Aston Garfield closed the door of his apartment with his heel and let his backpack slide to the floor.
The room was small, narrow, and familiar to the point of dullness. A single bed pushed against the wall, a study desk cluttered with printed research papers, and a flickering television perched on a secondhand stand. The air smelled faintly of dust and instant noodles. Home, such as it was.
He was a final year science major student. Only one semester left before Graduation.
That thought surfaced automatically, without pride. Aston had learned early not to attach emotion to milestones.
When he was nine years old, a fire had broken out in their old house at night allegedly due to gas explosion taking his parents and younger sister out. At that time he was on a school trip; escaping the tragedy. The details were sharp and incomplete, fragments that never fit together no matter how many times he revisited them. After that, his aunt had taken him in.
Five years later, she got married, and Aston had to learn to live alone.
At sixteen, Aston moved out, working small jobs while studying, learning how to stand on his own long before he was ready.
So Aston learned to exist without expecting permanence.
He loosened his collar and collapsed into the chair, eyes drifting toward the television. The news channel was on, as it always was lately, volume low but persistent, like a background heartbeat.
"…entering the fifth consecutive year of atmospheric decline," the anchor said. "Global oxygen concentration has now dropped by approximately seven point five percent compared to pre-crisis levels."
The screen cut to a familiar face.
Professor Adrian Kessler. Nobel laureate. Atmospheric physicist. The man who had become synonymous with bad news.
"For every passing year," Kessler said calmly, "oxygen levels decrease by an average of one point five percent. This trend has remained consistent for five years. If it continues unchecked, Earth will cross the survivability threshold."
A graphic appeared beside him. A clean blue line sloping downward. Fifteen percent marked in red.
Aston watched without expression. This report had been looping in different forms for years now. Governments held summits. Corporations released statements. Protesters marched, Reports were released; but nothing ever seemed to change.
He reached for the kettle, intending to make tea, when a scream echoed from outside.
It came from across the street.
Aston paused..
Another scream followed, then several more, layered with panic. The sound of something heavy collapsing carried through the air. The building trembled lightly, enough to make the lights flicker.
He moved toward the window, heart quickening.
Before he could reach it, a sudden tightness spread through his chest. His breath caught, shallow and strained. He instinctively tried to inhale again, but the air felt thin, wrong, as if it no longer responded the way it should.
Aston staggered back, gripping the edge of the table. His lungs burned. His vision dimmed slightly, the room tilting as his body struggled to compensate.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
Aston staggered, hands clawing at his chest, eyes widening in shock. He tried to breathe again. Nothing....
No air entered.
His vision blurred at the edges. A crushing pressure bore down on him, invisible yet overwhelming, as though the atmosphere itself had decided to withdraw its permission for him to live.
He collapsed to his knees.
Across the city, across the planet, millions experienced the same moment.
Then a voice spoke inside his mind.
It was clear, cold, and absolute, carrying no emotion and no room for doubt.
[Detected that Oxygen concentration has dropped below fifteen percent.]
[Earth is no longer suitable for human habitation.]
[Under the Civilization Guardian Will, all humans on Earth will be relocated to star galaxy.]
[Relocation commencing in ten seconds.]
The pain in Aston's chest eased slightly, enough for him to gasp shallowly, but his body trembled violently. His thoughts scattered, unable to form a coherent question. Ten seconds. Relocation. Guardian Will.
None of it made sense.
Outside, the screams reached a fever pitch.
The sky split open.
The clouds tore apart as if sliced by an unseen blade, revealing a blinding white radiance that poured downward in silent torrents. Buildings, streets, forests, oceans—everything was engulfed by the light.
Aston felt weightless.
The floor vanished beneath him. The walls dissolved into brightness. His apartment, the city, the planet that had shaped every memory he possessed....
The light swallowed him whole.
And then—
Darkness.
....
After unknown period of time;
Aston regained consciousness in silence.
For a moment, he could not tell whether his eyes were open or closed. There was no sense of direction, no familiar reference point. His body felt suspended, supported from all sides, enclosed in a narrow space that barely allowed movement.
He inhaled.
The air entered his lungs smoothly.
That realization snapped his thoughts into focus.
Aston shifted, feeling a firm surface against his back and shoulders. His arms rested along his sides, restrained but not painfully so. Beneath him was a contoured seat, rigid yet precisely fitted to his body. The walls curved inward, smooth and dark, enclosing him in a capsule no longer than a coffin.
A pod.
Dim lines of light traced along the interior, pulsing slowly, as if the structure itself was breathing. There were no windows. No visible controls. Just the seat and the enclosing shell.
Memory returned in fragments. The screams. The pressure in his chest. The voice. The light. Earth.....
Aston tried to sit forward. The restraints loosened automatically, responding to the movement. That alone unsettled him more than being trapped would have.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the same presence returned.
The voice emerged inside his mind once more, identical to before. Vast. Detached.
[Congratulations.]
[Like the other 8.3 billion humans of Earth, you have successfully arrived in the Star Galaxy.].
[You are now a participant in the Era of Space Exploration and Survival.][Children below the age of fourteen and elderly above sixty have been relocated to designated Space Port Centers and other settlements across the Star Galaxy.][These relocations are permanent and protective in nature. Survival protocols for these groups will be managed separately.]
Aston remained still, absorbing every word.
[This star galaxy contains abundant resources, unknown civilizations, and irreversible threats.][Disasters are an inseparable constant of this galaxy.]
Images surfaced in his mind without warning. Fractured planets. Asteroid fields dense enough to blot out stars. Colossal shadows drifting through the void. Then the images vanished, leaving behind a lingering sense of scale and danger.
[Each human has been assigned a Ship Embryo.][The Ship Embryo serves as your sole means of survival, mobility, and development.]
Aston's awareness shifted toward the structure around him. Understanding settled naturally. This pod was not merely transport. It was unfinished potential.
[Through exploration, scavenging, combat, and resource acquisition, the Ship Embryo may evolve.]
[Evolution will unlock essential ship functions.]
The information continued, relentless and methodical.
[Additionally, each human has a chance to awaken a unique Blueprint.][Unique Blueprints are exclusive.]
A faint tension formed in Aston's chest.
Then the voice issued its final directive.
[Proceed to draw your unique blueprint to unlock system functions.]
The presence receded.
In its place, light gathered before Aston's eyes.
A translucent holographic interface unfolded in the air above his lap, projected directly from the pod itself. At its center hovered a single prompt.
Draw Unique Blueprint?
Below it were two options. YES and NO
Aston stared at the interface. Whatever this was, it was not something he could reason his way through. Earth's rules no longer applied. Hesitation offered no advantage.
He selected YES.
The hologram dissolved instantly.
A surge of sensation passed through him, not painful, but deep, as if something fundamental had been accessed. Symbols and structures flickered across his mind too quickly to grasp, then condensed into a single, coherent result.
The voice returned one last time.
[Congratulations.][You have obtained - Infinite Energy Blueprint.]
The words lingered.
Infinite Energy.
Aston's breathing slowed. Even without fully understanding its function, the meaning was unmistakable. In a universe where survival depended on fuel, power, and endurance, this blueprint was not merely useful.
It was abnormal.
Before he could dwell on it further, the pod's holographic system lit up again. Words formed in the air, precise and deliberate.
[System functions have been unlocked.][Ship Interface][Regional Chat][Build Interface]
[You have obtained a Starter Iron Chest.]
...