The quiet hum of the Obsidian Wraith's engines filled the cockpit like a steady heartbeat, subtle yet constant. It was the kind of silence that wasn't truly silent. The gentle whir of circuitry, the occasional chirp of status updates, and the soft vibration of power running through the ship's frame all layered into a low symphony of solitude. Ethan sat at the helm, his posture still, eyes half-focused on the controls before him, though his thoughts drifted far beyond the flickering lights and buttons.
He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly against the armrests, fingers tracing lazy circles on the console's surface before beginning their practiced dance across its interface. Each motion was deliberate, familiar. Movements burned into muscle memory through repetition in VR simulations. This ship, this cockpit, had to become more than just a vessel. He to make it a part of him now. A place of command, of reflection… of survival.
The moment had lingered for long enough. The stillness, heavy with the weight of all he had seen and lived through on Kynara, had begun to lift. He could feel the shift happening, like the turn of a page, or the breath taken before the next step forward. The ache of memory still pulsed within him, a bittersweet throb, but it no longer paralyzed. It grounded him.
He inhaled slowly through his nose and exhaled just as slowly, letting the air clear the fog in his chest.
It was time.
"Iris," he said quietly, but with purpose.
The ship's AI responded without hesitation, her voice as steady and comforting as always—smooth, calm, precise. "Navigational input ready, Captain."
A soft tone chimed, and the HUD flared to life, casting pale light across the cockpit. Lines and data shifted into place, and a name blinked at the center of the map:
ASHEN PRIME — Ashen Sector Central Hub. Orion Federation-affiliated. Seat of the Sector Governor.
The description followed in smaller print beneath, detailing docking protocols, population density, customs clearance notes. Ethan barely glanced at the finer details. He knew what Ashen Prime was.
Developed. Polished. Regulated.
Everything about it screamed order and control, a showcase of Federation efficiency and pride. It was the opposite of Kynara's rugged unpredictability, its rawness. Ashen Prime was sterile in comparison, a carefully manufactured crossroads where the powerful convened and the ambitious climbed. Politics, business and bureaucracy thrived there.
And yet, that was where he needed to be.
A waypoint, nothing more. A step forward in the career he had unwillingly begun months ago. Mercenary, F-rank to C-rank. Climb the ladder. Claim recognition. Get access to better contracts, more credits, more freedom to seek answers.
Just another dot on the ever-expanding map. But it was a start.
Ethan's hand hovered over the throttle, but he didn't pull it just yet.
He turned in his chair, glancing at the rear sensor display. There it was, Kynara, now little more than a glowing dot fading into the black.
It was strange. For a planet that had nearly killed him half a dozen times, for a world soaked in dust, danger, and the fire of war, it still felt… comforting. Like somewhere he could always return to.
No longer a battleground. Not just the first chapter of his new life.
A home.
"See you again, old friend," he murmured. "Someday."
He turned back toward the console, his shoulders squaring, the last remnants of hesitation slipping away. The weight of everything he'd just relived, the friends made and lost, the battles fought, the planet left behind, settled into something solid. Not a burden, but a foundation. A part of him now, etched into muscle and memory.
Resolve settled in his bones, steady and unshakable.
"Iris," he said, his voice low but unwavering, like the quiet before a storm. "Plot a course to Ashen Prime. Engage FTL when ready."
The ship's AI responded immediately, her tone cool and precise, as always. "Coordinates locked. Initiating FTL sequence. Brace for jump."
Ethan nodded slightly, more to himself than to her. His hands slid into place on the control yoke, fingers curling around the grips with quiet familiarity. He exhaled through his nose and let his gaze drift toward the forward display, where the data feed began to scroll with jump preparation stats—energy flow stabilizing, temporal shielding engaging, gravitic dampeners aligning.
A countdown timer blinked to life at the center of the screen.
He could feel the subtle change in the Wraith's hum. The pitch shifted as the ship began its shift in systems, the artificial gravity shivering for half a heartbeat before rebalancing. The lights dimmed slightly—standard power rerouting during jump prep—and a low, rising whine began to build in the deck beneath his boots.
5…
His grip tightened slightly, not from fear, but from anticipation. Each jump always carried a weight to it—a sense of crossing a threshold, of no turning back. No matter how many times you did it, the feeling never fully left.
4…
Outside the viewport, the stars were still. Cold. Beautiful. Distant. A tapestry of unknown destinations and infinite possibility.
3…
They began to shift.
The universe tilted.
The stars bent and stretched like strands of glowing thread pulled tight across a canvas, light warping around the ship's bow as space-time itself began to yield to the Wraith's jump drive.
The silence deepened.
2… 1…
And then, with a brilliant flare of blue light, the Obsidian Wraith surged forward. The ship's engines hummed with raw power, the very fabric of space bending and twisting around them as the FTL drive tore through the void. In the blink of an eye, the ship vanished into the endless expanse, swallowed by the silent immensity of the galaxy.
Outside the cockpit, the stars were no longer still. They were streaks, blazing lines of light racing past in a blur. It felt almost like flying through the heartbeat of the universe itself. Everything in motion, nothing at rest. And yet, inside the cockpit, the quiet hum of the ship's systems was the only sound that filled the space.
Ethan sat alone, his hands resting lightly on the controls, his posture relaxed but intent. His silhouette was bathed in the steady glow of the console's soft light, the holographic projections flickering across his face. The noise of the ship and the stars outside faded into the background. His thoughts, once a chaotic swirl of memories, began to calm.
For now, Ethan decided to simply enjoy the spectacle that FTL travel offered. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes tracing the kaleidoscope of shifting stars, their brilliant trails weaving and intertwining in a mesmerizing dance. The vibrant streaks of light, swirling around him in a cascade of colors, were like the universe itself painting an ever-changing masterpiece.
For a moment, he allowed himself to wander in that vastness, to feel the exhilaration of the unknown. The gentle hum of the ship's engines was a comforting constant, but everything outside, the streaking lights, the vast emptiness, the sudden shift of time and space was a reminder of how small, how fleeting, how magnificent the universe could be.
In this moment, there were no worries, no missions or obligations. Just the endless stretch of stars ahead, and the quiet thrill of a journey that has reached a new chapter.
[End of Volume I]