The hum of fusion generators filled the air as Liora stepped off the transport platform onto the polished, synthetic stone streets of Luna Prime Colony. A faint artificial breeze carried the scent of hydroponic basil from a nearby farm module. The domed city pulsed with a soft blue light, powered by an endless stream of clean energy. The towering spires of glass and metal gleamed in the light, their structures reaching ever upward as if striving toward the distant stars.

  Liora adjusted the strap on her satchel, feeling the familiar weight of her worn-out food processor inside. The device had served her for years, but like all things, it had reached the end of its cycle. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of reluctance. It had been a gift from her father before he passed—a reminder of home, of Earth, and of the life he had built in this new world. Every click of the processor’s broken blades had been a quiet echo of the past, the final traces of an older time, one before the sleek, efficient systems of Luna Prime.

  "Over here!" called Aric, waving from the entrance to the Repair Exchange. His uniform, sleek and made of fully recyclable fabric, bore the insignia of the U.W. Resource Division. He had always been the one to offer her the best deals on replacements—efficient, dependable, with a smile that always seemed to promise solutions to whatever problem she brought.

  Liora hurried over, pulling the processor from her bag. "Tell me you’ve got a model that doesn’t jam every other morning," she said, exasperated. The memories of another frustrating breakfast where the processor had refused to work still lingered in her mind.

  Aric grinned, taking the device from her. "Trade-in credit will cover most of the upgrade. We’ll break this down, rebuild what we can, and recycle the rest. Nothing wasted."

  Liora nodded, appreciating the efficiency of it all. It was the way of the world now. Waste was a relic of the past, just like hunger, pollution, and overwork. She glanced out the exchange’s clear-paneled roof, where Earth hung in the sky like a watchful parent, the blue and green orb still visible even from this distance, a reminder of where humanity had come from.

  A memory stirred—her grandfather’s voice, rough like worn stone, whispering to her in the Remembrance Garden.

  She was seven years old, sitting beside him on a stone bench surrounded by green stalks of wheat and thick vines of tomatoes. The filtered light from the dome made everything glow soft and golden. Her grandfather plucked a sprig of basil from the planter and twirled it between his fingers. "You know, little star," he said, using the name he had always called her, "this life we have—it wasn’t always like this."

  Liora looked up from where she was tracing patterns in the dust. "What do you mean, Grandpa?"

  He sighed, his gaze drifting far beyond the dome, beyond the stars. "When I was your age, the world was drowning in its own filth. People threw things away like they were nothing. Mountains of trash piled up in the cities—big metal bins overflowing with rotting food, broken machines, plastics that never disappeared. The streets smelled of decay, of chemicals seeping into the ground."

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  Liora wrinkled her nose. "But… why?"

  Her grandfather chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Because they didn’t think ahead. They thought the Earth would clean itself up. They made things out of poison and left them to rot. It was everywhere. We used to go to parks—ones like this, but open to the sky—and you’d see it. Bottles in the grass, wrappers tangled in the bushes, old bags caught in the trees like ghosts."

  She frowned. "Didn’t anyone clean it up?"

  "Oh, they tried." He nodded. "But for every piece they picked up, a thousand more were tossed away. And the animals, Liora—the poor creatures. Birds would get caught in plastic rings, their wings trapped until they starved. Fish swam through waters thick with oil, their bodies poisoned. Once, I saw a squirrel with its head stuck inside an old cup, running blindly until—"

  He stopped himself, shaking his head. The weight of old memories clung to him, and for a moment, Liora could see the heaviness in his eyes. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it.

  Liora gripped the fabric of her tunic. "That’s awful."

  "It was," he whispered. "But that’s why we changed. Why we made sure it would never happen again. Now, everything has a place. Nothing is wasted. Even us."

  She looked up, confused. "Us?"

  Her grandfather smiled and gestured around them, to the plants, to the soil. "One day, I won’t be here anymore. And when that happens, I’ll go back to the earth. My body will feed the trees, the crops, the flowers. And so will yours, someday. We don’t just live on this world—we become part of it."

  Liora hesitated. "But… doesn’t that hurt?"

  "No, little star." His voice was soft, kind. "There’s no pain in becoming something new. Besides, there’s no more disease now. No sickness to spread, no fear of contamination. Death isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s just the next step in the cycle."

  She thought about that for a long time. She thought about the animals that had suffered, the people who had once lived in a world full of waste. Then she looked around her—the clean air, the rich green plants, the dome above them like a great, clear shell.

  She turned back to her grandfather. "I’m glad it changed."

  He smiled, ruffling her hair. "Me too, little star. Me too."

  "Hey, did you hear?" Aric’s voice pulled Liora back to the present. She blinked, the memory of her grandfather's words still lingering in her thoughts like a soft melody.

  "Survey teams confirmed the ice caverns on Europa are stable. First wave of settlers leaves next year."

  Her heart skipped. "Europa?" She had spent her childhood dreaming of walking across alien landscapes, and now, she could. "How do I sign up?"

  Aric chuckled, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. "I had a feeling you’d say that." He handed her a holo-tablet, and she could feel her excitement mounting. "You’ve got the experience. Just fill this out."

  She took the tablet, excitement flaring in her chest. The stars were no longer just stories in old books; they were destinations, waiting to be reached. She could feel the call of the distant worlds, the promise of exploration echoing in her heart. The same feeling she had as a child—curiosity, wonder, and the desire to know what lay beyond.

  As she signed her name, she thought of her grandfather’s words. Nothing is wasted. Even us. And she smiled, a sense of purpose blooming inside her.

  She was ready. The next step in the cycle had come.

  A small flicker of hesitation lingered, the faintest shadow of fear. Was she abandoning her past? Her roots? But then she remembered the words of her grandfather, his wisdom. The earth wasn’t just the place they lived—it was the place they would always return to. The cycle continued, even across the stars. Liora felt it now, deep within her. She would carry her past with her, wherever she went, and she would add to the story of the world.

  With the tablet in her hands and the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders, she stood tall. The world of Earth had transformed into a beacon for the future, and now she had the chance to shape that future, to be part of something greater than herself.

  Europa awaited.

  And with it, the echoes of tomorrow.