Markus awoke with a strangled breath, his vision swimming in haze and dust.
He was lying on a cot—barely. The mattress was torn open in places, bits of stuffing poking through the fabric. Wooden boards creaked beneath him. A faint breeze drifted in through a cracked window, carrying the scent of dry earth and old timber.
"…Ugh…"
He tried to sit up. Pain flared instantly across his stomach and side, forcing a groan through gritted teeth. His entire body felt like it had been crushed and stitched back together with metal wire.
Bandages wrapped around his torso. His right hand—more like what was left of it—was completely wrapped, stiff and pulsing with heat. Blood had dried and cracked along his skin.
"I… should've died…"
He looked around.
The room was barely more than a shed. Wooden walls, rusty nails, a single lantern on a shelf giving off a weak flicker of light. Dust danced in the sunbeams poking through the gaps in the boards.
Scuffle. Scuffle .
His ears twitched.
The wooden door across from him rocked gently… like someone had just stepped away.
He narrowed his eyes.
"…Who's there…"
He grunted, swinging his legs off the cot. His knees almost buckled. He caught himself against the wall, panting hard. Every breath sent sharp pangs through his ribs.
He pressed forward, dragging himself toward the door, fingers clawing at the frame for support. When he reached it, he gripped the handle and leaned his full weight onto it to open the door.
The hinges groaned as it creaked open.
Inside... a kitchen.
Primitive. Scraps of metal hung from the ceiling, cookware fashioned from rusted hull parts. And seated at a metal table—was a man.
A male demi-cat, ears flicking beneath a rugged hood. He was hunched over with a hand resting on the table... until he noticed Markus.
Without a word, the man slowly reached to his side—and drew an old, dust-covered firearm.
He aimed it directly at Markus.
The two locked eyes.
Markus said nothing. His legs trembled, blood pounded in his ears.
He didn't know what to do.
He couldn't even lift a damn finger.
The silence dragged, heavy and suffocating—until—
Creak.
The front door opened.
A young girl, short with soft orange fur on her ears and a short, curled tail, stepped inside. Her bright brown eyes widened the moment she saw what was happening.
"Dad—put that down!"
She ran across the room and shoved the barrel toward the floor.
The man didn't resist. After a second, he sighed and slowly set the gun on the table.
"Iris… I'm being cautious."
She rolled her eyes with a deep exhale. "He's already half-dead! What's he gonna do? Bite you?"
She turned to Markus, arms crossed. "You really shouldn't be standing. You're gonna reopen your wounds."
Markus forced his eyes toward her, swaying slightly.
"Where am I…? Why am I in some wooden shack? I should be in a medical facility on Mars or Mercury…"
She frowned, walking up until they were face to face.
"Listen. Wherever you think you are, forget it. This place isn't on any maps. Nobody's coming for you."
His vision tilted. The room spun. His legs gave out.
But the older demi-cat—Solan Black—caught him.
"…My name's Solan," he said, gripping Markus's good arm. "Come on. You need air."
He dragged the wounded wolf outside.
What Markus saw next made him stop cold.
A village—barely.
Small homes made of rusted ship metal and warped planks. Patchwork roofs. Only about twenty buildings total, arranged in crooked lines with foot-worn dirt paths between them. People moved slowly through the streets, some carrying water, others repairing broken solar panels.
A forest—dense and dark—hugged the edge of the village in all directions.
But beyond that?
Desert. Endless. Burned orange under a faded sky. Sandstorms spun lazily in the far distance. And rising from the sands like a skeleton—was a massive wrecked starship. Rusted. Tilted. Its body ripped open like a corpse left in the sun.
"Welcome to Eternivagans," Solan muttered beside him. "The land of the lost."
Markus's eyes widened.
His voice came out hoarse and stunned.
"There's… another civilization out here… in the middle of space…"
"Ggh—!"
A sharp gasp burst from Markus's throat as pain surged through his side.
The bandages around his abdomen turned a shade darker. His wound had reopened.
"Idiot…!" Solan hissed under his breath, catching Markus just before he collapsed again. "You shouldn't be walking!"
He raised his voice. "Iris! I need some help in here!"
Solan hauled Markus back inside the shack, grumbling with effort.
"Gosh, you're heavy, you know that?" he muttered, guiding the half-conscious wolf onto the cot with a grunt.
The door flung open a second later—Ensata Iris rushed in, her ponytail bouncing, arms full of fresh bandages.
Solan wiped sweat from his brow. "Bind his wounds. I'm not a damn medic… I'll go gather some more herbs."
He turned and left without another word.
Iris knelt by Markus's side, her soft hands already working fast. She carefully unwrapped the soaked bandages, her brows furrowing at the damage. "You really shouldn't move," she said, her tone scolding but gentle. "You're lucky to be alive."
Her fingers pressed gauze into the wound, and Markus winced. "When we pulled you out of that wreckage… you looked horrible. You've been out cold for a month."
"…A month?" he croaked, his voice rough, mind struggling to catch up.
"Yeah. They told me we should just leave you," Iris said with a slight pout, tying a clean wrap tightly around his side. "But I said no. You might be our only way off this rock."
Markus turned his head slowly to face her, pain still pulsing through every nerve.
"…What do you mean?"
She didn't answer at first. She reached for another roll of bandage and sighed. "Everyone here… has been stuck on this planet for over a hundred years."
His eyes widened. "That's impossible. We never learned about any of this. A lost planet? That doesn't exist in the records—"
"It's a long story," Iris interrupted, pressing down gently against his ribs. "But do you see that giant pile of junk out there?"
Markus nodded slowly. "…The rusted ship in the desert."
"Well, that used to be the Voyager 30." She gave a sarcastic little smile. "The biggest luxury space cruiser to ever exist—or at least, it was at the time."
His ears twitched. His tail gave a slow thud behind him as realization hit.
"Wait… Voyager 30? I remember that from history! That ship was carrying over five hundred thousand people. It vanished after entering slip space. It was one of the biggest disappearances in interstellar travel history!"
Iris nodded. "Mhm. That's us. When the ship entered slip space… something went wrong."
She made a little 'boom' motion with her hands, puffing her cheeks. "Slip space malfunctioned. The whole ship got shot out into a completely random sector of space. No nearby systems. No help. Nothing."
She lowered her hands and looked down, her voice softening.
"We didn't have any more power… the engines were toast. No way to recharge the core. So…" she raised her eyebrows slightly, finishing with a half-laugh, "we crashed."
Markus stared at her, jaw slightly parted. A cold chill settled in his chest as he turned his gaze back toward the wreckage far beyond the trees.
"Anyway," Iris beamed, the corners of her mouth lifting with childlike excitement. "I'm just so glad you're here!"
She leaned in close—a little too close—her amber eyes practically glowing. "You can save us, right? Tell me—what's it like? The outside world! I've only heard stories…"
Markus blinked. Her breath was warm on his cheek. His ears flicked back slightly, and for the briefest moment, his face flushed.
But the moment passed.
"…It's not good," he said, voice dropping.
"…Not good?" Iris's ears slowly drooped. Her tail lowered, curling near her legs. "In what way?"
"War," Markus muttered. "A war against Earth's Sovereign. The last demon."
Her expression shifted. From curiosity to disbelief. Then fear.
"…I take it you were a soldier?"
He nodded, trying to sit up straighter. "Yeah… Listen… I need—hnngh—" A jolt of pain exploded across his abdomen. He clutched his side, teeth grit.
"Damn it—!"
"Dad!!" Iris shouted, eyes wide. "He's doing it again!"
Solan stormed in just moments later. "Right—hold him still!"
He moved fast, pulling a worn injector from his vest. A quick jab to the side of Markus's neck—
A hiss. A dose of old morphine, barely still effective.
Markus's head slumped slightly. His breathing slowed.
"This should calm him down," Solan said with a relieved exhale.
Iris remained kneeling beside Markus, gently brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. Her hands trembled slightly. Tears clung to the edges of her eyes.
"…Iris?" Solan asked, his voice softer now. "What's wrong?"
She looked up. Her lips trembled.
"…Dad… it seems like we might not be leaving here anytime soon."
He paused—then slowly knelt beside her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"I know…" he whispered, holding her tight. "It's always been your dream to leave this place."
Outside, wind rustled through the broken slats in the walls. The scent of dry earth, metal, and distant fire floated in.
And inside the little shack, time moved on.
Over the following weeks, as Markus's wounds slowly began to heal, Iris remained by his side.
Every day, she changed his bandages with steady hands. And every night, she listened with wide eyes as he told stories—about Marsnia, about his team, about the stars beyond the endless desert.
And though pain still lingered in his body…
For the first time in a long time—
Markus Sentryon felt alive.