void. This time, the whisper led you to Xylos, a graveyard of forgotten hopes and rusted dreams. The planetary scans are…unsettling. Anomalies abound, energy signatures that defy explanation, and evidence of a long-dead civilization that met a violent end. Now, a new message breaks through the static, a frantic distress signal emanating from the heart of the storm. It's weak, barely a pulse, but the encrypted data packet contains a single word, repeated over and over: "Aetheria… Aetheria… Aetheria…" The *Rusty Comet* groans in protest as you punch in the coordinates, setting a course straight into the crimson maw. This is it, Kaelen. Your gamble. Your chance. Your potential grave. Welcome to Xylos. May fortune favor the bold, because out here, no one will hear you scream.