By the time Jinyue reached the base of the mini-mountain, he was already shaking.
He hadn't realised how far the place really was — what had looked like a few ridges away had been half a day's trek over treacherous dunes, obstacle courses in the form of trash and debris, mazes and scrap plains. His boots sank into grey-cream sand that clung with mud and dust. Every few steps, the ground gave out under him with a hollow crunch of buried debris. He'd stopped counting how many times he'd stumbled; each time it took longer to straighten back up.
When he finally stood before the mountain, he had to brace his hands on his knees and just breathe.
The air here was heavier, almost syrupy with humidity. His lungs burned with each pull. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and slicked his hair against his temples. The heat pressed down like a hand, squeezing the strength out of him inch by inch.
He'd thought he was in decent shape, or at least functional enough to walk without dying. Apparently, he'd been wrong.
The mountain, or rather, the small mockery of one, rose maybe a few hundred meters at most, dark stone streaked with purple veins that caught the indigo light like bruises under skin. Up close, it was… beautiful, in a brutal sort of way. Sharp ridges curved like frozen waves, and the rock glimmered faintly with embedded metallic dust. Strange vines — if vines were the word — draped across ledges, their fronds black and oil-sheened, swaying like ribbons in the sluggish wind.
Jinyue stared for a moment, letting the sight steady him.
Then his knees almost gave out.
He pressed a hand to the rock, swallowing back nausea. His vision fuzzed at the edges, light flashing white-blue. Every beat of his pulse was loud in his ears.
For a ridiculous second, he thought, Cody might have been right.
The robot's lecture replayed in his head; about rest, about recovery, about the body's "susceptibility period." Maybe he should've listened. Maybe. But that wasn't the point anymore.
He wasn't going to crawl back now.
"Note to self," he muttered between shallow breaths. "Add 'getting fit' to the list. Preferably before dying."
The sound of his voice steadied him a little. The body, though trembling, kept moving. He forced it to climb — one hand on the rock, boots scraping for traction.
Every few steps, his thoughts broke apart into static. The world tilted, then righted again. He couldn't tell if it was heatstroke or something worse — that strange, misaligned feeling that had been there since he woke up. His mind felt too sharp for this body, like electricity forced into faulty wires. Every motion took effort he lacked.
And yet, the muscles under his skin weren't weak enough to cause this. When he caught glimpses of his reflection on a shard of metal, he saw lean arms, small defined lines under the grime. The body was undeniably fit…if not a bit malnourished and delicate. Whoever had lived in this body before him hadn't been as fragile as he felt.
"Ten years out here," he whispered, pressing his forehead to the cool rock. "And you made it. How the hell did you do that?"
He asked no one in particular while hoping for an answer.
He started moving again, slower now, following instinct more than direction. The higher he climbed, the more the air thickened with the scent of ozone and something faintly metallic-sweet. It reminded him of rusted blood, though he refused to dwell on that.
By the time he reached the first plateau, his shirt was soaked through, his mouth dry and bitter. He slumped against a boulder, trying to force his breathing into rhythm. His head throbbed. His thoughts came scattered — half logic, half irritation.
I shouldn't be this weak. The body survived here for years. Either it's rejecting me, or I'm the problem.
He considered both options. Neither was comforting.
When the world stopped spinning, he looked around. The slope ahead wasn't tall. The mountain seemed to fold into itself, like it had melted long ago and frozen mid-collapse. There were ridges, narrow paths, and… caves. Dozens of them, pocked along the surface like empty eyes.
It didn't look like much from afar, but up close, the place was almost majestic …ancient, scarred, alive in a quiet, patient way. He could feel the hum beneath the rock, the faint vibration through his boots.
"Not bad," he murmured, pushing away from the boulder. "Could almost call it home, if I had a death wish."
He started searching. The memory — or rather, the echo of one — tugged him toward the right side of the slope. He followed it through narrow paths littered with fragments of old machinery and bone-dry roots.
The first few caves were empty, shallow depressions with nothing but sand and the faint glint of insect shells. The fourth had a darker mouth, wider and cooler. As soon as he stepped closer, something in his chest pulled tight.
He knew this place...why?
He couldn't help but wonder how he managed to get that far, to reach the ship in his fever-induced haze and hasty running the previous day.
The air smelled faintly familiar — stale smoke, old metal, something almost human. He ducked inside, letting his eyes adjust. The light dimmed to a bluish gloom, and for the first time since stepping off the ship, the world was quiet enough to hear his own heartbeat.
He followed the tunnel until it opened into a small cavern.
On his right, half-hidden behind a curve of rock, was a flimsy metal door, half-rusted, hanging crooked on its hinges, and wide open.
He stopped. The memory surged like static: heat, fever, darkness, this same doorway flickering in and out of focus.
So he'd found it.
The inside was smaller than he remembered, but unmistakably lived-in. Someone had carved out a semblance of life here with desperate precision. A small fireplace sat near the centre, ringed with blackened stones. Over it, a makeshift pot rested on a tripod of scrap metal. Beside it, a pile of junk — sorted, somehow, by purpose: bent tools, wiring, broken screens, what might once have been a power cell.
A low platform bed occupied one corner, made of nothing more than woven plant fibres and old cloth, but it looked surprisingly neat. Next to it sat two boxes, each about the size of a cooler. He crouched and flipped one open.
Inside lay a few odd-looking vegetables — pale and bulbous, their surfaces faintly translucent — and strips of dried meat, neatly bundled in thin wrapping. The smell was faint but edible.
"Well," he said softly. "You were resourceful."
He opened the second box. Inside were tools — makeshift knives, blades hammered from scrap, and a small, handmade pack. When he picked it up, the material felt sturdy, though the stitching was rough.
The person who'd lived here hadn't been just surviving. He'd been planning.
Jinyue sat back on his heels, eyes scanning the dim little room. For a moment, he could almost see the ghost of the original — small frame moving through the space, tending the fire, patching tools, rationing food. Ten years of this... Alone.
His chest tightened. At least on Earth, he'd had people to talk to. Even if they'd ignored him.
He leaned against the wall, exhaustion settling deeper. His body trembled again, but it wasn't only fatigue this time. It was something like dissonance — a pulse just out of sync with his own.
"You lived in this body for a decade," he murmured, staring at his hands. "Then I wake up in it, and it can barely climb a hill."
He flexed his fingers. The joints ached faintly, though not from weakness from misalignment. Like the body was resisting his rhythm.
"Guess it's not just about muscles," he said, almost amused. "You built a life here. I'm the intruder."
Outside, wind howled faintly through the cracks, carrying the metallic scent of the wasteland. Inside, the air was still. The small cave felt almost safe — or at least less hostile than the world outside.
He set down the pack beside the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. His breath still came unevenly, but his mind was clearing. Slowly, he began sorting the items he'd found, noting their practicality, their potential use. Each object was proof that the boy had adapted, endured.
He wasn't sure if that made him feel inspired or inferior.
When he finally leaned back, staring up at the rough ceiling, the ache in his muscles had dulled to a manageable throb. His body was slowly catching up — or maybe he was learning to move with it instead of against it.
Either way, he'd made it here.
Barely. But he had.
He let out a slow breath, closing his eyes.
"Cody," he muttered to the empty air, "you might've had a point."
******
After resting and catching his breath, Jinyue decided to explore deeper into the cave. It was larger than it had first appeared. Using the torch he'd taken from the ship, he followed the passage until it opened into a cavern. In its centre lay a small lagoon, its surface reflecting the faint light filtering down from the cracked crater above.
Along one side, the same plants he'd seen stored in the barrel grew wild and untamed, clearly not cultivated by human hands. Relief washed over him. A reliable food source—finally.
It also explained how the body's previous owner had survived here for so long. The plants were thriving, so he could harvest a few stalks and replant the rest later, perhaps even store some in the ship. Anything was better than Cody's tasteless, half-expired nutrient paste, which the robot had insisted could last decades.
The sight of animal tracks near the water and bits of stored meat back in the cave confirmed that the planet wasn't lifeless either. But that raised a question—how had the original owner never found the ship? It wasn't far, only half a day's walk, most likely less, even for someone in this weakened body. The ship itself wasn't hidden. Had the boy avoided it out of fear? Or had he simply preferred isolation to the unknown?
Jinyue ran a hand along the cavern wall. The place felt lived-in, but the traces of habitation seemed too recent, as if someone had rebuilt or rearranged it not long ago. Had the boy just gotten there recently? Or had someone—or something—else been here?
As he stepped outside, the dimming azure light told him night was approaching. He returned to the cave to rest. After managing to light a small fire by hand, he drank from the water he'd gathered at the lagoon—his earlier supply already gone—and forced down a packet of the bland nutrient paste.
He couldn't help but wonder more.
Why had the original owner never left? Did he not know about the ship? Had he been trapped? Or had he chosen to stay? And what had he been preparing for?
The warmth of the fire eased his shivers, and exhaustion soon pulled him into sleep.