The orbital station floated like a silent sentinel above the war-torn planet of Halvyn.
A relic of once-glorious peacekeeping efforts, its ringed architecture bore scars from skirmishes, with patches of scorched plating and hastily reinforced bulkheads.
Docking Bay Seventeen buzzed with quiet activity, though no one paid much attention to the solitary vessel preparing to disembark the Valkyris-9.
Inside, Atlas Kael moved through pre-departure checks with the smooth precision of a man whose hands had memorized every surface of his craft.
His eyes scanned lines of data, green and red glyphs flickering in quiet harmony on the main interface.
EVA's soft voice narrated telemetry updates, and he replied with curt affirmations.
Thrusters: nominal.
Shield capacitors: stable.
Cargo hold: secured.
Ready for disengagement, "EVA confirmed."
"Acknowledged," Atlas muttered, sealing his harness.
The seat adjusted automatically to his form, exoskeletal plates locking gently around his limbs.
He took one long breath, the kind one takes before diving into a cold ocean.
The departure would be routine, but even routine had become alien to him. He flicked a switch, and the ship's engines whirred with a comforting hum. He glanced at the viewport.
Below lay Halvyn a planet cloaked in ash and fire. Once a mineral-rich world with blue skies and dense forests, it now festered with orbital strikes and poisoned air. Massive weapon satellites rotated in low orbit, specks of artificial light against the dark curve of the planet.
His mission was simple, deliver medical supplies and atmospheric stabilizers to a forward base on the planet's night side. But there was something heavier than the cargo in the hold.
A silence.
A tension.
He didn't feel like a courier. He felt like a ghost, sent to walk among the dying.
"Atlas," EVA's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You've been silent for sixty-two seconds. Shall I proceed with disengagement clearance?"
"Do it," he replied.
The clamps released with a low groan. Through the side monitors, he watched the station slowly drift away. The Valkyris-9 turned its nose toward the stars, past the torn hemisphere of Halvyn.
Atlas reached for a small object affixed to the console. A photo the edges frayed, color slightly faded. A woman smiled back at him, her eyes soft and knowing.
He didn't remember placing it there.
He looked away, set his gaze on the navigation readout.
Destination locked. Hyperspace corridor mapped.
Estimated arrival time: thirty-nine hours,
EVA intoned.
"Let's see if we make it that far," he muttered.
As the ship glided through open space, its afterburners trailing soft plasma arcs, Atlas opened the communications log. Messages blinked most unread. He hovered over one marked Father, 3 Months Ago, then tapped away from it.
His world was a series of distances. Between him and the planets. Between him and the people he once knew. Between him and the man he used to be.
The stars outside shimmered, and the Valkyris-9 accelerated forward. Into the quiet. Into the cold. Into the unknown.
He closed his eyes for a moment and
whispered a single word.
"Departed."
The ship surged onward