I’m playing with an idea to work on once I complete Undergrowth… I figured I could go with something a bit different this time.

Let me know what you think of the idea?

——

Jupiter orbit: achieved. Return to Earth: impossible.

Humanity has always looked outward — to the stars, to the great planets, to the worlds that dwarf our own. Aurora, the first manned mission to orbit Jupiter, was meant to be a triumph: a symbol of exploration, curiosity, and wonder. The crew made it across the vast gulf of space with no incident, their ship running smooth, their spirits high.

But what no one saw — not Earth, not the crew, not even the ship’s systems — was the fault hidden deep inside the propulsion core. A tiny imperfection, invisible until it was too late, began nudging Aurora toward the immense gravity of Jupiter. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just slow. Steady. Inescapable.

When the crew discovered the truth, their orbit was already decaying. A desperate manual burn bought them time, but not salvation. They weren’t going to burn up in the upper atmosphere, but… they would fall deeper. Past ammonia clouds that scoured the hull. Past raging storms that lit the skies with miles-long lightning. Past the crushing winds and towards the metallic hydrogen ocean that no human eye was ever meant to see.

What they found there — and what they left behind before the ship was finally destroyed — will haunt every reader who follows them into the depths.

This isn’t a story of villains or sabotage. It isn’t about an alien attack, or a hostile planet. It’s about inevitability. The kind of horror that comes from physics itself, from being so very small against something so vast.

The question isn’t whether the crew survives. The question is: what did they see before the end?