The hole in the ice was wide, a jagged wound in the frozen surface of the rogue planet Kora. As the submarine slipped beneath the surface, the freezing waters closed over it like the lid of a coffin. Within minutes, the hole would seal itself, the temperatures so low that the ice would freeze solid once more, trapping the pilot in the endless dark.

Inside, the pilot straightened his harness; his breathing echoed loudly in the small cabin. The temperature gauges blinked steadily, a stark reminder of the hostile world outside. Kora was a rogue planet, unbound by a star, drifting through the void of space. It was a world of ice and darkness, its oceans warmed only by geothermal vents far below. Greed had lured them here-mineral-rich waters, untapped resources buried beneath miles-thick ice. But greed did little to calm the seed of unease growing in his chest.

The scientists back on the surface had assured him there was no life here. No sunlight meant no photosynthesis, no ecosystem. Just an empty, sterile ocean.

Sterile. Right.

He wanted to believe them. He really did. But the black void beyond the submarine's lights felt alive, heavy with something unseen.

The descent was slow, the submarine's thrusters whining softly as it sank deeper into the abyss. The pilot's eyes flicked between the instruments and the dark water beyond. The digital readouts blinked steadily, but his attention kept drifting to the fading light. The faint glow of the surface vanished rapidly, leaving only the cold, white beams of the submarine's lights to cut through the ink-black water.

It's just the deep, he thought, gripping the controls tighter.

Nothing but pressure and shadows.

"Control, this is Delta-Seven," he said, his voice trying to stay firm. "Depth is 2,500 meters. Everything's stable."

The comm crackled, a welcome sound in the oppressive silence. "Copy that, Delta-Seven. No anomalies on our end. Keep descending."

He nodded, even though they couldn't see him. The engine's rhythmic drone filled the cabin, hypnotic but unsettling. Still, his grip on the controls tightened. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. Glancing at the sonar screen, he saw nothing, just empty water.

And yet?

A shiver ran down his spine. It was because of the cold, he told himself. The claustrophobia. The primeval fear of deep water. Kora's oceans were an unexplored frontier, and uncertainty was to be expected. That was all this was.

Then it appeared.

A blip on the sonar. Faint but unmistakable. The pilot frowned, leaning forward. He tapped the screen, willing the anomaly to vanish. It did. He exhaled slowly, relaxing back into his seat. A glitch. Just a glitch.

The blip returned.

"Control," he said, forcing calm into his voice, "I've got a contact on sonar. Could be interference, but - "

The comms cut out.

Static filled the cabin, sharp and grating. The pilot cursed under his breath, toggling switches. The static persisted, then faded completely, leaving him in suffocating silence.

"Control, do you copy?" he tried again.

Nothing.

The hum of the submarine's systems now seemed deafening, every creak of the hull amplified in his ears. He checked the sonar again. The blip was still there, but closer. Much closer.

The lights flickered, momentarily plunging him into darkness. When they snapped back on, something moved at the edge of the beam. A shadow, too large and too fast to be a trick of his eyes.

The sonar pinged again. The contact was directly beneath him. His heart pounded as he struggled to steady his shaking hands.

"Control, please respond." His voice cracked, betraying his fear.

The blip vanished.

He stared at the screen, willing it to return even as he dreaded what it might mean. For a long, quiet moment, there was nothing but the gentle whir of the submarine's systems.

The lights died.

Panic surged as he fumbled for the emergency switch, his fingers trembling. The backup lights flickered on, a dim, red glow casting ghostly shadows across the cabin. Outside, the water was an impenetrable void, the faint red glow from the windows barely extending beyond the glass.

Something moved.

Not on the sonar, but outside. A shadow passed in front of the window, too quick to clearly discern but large enough to block out the faint light. The pilot froze; his breath caught in his chest.

Another movement, slower this time. Something glided past the submarine, serpentine and impossibly large. Red lights reflected off a surface that gleamed like wet stone, smooth and alien. For a brief, horrifying moment, he saw a ridge of spines, undulating as the creature moved, and tentacle-like appendages trailing behind it. His mind raced, but no thought could settle on what it might be.

Then came the sound.

A deep, resonant hum, low enough to vibrate the hull. It wasn't mechanical. It wasn't human. It was alive.

The shadow circled back, closer now. Its form came into sharper focus - a massive, undulating body studded with red bioluminescent patterns pulsing rhythmically, like a heartbeat.

No life here. They said there was no life, nothing survives without sunlight. Nothing survives without sunlight.

And then it stopped.

It loomed just beyond the window, its form extending far beyond his reach. Slowly, it leant sideways, and one single, huge eye could be seen. It was watching him, unblinking, ancient. The iris gleamed with layers of gold and crimson, carrying within the weight of eons as part of its gaze.

And then it struck.

The submarine creaked and groaned as the pressure mounted. A hairline crack snaked across the glass, then spider-webbed outward. The pilot screamed, but the deep swallowed it.

Above, the ice sealed once more, silencing the black waters of Kora. Any trace of humanity's interference was gone, sunk into the abyss of the rogue planet.