The fury of nature has passed, and in its wake lies the sweetest scent of petrichor and a warm light to greet us.

Damage has been done. The very landscape has changed drastically, and what was is now gone. But even so, there is in the air a hope that a fresh start will bring change for the better.

After the storm, a stillness, a peace.

It is felt in the very bones of the planet.

A rumbling, deep, its sharp edges dulled only by its distance. A shadow on the horizon, roiling, of soot and thunder.

I'm helping the people here prepare for a tempest the likes of which this world has never unleashed. My observations looking down upon its progress in space led me to grim predictions, and here on the ground there is little to alleviate the tension. It's electric, in the air and pulsing in the ground. What will be left after its passage is a skeleton of what once was.

But these are hardy people. They've known climatic hardship, have learned from past devastation. This is not a kind world; it is one of turmoil. But they have persisted, and even thrived in times of relative calm. They will persist, and rebuild after the calm returns.

Even so, I have a feeling that what happens next for them will become a story worthy of telling throughout the stars.

Where do the waters go?

Anyone in this world who would've known the answer is long gone by an era. The same can be said of most of the world itself. Centuries of wear and tear in the particularly aggressive cosmic neighborhood has worn all of this artificial planet's surface away, leaving a (still impressively large) concrete and metal core that formerly comprised its sewer system.

As striking as the approach is, even more so is the map I'm compiling of the labyrinth of interconnected tunnels and corridors as I explore it. And yet, the more I find, the less I feel I know.

Even after all these years, waters still flow through this system, plenty enough to provide what would be a soothing ambience if not for the clanking and thumping of the walls and pipes of this planetary remnant. I'm likely the only living thing here. At least, I hope so; my suit keeps the nasty stuff at bay, but it's still a trudge to get through in some areas, with some over capacity for flow and thus impossible to traverse. The sounds are likely just the core flexing and adjusting, but there is plenty to be wary of nonetheless.

Storms ahead. This nebula will be a challenge.

It starts with a tingle. Static in the brain. Like an itch in the visual cortex. Extremely energetic photons shooting through, cascading like sparks from arc welding reality itself. Its source: the dense cloud ahead.

Novae dim in comparison. Onboard sensors shrilly sing tales of the power it contains. I only wish I could gaze upon it myself, and witness the beauty of the sheer luminescent display.

Indeed, I am given a glimpse even though all windows are well blocked far before I get close. The blinding rays seep through, teasing my eyesight with colors incomprehensible. Flashes wash past as stormy seas while I hold on tight and navigate as best I can.

But eventually, inevitably, the cool darkness of open space returns. The storm has come and gone. The ship, battered by nothing but the blades of light rays, uncovers itself and I am given eyes to the cosmos once again. But even turned away, the radiance of a glow in the periphery of my vision remind me of what I've passed.

I've spoken before of the multiversal void, that nothingness that lurks beyond the edges of all dimensions. None know what comes of those who find themselves thrust into it, but none have ever returned.

The people of this world do not fear that abyss. Quite the opposite, they all but worship it. It is their belief that the void is not the antithesis of existence, but rather the natural conclusion of it. The void does not encroach or consume; it envelops, grows, and blooms.

Far from being detached from its movements, they take an active role in expanding the reach of the void. Wherever there are untethered rifts, or the first threads of dimensional shredding, there they are. Watching. In awe.

As for myself, I will keep avoiding the multiversal void. My work requires existence.

This world keeps its secrets.

Small sparks of cyan light, both distinct and fuzzy in visual texture, are the only flickers of animation ahead. No star is near enough to illuminate further, leaving the impression of a section of space neatly punched out into void in front of me. Though I can guess at its dimensions if I assume its rounds is comparable to other worlds, I would not be able to determine if I was kilometers above the surface or imminently about to crash.

Often when it comes to exploring new planets that I'm not sure are safe to touch down on, I use a set of tiny drones to take the lead for me. They're handy, with myriad sensors and detectors that reveal the nature of the world safely. On a few occasions they've been life-saving; some worlds are deceptively dangerous, and they only bare their fangs when it is too late to reverse course.

This particular dark sphere, however, is confounding even my remote workers.

They've flown out ahead, but the readings I'm getting from them are zeroed; it's like they have no data to give me. Furthermore, as I watch I see them slow more and more until they seem to stop in place and shudder in place. It's like I'm staring at the pixels of a screen mere centimeters from my face, static noise in the void.

It seems that the drones have saved me once again.

I seem to be following some dimensional detour today, a cosmos under construction. In contrast to my usual route through, I'm on quite a warped and windy path around stars and through asteroid fields.

Life journeying through the multiverse makes such route deviations mundane; as a plankton in an ocean of existence, I can but ride the waves.

I only hope the currents bring me to the right shores.

It's always a treat to stop by this little world.

In one of the most strikingly calm climates I've seen on a world that had an atmosphere, this planet is wrapped in a thick layer of the most refreshing, cool mist. Kept at just the right temperature with constant sunlight on all sides due to the three-star system it's meandering around within, it's the perfect way to soothe the senses after a couple of days on other, more fiery planets.