Kael didn't cut the power. Instead, he pushed the sliders up, letting the Martian frequency take over the grid. If they were going to harvest the soul of a planet, they might as well let it play its loudest set.

Kael sat in the control booth, his boots propped up on a rusted console, watching the massive sifting arms claw through the iron-oxide dust. In his ears, the "Original Mix" of the planet’s atmosphere—a low, industrial thrum—played on loop. They called the refined dust "Mars Powder," a volatile fuel source that looked like ground garnets and burned like bottled lightning.

"Pressure's spiking in Sector 4," a voice crackled over the comms. It was Elara, out on the dunes. "The wind is picking up, Kael. It’s not a storm; it’s a surge."

"The machinery is syncing to the planet's core," Kael realized, his fingers dancing across the override switches. "It’s not just dust, Elara. It’s a conductor."