Children of The Spheres

Chapter 1: Ice Mines

Fia 'Killjoy' Praera's decision to destroy the Sovereignty four hundred years ago remains one of the most enigmatic and debated events in human history. Was it the result of calculated rebellion, or an act of desperation born from disillusionment? Some speculate that after decades of loyalty, Praera's growing discontent with the Sovereignty's authoritarian control led her to embrace anarchistic ideals. Others suggest her extensive cybernetic augmentations, which made her more machine than human, may have altered her sense of identity and purpose, detaching her from both humanity and its institutions.

— Reflections on the Fraying by Dr. Kassia Vorel

***

The ground shudders beneath me as the Mammoth-class excavation rig roars to life, engines firing with a low growl. The icy cavern around us stretches into darkness, its jagged walls glittering faintly under the rig's harsh floodlights, casting an eerie, almost unnatural glow. The drill head gleams, ready to tear into the ice of Kalthor V—a frozen hellhole, but the only place where lithorite veins run deep. At thirteen, I'm the youngest here by far, but I don't have the luxury of being a kid—they need bodies to keep this beast moving, and I need the credits more than anything.

"Keep your eyes sharp, Ander," Valen grunts beside me. The drill engineer's a giant, his face weathered from endless shifts underground. "Lose the vein, and we're digging blind. Lose us, and we're dead down here."

I nod, adjusting the controls with a steady hand, eyes locked on the holographic display in front of me. As the pilot, it's my job to control the drill and navigate the tunnels. The trick isn't finding the vein—it's staying on it. One wrong move, and we're drilling through dead stone. Worse, we could hit a gas pocket and get blown to bits. Momentum is life down here.

Lithorite veins are fickle, shimmering beneath the surface with faint pulses of trapped light—energy waiting to be harvested, sold, and used to power weapons, ships, entire colonies. But beneath their beauty lies danger—volatile, explosive if mishandled. Beautiful, in a way, like the dying light of a star, but here, it's currency—and it could kill you just as easily as enrich you.

The Mammoth grinds forward, its treads tearing jagged paths into the ice. I flick between the controls and scanner. The drill head roars to life, screeching as it cuts through layers of frozen stone. My hands tense on the controls, adjusting the angle to meet the rock's resistance.

"Easy," I mutter. This close, I can feel it—like the lithorite's calling out, daring me to screw up.

Valen watches me with those hard eyes of his, but he says nothing. He was navigator before me, and even though I'm certified, he still hovers, always watching. Doesn't bother me, though. His experience means I'm more likely to make it home alive.

"We're stable," someone calls from across the platform. "Drill pressure holding."

"Got a fork coming up," I warn, pointing to the display. The vein splits—a deeper path into the ice and another trailing off toward unstable rock formations.

"Take the deep path," Valen says, his voice a quiet rumble.

I ease the controls, shifting the drill to follow the deeper route. The Mammoth groans, treads grinding against the ice, the whole rig creaking under the pressure. Minutes feel like hours as we push deeper, the drill cutting through layers of frost and stone.

Suddenly, the scanner flashes with a new reading beneath the lithorite.

"Valen," I start, tension creeping into my voice.

He leans in, eyes narrowing at the display. "Gas pocket," he says grimly. "Pull the drill back. Slowly. Change the angle."

I adjust the controls carefully, lifting the drill head. The Mammoth groans as the pressure eases off. Every fiber in my body is wired tight, like I'm balancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong move, and we're a memory.