He opens the door and walks down into - well, it's not really a biome type that exists on earth. Part shallow sea, part hot springs, part mangrove swamp, part upside-down rafting kelp forest, part alluvial delta, part volcanic tower karst.
The distant blue-white sun is smaller than Earth's sun is in the sky, but noticeably brighter; the sky is a rich almost-violet blue, except where it's slashed by vivid daytime auroras of green and gold. A few minutes is enough to catch a silver-white meteor streak blaze for a few seconds. The gravity is lighter, too, only around three quarters Earth gravity. The whole place isn't really a planet, but a heavy water moon of a hot gas giant around a blue-white giant star. The gas giant's magnetic field flings constant ionized particles off toward its moons, and this one has a magnetic field of its own to convert them into auroras, while the constant debris of the loose ring system and ejecta from the other major moons supply the shooting stars.
A few hundred feat away, a geyser shoots up from one of the volcanic outcroppings, the plume of steam painting temporary rainbows onto the scene before dissolving and drifting away. Around them, the churning water and occasional obsidian formations reflect the bright light in every direction.
The life is aggressively amphibious, jewel-bright crustaceans, sleek scampering otters, chattering shorebirds diving just as frequently, strange plants half-draped over the intermittent fingers of stone, half curling wavy tendrils out into the water. There's a boat tied to a spur of stone at the bottom of the stairs, with plenty of space for both of them to sit uncrowded, and one pole to navigate with.
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The distant blue-white sun is smaller than Earth's sun is in the sky, but noticeably brighter; the sky is a rich almost-violet blue, except where it's slashed by vivid daytime auroras of green and gold. A few minutes is enough to catch a silver-white meteor streak blaze for a few seconds. The gravity is lighter, too, only around three quarters Earth gravity. The whole place isn't really a planet, but a heavy water moon of a hot gas giant around a blue-white giant star. The gas giant's magnetic field flings constant ionized particles off toward its moons, and this one has a magnetic field of its own to convert them into auroras, while the constant debris of the loose ring system and ejecta from the other major moons supply the shooting stars.
A few hundred feat away, a geyser shoots up from one of the volcanic outcroppings, the plume of steam painting temporary rainbows onto the scene before dissolving and drifting away. Around them, the churning water and occasional obsidian formations reflect the bright light in every direction.
The life is aggressively amphibious, jewel-bright crustaceans, sleek scampering otters, chattering shorebirds diving just as frequently, strange plants half-draped over the intermittent fingers of stone, half curling wavy tendrils out into the water. There's a boat tied to a spur of stone at the bottom of the stairs, with plenty of space for both of them to sit uncrowded, and one pole to navigate with.