There was no warning.
One moment, Jihu was running diagnostics in the quiet void, orbiting an unknown gas giant with a faded ring of debris.
The next—
**Everything shattered.**
An explosion tore through the left side of his ship. Alarms blared. Metal screamed. Red lights pulsed across the cockpit like a dying heartbeat.
> "Warning. Reactor destabilized. Core breach in—"
"Shut it down," Jihu barked, fingers racing across the panel.
But the system no longer responded.
A second blast ruptured the ceiling. Flames burst through the vents, turning the bridge into an oven of broken circuits and glowing embers. The smell of scorched plastic flooded his lungs. His pupils contracted from the sudden flash.
**Nanobot core destabilizing. Hull breach imminent.**
He didn't scream. He didn't curse.
He just moved.
With one final override, he ejected himself from the cockpit. A panel burst open, launching him into space. The shock knocked the breath out of his lungs, and for a moment, there was only darkness.
And then—
**Silence.**
---
### Drifting
Jihu floated in the void.
The remains of his ship spun behind him, pieces of metal and coolant glinting in the light of a dead sun. His helmet HUD flickered erratically.
> "Oxygen remaining: 14%. Nanobot field stability: 26%."
The suit's internal systems were compromised. His right arm was broken—he could feel the bones shift unnaturally, a dull throb buried beneath the flood of adrenaline. Blood slowly drifted inside the helmet, curling in the air like red ink in water.
He blinked.
No sound.
No air.
No ground.
Just endless black.
---
### Mind
Time stopped meaning anything.
There was no way to track it anymore.
Maybe hours passed.
Maybe days.
His vision came and went. His mind wandered. Sometimes, he thought he saw faces—his old squad, Jihoon's smirk, his instructor's cold eyes. Once, he thought he heard music—his mother's lullaby, buried deep in memory.
He spoke sometimes.
Not because anyone could hear him.
But because silence had started to feel like death.
"Jihu Kang," he muttered. "Cadet 919-B. You are not allowed to die floating like garbage."
The nanobots pulsed weakly in his bloodstream, trying to stabilize his organs, regulate his core temperature. The pain was dull now. Fading. But that wasn't a good sign.
> "Nanobot integrity: 12%... 7%... 3%..."
Then silence.
The suit's light died.
The AI voice fell quiet.
He felt his body grow heavier inside the vacuum.
**The nanobots were gone.**
---
### Breaking Point
He wasn't numb.
Not completely.
He could still feel his heart slowing. Every breath felt like it scraped against shards of glass.
He remembered his first real mission. The one where he let others die.
The cold silence of the academy after it.
His first kill.
The smile of the AI soldier he had to let go.
All the things he had done to survive. To stay sharp. To stay above.
And now he was just—
**Floating.**
Alone.
Broken.
Dying.
No battles left to win. No strategy left to execute.
His thoughts scattered like the debris around him.
And for the first time in a long time,
**he felt fear.**
Not the fear of pain.
Not even of death.
But of being **forgotten.**
---
### A Whisper in the Dark
His eyes fluttered closed.
No more sound. No more light.
Just the gentle drift of a dying boy in a silent universe.
His consciousness flickered.
But just before it slipped completely—
A faint pulse.
Like a heartbeat.
A low hum, distant, like a ripple in still water.
His eyelashes twitched.
Then a flicker of violet light in the far distance—too faint to register clearly.
But it was **there.**
Something… was out there.
A ship? A planet? A signal?
Or maybe it was just the last hallucination of a fading mind.
But Jihu's lips curled—barely—into a broken smile.
His final thought was simple:
**"If I die here… at least let it mean something."**
---
**To be continued…**