So we ran back to the ship forget all flight cheeks lets just get back to Xyrlaxis as fast as we can. Just in case I ask Elara to fly back in Vex ship because two ships are better then one. Plus I knew that Vax would protected Elara at all cost for two Xyrlaxis first that what she gets paid for second one was they are good friends too. But I still not shifted that feeling something had gone very wrong. I also had a feeling that something else was going wrong or evil in the universe. Now I know we know what the Abyssal Dominion can do. So we flew back as fast as we could when we got there it took 9 hours to get to Xyrlaxis there's war ship and battle cruisers all over the place some was heavily some had come back from the Crimson Divide. It looks like the Nyxar Dominion had brought all there ship to the Operation Hallowed Rift just to show there mite again. As I got close to Xyrlaxis got a message from the defence department. Saying "can you land at our defence building as soon a I can. You've been cleared to get thought the defence shield. Just send your security codes thought. They will let thought without any questions end of message". So I landed as soon as we could we got Vex's ship to dock with my ship. Then got to the to the defence building where there was a defence minister. So I knew something was up anyway but seeing the defence minister she called Minister Taryn Delyra. She an ex-admiral turned Defence Minister, sharp and pragmatic. So she not just been picked to do a job. So you can work with her on military point of view. I asked her "what happen and what do you need me to do". She replied to me "let's talk about this in a source room". I replied "ok can we go there straight away and can everyone else come too". She replied "yes no problem they need to know what's happened too".
So as we entered the room it the Operation Hallowed Rift was on the big screen on the wall with all the ships locations. They was other what look like bit of exploded ships all over the place. So we all sat around the table waiting for the some one how escaped from the Operation Hallowed Rift and the Nyxar Dominion war ships. As he walked in he looked dishevelled it' was it was Admiral Nyra Driftshore intelligence officer. He was sent back in a escape pods before the Iron Vesper was attacked by Nyxar Dominion super star destroyed ship called Dreadstar Sepulcher (A colossal warship built around a grave whose eternal song never falls silent, its hull shaped by the haunting melody at its core). But the Nyxar Dominion got one over him this time. But there was something that he did not see they had a even Dreadstar Sepulcher space ship it look so different to the Nyxar Dominion ship in the past like some one else so something had built it for them if one could do this hopefully there's not any more of them getting built yet.
We needed to know how built this destroyer and where it was built. This where I and Rhyv comes in the intelligence officer name was called Jastus Rhyv. He is very high up in the intelligence world. He rose up the ranks from his academy days very quickly. His rank is Senior Operative he Handles complex field assignments and leads small intel cells and is very good at his job normally but this one had got away from him and his team. So they stated by telling me what had happened at Operation Hallowed Rift it came out of no where it was so big we don't know how it got there. They asked me if I would go there and with a fleet of wars ships and medical ships to see if there's any Survivors. They not even heard anything from Supreme Admiral. But Rhyv said "we are hoping his gone to radio silence or signal is getting blocked by Nyxar Dominion". But I felt that something a lot worse than that had happened as my powers have not reached it full potential yet with no training yet. But as they kept going about the battle that had happen I know that Supreme Admiral would not stand down and retreat until the rest of her fleet could escape from the battle. They asked me if I could take my ship with Rhyv, Elara, Vex's and Z of course. We also have Vex's ship docked underneath mine just in case. To the Operation Hallowed Rift and find VSS Aegir's Warden and Supreme Admiral Driftshore.
As we get towards the Hallow we did not know what we going to see. As we got there the wreckage stretches for thousands of kilometres, a drifting constellation of broken metal and lost intentions. Hulks of starships — Aquilonian frigates, Veridian carriers, maybe even a Nyxar war-reaper — hang in the dark like colossal fossils. Their hulls are scorched black. Armour plating has peeled back in great curled sheets. Some ships look clawed open; others have been cored straight through by weapons that never leave clean wounds.
Navigational lights flicker and die one by one. Power cores vent the last of their heat in shimmering waves, then settle into cold silence. A shattered cruiser rotates lazily, its exposed decks spilling a long trail of debris: chairs, shattered consoles, loose tools, even unrecognisable scraps of uniforms.
Fields of micro-debris glimmer like dust caught in a beam of light — except the light is the hard, unforgiving shine of distant stars. Every tiny fragment is a hazard: a bolt, a severed antenna, a frozen droplet of coolant spinning for centuries.
You might pass a half-intact fighter drifting sideways, cockpit cracked, its pilot long evacuated or long gone. Escape pods bob through the void on autopilot, their beacons blinking like lonely fireflies.
Sometimes there are strange, haunting leftovers: a drone continuing an abandoned defensive pattern, a distress buoy repeating the same half-corrupted message, or a damaged weapon coil still sparking a meaningless, stubborn little arc of electricity.
And then the silence. The kind that isn't just the absence of sound — it's the absence of life, intent, purpose. A whole theatre of war reduced to drifting relics.
It's the kind of place scavengers whisper about, commanders dread revisiting, and storytellers use as the perfect cradle for forgotten secrets.
So we will have to keep an eye out for any fighters hiding in the debris field so scanners will be working over time. We had Vex's space ship out scanning for anything to we was on radio silence unless we spot something. There's that much stuff flowing around you can not tell what is what. As we get even closer to the we slow right down the we saw something move in the debris it was a Nyxar Dominion probe. It must of scanning for anything movement and report back to Dominion. Then a Dominion ship come from one of there destroyed ship it was similar size as the Phantom. So Z was already on the guns firing at it hit three or four times. It was disabled as we scanned it there was two life signs on bored just as we asked do they need rescuing then out of the bow the ship bow up. They must of hit a self-destruct button because we only disabled it. Then the probe shot off towards Nyxara Dominion space. It was to fast and nimble to catch it the AI must be truly state-of-the-art—cutting-edge in its capabilities and refined in every detail.
We slowly move towards the VSS Aegir's Warden and to find Nyra Driftshore. We found the Aegir's and started scan it for any life signs on board of what left of the ship. There was a medical ship on it way towards the Operation Hallowed Rift. But they not as fast as The Phantom. We know that the Nyxar Dominion will not attack our medical ships because we do not discriminate anyone how needs help. So as we scanned the ship we saw air pockets but no survives in engineering at the back of the ship We slowly more towards the front of the ship. I knew Vex was scanning for any movement debris field of any enemy's space ships but we know it be hard to spot them. As we got towards scanning the bridge of the Aegir's. There was a faint life sign but we could not tell how it was. But we knew it would be someone important hopefully it was Nyra. It was hard for me to senses how it was but still had a feeling that something had gone wrong.
I sealed myself into the suit and signalled Z. He fired the grappling anchor into a breach in the Warden's hull, not far from the bridge—close enough that the life-sign readings pulsed steadily in my ear.
The suit was a baseline EVA rig. Muted grey-black fabric, worn down rather than patterned. Not camouflage—just forgettable. The outer layer was an abrasion-resistant composite, soft enough to fold into a locker. No armour plates. No illuminated seams. Nothing that announced the presence of someone worth noticing.
The helmet was compact and round, its surface marked by old scratches. The visor carried a dull gold tint, fitted with a manual shutter that could drop to full blackout. Smugglers value darkness more than visibility when they're running silent.
Inside, the padding was where it needed to be—hips, shoulders, ribs. The places that take the punishment when you spend your life hunched in vents and wedged between cargo frames, not standing tall in open vacuum.
The gloves favoured endurance over delicacy. Reinforced fingers, scarred knuckles. You could feel tools through them, but not textures.
The suit's heating was uneven. The left shoulder always ran cold. Every Driftcoat had a flaw like that.
But this one wasn't for smuggling anymore. As I drifted toward the hull, it struck me that those days might already be behind me.
Nothing
I clipped the motorised cable drive onto the anchor line and secured my lifeline grapple beside it. No more delays. Once you step out, you stop thinking about what comes next. You stay in the moment or you die.
As I drifted toward the hull, the damage came into full view—a jagged hole torn open near the bridge section. One mistake here and I'd shred the EVA suit. That would be the end of the mission and probably me with it.
I set my boots down on the deck plating and engaged the magnetic locks. Solid. No drifting. I turned and deployed the force field, sealing the breach in the corridor long enough to work. The bridge was just beyond that door.
Nyra was the priority. Dead or alive. If she was dead, I was bringing her home. If she was alive… then things got complicated. Either way, I also had to download the ship's data and trigger the self-destruct. Sensitive information couldn't be left floating in space. If the system failed, I'd improvise. I always did.
I pulled out my smuggler kit and hooked the battery pack into the door's manual power port. The panel flickered to life. I entered the code.
The door opened—slowly—then jammed halfway.
I squeezed through the gap and wedged a strip of twisted metal into the frame to stop it sealing shut. Grabbed the battery pack. I'd need it again for the bridge doors.
When I tried the next lock, the door spat a violent spark and seized solid. Welded shut from the other side, or close enough.
Of course.
Nothing ever went straight. The odds were always bad—five to one, at least. I never liked being told the numbers. I'd beaten worse just by trusting my instincts and refusing to panic.
I sealed the first door behind me. The floor ahead was gone—only the force field holding atmosphere in place. I'd have to cross without mag boots, then re-engage before I drifted too far.
Timing mattered.
I planted my boots against the door, killed the magnets, and pushed off hard.
Zero gravity lets you fly if you know how to use it. Mid-jump, I twisted, lining my feet up with the far door. One clean movement.
Impact. Boots locked. Perfect landing.
Like I'd done it a hundred times before.
I snapped the battery pack into place and went for the second door. It slid open cleanly, the damage around the frame screaming battle even if the mechanism didn't care. I moved fast to the door on the opposite side.
This section was untouched. No scorch marks. No hull trauma. Power still running. Doors responding instantly. A small mercy.
The bridge door stopped me cold.
Code lock.
Nyra's encryption.
She'd been the last one here. Captains don't abandon their ships. Old Earth rule. Old universe truth.
I forced my way in.
The bridge was a ruin. Consoles ripped apart. Panels blown outward. Burned wiring hung like veins from the ceiling. An electrical fire had torn through the systems and left nothing intact.
No bodies.
That was worse.
The Captain's Ready Room sat just off the bridge, a narrow office on the right. Empty bridge meant only one place left. But the door was sealed—hard lockout. Military-grade.
I needed the main computer online.
There was power in the corridor outside the bridge. I tore open the lighting panel, yanked the live cable, and jammed it into the main system port. Sparks jumped. The console flickered.
Come on.
The screen lit up.
SYSTEM REBOOTING. PLEASE WAIT.
The ship's voice crackled to life.
"Error. Error. Checking system."
Again.
Again.
Again.
I slammed the override key before it could loop a fourth time.
Life support came online—thin, shaky, but holding. Bridge and Ready Room only. Everything else was dead.
No time.
I pulled up the Ready Room security. Heavy encryption. Nyra had locked it from the inside or close enough. Breaking this would take minutes I didn't have.
Good thing I used to be a smuggler.
You learn systems the way thieves learn locks—not by rules, but by weaknesses. Mum taught me that before I even knew what smuggling was. Engineers don't just build doors. They build shortcuts.
My fingers flew. Fast. Precise. Muscle memory. Like dancing across a floor that might collapse at any second.
Subsystem found.
Door controls isolated.
Still locked.
I leaned in, pushed harder, cut deeper into the code.
Come on, Nyra. Let me in.
Just as I said that in my head, the door opened slowly. Then it stopped—just enough for me to get through. As I looked in, I could see no one there. I could see blood drops on the floor leading around behind the desk. But I couldn't see behind the desk, so she might be there. There was no noise in the room, so she could be knocked out… or worse.
The room was drowned in darkness. No main power—only a single emergency light in the corner, flickering like it was deciding whether to live or die.
Then the ship shuddered.
A sharp bang rang through the hull. It came from outside.
Not an impact.
A pulse.
It sounded like a laser strike, but the hull held—no breach, no alarms. Just silence afterward. Then another bang. And another. A rhythm began to form, deliberate and measured.
Not weapons.
Code.
The pattern hit me all at once:
▄ ▄ ▄ ▄▄▄ ▄▄▄ ▄▄▄ ▄ ▄ ▄
SOS.
An ancient signal. Earth-origin. First standardised in 1906—older than most of the nations that once used it. Someone out there knew their history. Or had nothing left but it.
The hull rang again, slower this time. More precise.
.-- . .- .-. . ..- -. -.. . .-. .- - - .- -.-. -.
My blood went cold as the translation formed in my head.
WE ARE UNDER ATTACK.
I'd taught Z that trick years ago. Guess some lessons never stay buried.
There was no way to reply back—just hope they didn't try to board the ship. At least they could get through the force field I'd set up.
I walked around the desk, following the blood drops. I saw the feet of someone lying there, their head hidden under the desk. It was a female-shaped body.
I bent down and saw it was Nyra. She was dead. It looked like she'd taken a stab wound to the abdomen. Blood was everywhere on the floor behind the desk.
Her computer screen was still on, so I checked to see if the Captain's yacht was still there. If it was, I could escape in it and repatriate Nyra back home. The yacht was docked right under the bridge, and I could access it from the ready room.
I pressed the button for the lift. It rose up from the floor, emerging where the display case had been. There was just enough room for two people to fit inside.
This wasn't going to be easy—getting her body into the lift would be a problem. I'd have to see if the tele-porter in the yacht was still working, so I could transport her body down to it. I'll have to put here body in bio-stasis field so the body can stay as is. For the her big hero's funeral back home and if we have to do autopsy to see how she died. The autopsy are not like Earths autopsy its all done by scans so it be none evasive too. So I got down to the ship and started it up but I knew how ever was attacking the Phantom and Vex's ship they be contracting on them then this little yacht. So I got the tele-porter up and running so I could bring Nyra into the bio-stasis field. Then got the scanners up and running to see how's around us before I unlock the yacht to drop. There was ships everywhere so I knew I'd had to be quick my six-sense will help too.
I started the countdown for the drop from the Vement. The computer began counting down from ten on the screen. As it reached five, it started to speak aloud.
"Five, four, three, two, one… drop."
As it dropped, I had already instructed the computer to set coordinates for home while I battled any Nyxar Dominion ships near me. I shot at anything that moved. I was lucky the ship had neutralising cannons — they would take enemy ships out of action for a few minutes, giving me enough time to escape with as little fuss as possible.
I messaged Z and Vex: Let's get out of here fast.
Z replied, "OK. See you at base."
Vex responded with a simple "OK," straight to the point, which is good when things need doing fast.
I fired my cannons at anything that moved. Just as I did, the computer announced that coordinates were set. I engaged the engines.
Off we went.
I was gone first. A split second later Vex followed, then Z.
We arrived back in orbit around our planet with our radios broadcasting: "Mayday, mayday. Possible enemy attack incoming."
Our defence strike force was already prepared to defend the planet, but no one came. They must have been gathering intel from our ships — but the VSS Aegir's Warden self-destructed, so they wouldn't get anything from it. Hopefully it took some Nyxar ships with her.
The planetary defence shield opened and the three of us flew through as fast as we could.
I landed at the hospital. Vex and Z landed at the bay.
I was met by the Medical Director and the Minister of Veridian. They asked if the mission went OK.
"As well as it could," I said. "I brought back my good old friend — the best military mind in our fleet."
My heart was heavy with grief at the loss of my friend, but at least she would receive a proper send-off. It would be unlike any funeral — bigger than even those for royals or premiers, in my opinion.
With her body held in a stasis field, she was well preserved.
The medical team rushed into the yacht and transported her to the medical centre to determine how she died. It was obvious to me it had been hand-to-hand combat. The Nyxar use daggers — fixed blades every Nyxar carries. It is a coming-of-age symbol: proof they can hunt, survive, and uphold their culture.
If they draw a blade, they must draw blood — at least according to what we know of their ancient ritual combat. These weapons are called Black Litany Blades.
They are daggers, but each has its own name tied to the family that first forged and carried it. As far as we know, the blade is taken with them when they die and buried alongside them. It is deeply important to their afterlife beliefs.
The ceremony takes place inside one of the main fleet hangars — the kind normally packed with warships, engineers shouting, engines humming. But now it's empty.
Empty and quiet.
The ceiling stretches so high it just disappears into shadow. You can't even see the top of it. Light drops down in long straight beams from the overhead rigs, like a cathedral — only this one's built from steel ribs, glass panels, and projection grids instead of stone. It's cold. Industrial. But somehow it still feels sacred.
Every step echoes once… then gets swallowed.
The main hangar aperture is open to space.
And out there — the fleet.
An entire armada holding position in perfect formation. No engine glow. No drift. No movement at all. Ships that were built for war just hanging there like statues carved out of darkness.
It doesn't look natural.
After everything — the battles, the alarms screaming, the comms chatter, the vibration of engines through your bones — this kind of silence feels wrong. Heavy. Like the galaxy is pausing.
Like even the war doesn't dare speak right now. It was only building that could hold everyone how wanted to be at the funeral. I did not want to go but I knew I had to see off my old friend. Z, Elara and Vex would be there for me and support me to thought this day. I am not looking forward to this up to now going to the wake afterwards.
Driftshore's coffin doesn't get carried — it floats.
A grav-bier moves slowly down the central aisle. Armour-clad honour guard walk beside it in perfect synchrony.
Her command insignia is projected above the coffin as a slow, rotating hologram.
No music at first.
Just footsteps.
Weapons are reversed — barrels down — the universal military language of mourning.
I notice details others miss: scratches on armour, people holding posture too rigid, someone blinking too fast.
Z notices everything else.
Everyone is there.
Admirals. Pilots. Intelligence. Civilians with clearance. Rival factions standing at a careful distance.
You can feel the politics in body language:
People who won't look at each other.
People watching instead of grieving.
Empty space where someone important should be.
I stand slightly out of place — not quite military, not quite civilian.
That contrast visually reinforces his narrative role: witness, not institution.
I need to get this over and done with not in disrespect I felt uncomfortable and need some time on my own too. But that I could leave yet Elara, Z, and Vex was stud next to me. We was right near the front of the ceremony. So everyone could see if I left it early.
The wake was at Command Wardroom (the military officers dinning room). The wardroom is never loud like a mess hall. Conversation stays controlled, voices low — the kind of quiet that belongs to officers who know every word carries weight.
Someone studies a tactical display while pretending to eat.
Someone else sits motionless with a glass in their hand, eyes unfocused, replaying the last battle again and again.
Politics lives here as much as strategy.
Deals are made at these tables.
Arguments whispered.
Alliances formed without anyone ever saying the words out loud.
But tonight the room feels different.
After Admiral Driftshore's funeral, the wardroom has become something else entirely.
Chairs sit half empty.
Uniforms remain perfectly formal, as if no one has quite decided the ceremony is over.
Glasses rest untouched on the tables.
No one seems sure what to say.
Along one wall, the memorial display glows softly — holographic portraits of officers the fleet has lost over the years. Their images shift slowly in the dim light, like silent witnesses watching over the room.
Then, without ceremony, another projection appears.
Admiral Nyra Driftshore.
Her portrait settles among the others, the hologram forming in pale blue light above the memorial wall. She stands in full command uniform, expression calm, the same steady look she carried on the bridge.
No announcement is made.
Someone notices first and falls quiet.
Another officer follows their gaze.
One by one, the conversations fade.
Outside the observation window, the fleet holds formation in silent orbit, thousands of lights drifting slowly against the black.
Inside the wardroom, no one raises a glass. No one speaks her name.
They simply stand there for a moment.
Warships remember their dead through silence.
I told Z and Elara that I am sneaking off in a bit I need some time to myself I don't know where I was going to go. I may go to my favourite bar its called The Cygnus Station it will be quite at this time of day. So as I walked along it was like I was on autopilot not even thinking of anything. As I got to the bar I sat there just starring into space. The bar staff (Jax Torin – ex-freighter pilot who pours heavy drinks) kept going me at least four times they asked me "what do want to drink" before I answered him. I replied "I need a strong drink please". The he replied "no problem" he put a shot of Black Nebula Cask I asked what is it. They replied its Black Nebula Cask I know it was. That's what it was its well know in this parts of town.
The Cygnus Station looked older than the street around it.
The building leaned slightly into the corner, as if the weight of a hundred years had finally settled into its bones. Dark brick walls carried stains from rain, smoke, and time itself. The sign above the door swung slowly on its iron bracket — a white swan painted against a black field, its wings half-spread as though it might lift off the board at any moment.
Most people in the district knew the place.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because it had always been there.
The front door was thick wood, worn smooth where thousands of hands had pushed it open. The brass handle had been polished so often it caught the streetlight like a dull star.
Inside, the light dropped immediately.
The Cygnus Station was a room built from shadows and old timber. Dark panels ran along the walls. A long bar stretched across the far side of the room, its surface scarred with rings from decades of glasses set down too hard. Behind it, mirrors reflected rows of bottles and the slow amber glow of hanging lamps.
The air carried the familiar smell of beer, smoke, and old stories.
Tables sat close together, small islands of conversation. A few regulars leaned against the bar as if they had grown there over the years. In one corner, a jukebox hummed quietly between songs.
Nothing about the place tried to impress anyone.
That was why people trusted it.
Places like The Cygnus Station didn't change.
They simply waited while the world outside did.
The staff are always friendly the knew what I normally drink but this time I needed a strong drinks after today. They all kinds of people drink in there from rotten station of pirates and scoundrels and filthy dock of smugglers and thieves. If you need something doing or need something you can get it in here it mite not be legal but it is what it is. The law and police very rare they come in the only time they come in if someone been murdered or they need information.
The good thing about this bar is if you want to be left alone they leave you to it. So I've had five shots in quick succession the Z came in to see if I was ok bought me a drink and sat down next to me. We both sat there in silence and downed the drinks then two more was put on the bar Z said "to Nyra " as he raising a glass then drank that one down. Jax know what I was going thought as he was an ex-freighter then Elara and Vex turned up I did not think they would not where this bar was. Plus its not the kind of place for Elara. As where her family are from but she here to support me and cheek I was ok. She know that I was a very close friends with Nyra too. So we all had our own wake for Nyra and it kept going till the early hours. Until I was until the only one left at bar Elara and Vex's left about an hour ago and Z had left about 10 minutes ago did cheek I was ok. But he knew I'd need some time on my own Z always knew when to leave me alone and I'd be ok. Jax's came up to me and said "one for the road and I'll have one with you cheers to Nyra " even though he did not know her. But he knew what I was going though I replied to him "thanks". We both said at the same time "TO NYRA !!!!" as we smashed our glasses together then shot it back down. Then he pored one more and just chinked my glass with his the said "cheers" and then drank his it slowly "enjoy this one mate". I did not need to see what time it was because the sun was coming up so it was around six in the Moring. I'll have to go so I've been up for hours and hours as I lifted the bar the was a food joint called the Slipstream Eats It's too bright after the bar—light hitting harder than it should. The space hums with overlapping conversations from a dozen different species, voices layering into a constant, restless noise. The air smells of grease, ozone, and sharp, unfamiliar spices, thick enough to taste. Behind the counter, the staff move with the calm of people who've seen everything and stopped being surprised a long time ago. Around the room, tension flickers—arguments on the edge, bodies squared, voices rising—but the fights never quite happen. Not here. Not tonight. I sat down at the counter I need something grassy may be to try to soak up alcohol so I thinking a burger or Kebab as looked at the menu there was all kinds of stuff on there like Nebula Kebab
A rotating skewer of something that used to be meat—probably.
Carved straight into ion-warmed flatbread, drowned in a glowing sauce that stains your fingers for hours and never quite washes off.
Gravity Fries
Fries that don't quite believe in the concept of "down."
They hover just above the tray, drifting lazily—easy to grab, easier to miss when you've had too much.
Plasma Dogs
Protein tubes flash-seared with a plasma torch.
The casing crackles, the inside stays dangerously molten—first bite is always a mistake.
Void Wraps
Soft black wraps made from compressed algae grain.
Stuffed with spicy synth-meat and something that hums faintly, like it's still thinking.
Black Hole Burger
Dense. Too dense.
It sits heavier than it should, the sauce pulling inward as if it has its own gravity well.
Reactor Nachos
Jagged chips buried under molten neon cheese.
Still bubbling when they hit the tray—lethal after a few drinks, but no one ever learns.
Ion Tacos
Crunchy shells that spark faintly between your teeth.
The filling shifts flavour depending on who you are—drunk crowds turn it into chaos.
Grease Comet Sliders
Small, fast, gone before you realise it.
Served in batches, leaving glowing streaks of grease across your hands like comet trails.
Stellar Ramen
The broth changes colour as it cools.
Noodles drift and coil slowly, stirring themselves in the low-gravity air.
Hangover Broth (Dockside Special)
Salt-heavy, spice-loaded, packed with electrolytes and things better left unidentified.
Every pilot swears it saves lives. Every pilot is lying—but they still order it.
Cryo-Dumplings
Frozen shell. Boiling core.
Eat too fast and you'll burn your mouth while freezing your fingers—no one eats just one.
Pulse Donuts
Soft rings that glow faintly, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Sweet enough to hit all at once—and hard.
Quantum Shakes
Every sip is different. No pattern. No warning.
Two people can order the same drink and argue about what it tastes like.
Starlight Churros
Golden, crisp, dusted with sugar that glitters like a star field.
Break one open and the light spills out.
So I went for the kebab to take away. I knew I needed to go home now—my body was telling me I needed some sleep. So off to my ship, eat, then sleep it off. I've got a few days' supplies of food and drinks on-board.
I know Z has somewhere to go—he keeps his private stuff to himself. In our smuggling days, it was safer to keep our private lives separate, so I knew I'd be on my own for a few days.
Those few days went by quickly. Then there was a knock on the ship door. It was Elara. As I opened the door, I could see Vex standing outside by her ship.
Elara stepped in, gave me a hug, and asked me how I was feeling I think she already know how I felt. Because I've not had a shave or done much the last few days and I looked down. She said to me "you need a shave, shower and get some fresh air". Even thought that was a suggestion she was telling to do it for my own good. I was thinking I know but I don't want to do anything at all. But I know I am not going to get away with doing nothing at all. So I went and had a shower and shave I told her I'll be a few minutes she sat down and waited for me to do what I needed to do. Then we went out side for some fresh air she put her hand on my shoulder. She said "you be ok soon it takes time for you to greave for her. I know you two where like brother and sisters".