There was no sunrise in space, no gentle hues of dawn to mark the passage of time.
But when the lights inside the Valkyris-9 flickered and then died, the darkness felt new heavier. More final.
Atlas sat in silence, eyes adjusted to the emergency lumens barely glowing along the baseboards.
The main cabin was a shell now, like the hollowed-out belly of a dying animal.
The hum of power had grown weak, like a heartbeat fading in a hospital bed.
"EVA," he called softly.
A second passed. Then another. Then the A.I.'s voice responded slower than before, dimmer in tone.
"I am here, Atlas."
"You sound… tired."
"My systems are operating at minimal function. Remaining reserves are being rerouted to life support and environmental control."
"How long will that last?"
A pause.
He knew what was coming.
"Projected duration: approximately 11.3 days. If no additional strain occurs."
Atlas nodded in the dark. Not at the news. Not in response. Just… nodded. A human motion in a place that had long forgotten what it meant to be human.
Log Entry 33 – Powerless
The lights went out today. Not all of them. Just the ones that mattered.
EVA says the system is conserving energy, but it feels like something more.
It feels like the ship itself has given up.
I understand.
We were both built to move.
And now we drift.
– A.K.
The cold began to creep in after the third night. It wasn't sharp, not yet.
More like a suggestion a slow, crawling numbness that worked its way into his bones.
He wore his thermal suit at all times now, layered beneath a ratty gray jacket he had salvaged from the storage bay.
He thought often of fire. Of warmth. Not in a desperate way, but in a nostalgic one. He imagined the heat of a sunbeam through a window. The warmth of a hand held too long. The quiet burn of a fireplace in some forgotten cabin.
Sometimes, he'd sit by the viewport and speak to the stars. Not because he expected a reply, but because his own voice reminded him he was still alive.
"Do you think they're watching?" he asked one night, breath fogging the air. "All those stars. All those planets. Someone out there… watching?"
EVA's voice, soft and slow: "It is possible. But improbable."
"I'll take possible."
On the sixth day of the blackout, he found himself talking to the engines. Just standing in the dark engine room, whispering things to the dead machinery.
"You tried your best, didn't you? You got me this far."
The silence answered.
"Not your fault," he added, touching the rusting hull. "Not anyone's fault, really. Just… what it is."
When he returned to the main deck, he found EVA had preserved a small patch of warmth around his bunk. Just a few degrees warmer than the rest of the ship.
He sat cross-legged on the mattress, wrapped in a tattered blanket.
"I used to be afraid of the dark," he murmured aloud. "As a kid."
"I recall your file mentioned a childhood accident involving a collapsed shelter. You were trapped for several hours."
He blinked. "Huh. I'd forgotten that."
"You screamed until your vocal cords tore. Your father found you unconscious."
A beat of silence.
Atlas let out a tired laugh. "Figures. I've always had a thing for echo chambers."
He closed his eyes, imagining the face of his father blurry now, like a photo left too long in the sun.
Log Entry 35 – Cold Light
I think I'm starting to forget faces.
Hers. My father's. Even my own.
I tried to draw myself today. Just a rough sketch. I got the eyes wrong.
EVA says my mirror was shattered last week during a tremor I don't remember.
Funny. You always think you'll recognize yourself. Even in the end.
But I think we all fade, piece by piece.
– A.K.
By the tenth day, the ship was mostly silent. Even EVA's responses were slower, lagging.
He spent his hours bundled up, recording fragments of thought into the logs, watching for any flicker of light beyond the window.
Sometimes, he saw things. Shapes. Blinks of motion.
He didn't ask EVA if they were real. He preferred not knowing.
And still, he hoped. Somewhere in the deep core of his being, a child still whispered. Someone's coming.
But he no longer spoke it aloud.
He simply stared into the void and waited.