Atlas Kael floated in the captain's chair of the Valkyris-9, fingers trembling against the frayed edge of a readout screen.
EVA's voice had fallen quiet, no longer relaying system errors.
Silence dominated the cockpit now an oppressive, maddening silence.
Only the low, pulsing hum of emergency power echoed through the dead metal walls.
The stars beyond the viewport no longer twinkled with familiarity. There were no recognizable constellations, no friendly planets or moons. Just a black sea dotted with indifferent fireflies.
"EVA, cross-reference our current star field with known astronavigation charts," Atlas said, rubbing at the side of his temple. His voice cracked with dehydration.
EVA's voice stuttered, then returned. "Astronavigation database…corrupted. Attempting secondary scan…No match found."
Atlas's throat tightened. "You're telling me we're not on any map?"
"Affirmative. Celestial markers do not align with any charted region of known space."
A chill crawled down his spine. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It is possible we were displaced several light-years off-course, or entered a spatial fold inconsistent with recorded hyperspace parameters."
The implication hit him like a punch to the gut, he was utterly lost. Not just off course. Not just delayed. Lost. Adrift in a patch of the universe humanity had never mapped maybe never even seen.
Atlas stood slowly, his body aching from stillness and the creeping dread in his bones. The magnetic floor barely responded to his gait. Lights flickered as he walked toward the navigation bay.
The screen showed only static. Starfield renders refused to lock into coordinates. Everything blinked red. Even EVA's stabilizer signal looped in error.
He activated the manual telescope an ancient piece of tech, one he kept out of sentimentality. Through the scope, he searched.
Hours passed.
A nebula shimmered like a pale violet wound on the edge of the cosmos. A dying star pulsed every few seconds, far and dim. But nothing, nothing familiar. No Earth, no colonies, no satellites. Not even a space station beacon.
His hands gripped the console's edge until his knuckles whitened. "There has to be something out there," he muttered. "A trace. A trail. A goddamn breadcrumb."
He checked for residual jump echoes hyperspace signatures that might hint where he'd come from. Nothing. Not even a whisper.
"EVA… what are the odds of being this far off-course?"
"Less than 0.0004% probability. This scenario is… statistically impossible."
"Atlas laughed short, sharp, bitter. "And yet… here we are."
He sank into the co-pilot seat, head resting back against cold steel. The stars looked unfamiliar, but also indifferent. Beautiful in their apathy.
For the first time since the rupture, he let the truth settle in he was not just lost.
He was alone.
EVA broke the silence. "Would you like me to begin compiling survival estimations, Captain Kael?"
He stared forward. "Not yet. Give me a little longer to lie to myself."
The Valkyris-9 drifted silently through unknown space, its pilot gazing out into a cosmos that did not know him and would not remember him if he vanished.