荒灘盡頭的瞭望站，巨大紅星壓在天邊

Treat this as a dark, tactile retro sci-fi illustration printed on aged matte paper — coarse film grain, faint ink abrasion, scratchy etched architectural linework, crushed charcoal-green shadow, and restrained teal edge-light holding the palette together. Within that texture, lay out a huge, derelict tidal observatory running horizontally through an alien salt marsh at night: low brutalist platforms strung together by thin elevated walkways. Near the bottom edge, one tiny maintenance rover, its single amber lamp lit, creeps along the causeway toward a squat, circular listening dish set to the right. Looming far beyond the platforms, a colossal burnt-vermilion planet sits low on the skyline, its bottom half swallowed into thick blue-green haze. Keep the planet's surface flat and luminously pigmented, mottled and ragged rather than glossy or volumetric. Let wide, hushed dark zones push against fine low-lying silhouettes and the faint ripple of shallow water, its reflections breaking unevenly around the salt ridges. Compose it wide at 16:9, the walkway running on a diagonal from the lower-left corner up toward the observatory on the right, the planetary disk pushed off-center to the upper left — sparse, ominous, print-like, with a clean horizontal silhouette and small, deliberate mechanical detail throughout.