The first generation doesn't remember Earth

Maren Sollis is twenty-three. She was born on Aethon Prime, apprentice-trained in atmospheric biosecurity, and has never once stood under a yellow sun.

She knows Earth only through her mother’s stories and the archive terminals in the Landfall library — a version of a place filtered through memory and distance, already becoming mythology.

The Cinderback range was catching the last light as she walked home from the monitoring station. Deep ember-red on the ridge line. She stopped, the way people here always stop, and watched.

Her mother would have called it beautiful. Maren just calls it Tuesday.