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Five worlds compete in the Space Olympics to determine which should survive a supernova.
In a bleeding corner of space, the human race is dying. Again. They are good at dying. Millennia ago, they died on Earth. Soon, they'll die here, under their second sun. Death chases them. Tag, you're it. And so, they run.
Their sun is ready to supernova. She is dying, and they will follow. The ancient seedship, their last hope, can only fit a single colony. Their people have thrived and grown since Earth's exodus, but there is not enough room to save them all. To determine a worthy survivor, five worlds will fight in the Space Olympics. One will win, will live on, fly far, fly free. The rest will join the stars.
From three different worlds, Camroc, Bazi, and Ketra -- an athlete, reporter, and princess -- fight for their right to survive.
CONTENT WARNING: Though BURN THE SUN is not as dark as some of Halo's book monsters, it does contain several graphic and disturbing scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
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1: There Are No Champions Here
Camroc
Bleeding sky, crying stars, sun on a noose, swollen and red.
She's dying. We're dying. Again, again, again. Flames slice open, and fire glows. Starving heat, greedy blaze, wants to eat worlds, waits for the end. She chews our songs and swallows our stories. We are nothing. Nothing. Bones and broth. No meat or memory. A smudge in space, a shadow in the dark.
Threadbare galaxy, she's a temptress. Eyes like diamonds, blind and bright. Lips like rubies, fangs wet with venom. She bit us twice: Earth, then our second sun. Death flirts with daggers. He chases us. We run. Tag, you're it.
"Duck," Coach says. I duck. "Dodge." I dodge. "Faster." I'm faster. "Stronger." I'm stronger. "Not enough." I know.
Iron scars, Coach is a hammer. Steel lips and titanium voice. Gray buzz cut and russet skin. Muscles like ropes, glare like ice. He makes us better. Builds us tougher. We are his puppets, and he is our god.
"The Games are in a week," Coach spits. "In one week, you fight for us all. Tomorrow, Trials begin. You are not ready."
Win or die, the Games are knives. My life is a slave.
"Prime will destroy you. They've trained since birth. I coddled you too long. Again."
I miss the punch. Coach cracks my nose. Again, again, again. Pain flowers. Blood rains. Tulips in the mud.
"Are you worthy?" Coach barks. "Is Quate worthy? Our world's fate relies on you."
Only a single planet can escape, a sole survivor to see our third home. This is law: five worlds, five teams, five Games, one winner. Another punch. Petals stained red. Coach shoves me, and I stumble. Life sharpens as death beckons. Run faster, runt. And so, I run.
"There isn't enough room on the seedship for everyone," Coach says. "Do you want a seat? Or do you want to burn to death in the heart of our sun? If you lose, you kill us all. Fight!"
So I fight.
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