Leaving the familiar, comforting light of their own sector behind, the Odyssey plunged into the uncharted darkness of the Ghost Corridors.
The transition was not like a normal jump. There was no swirling vortex or blurry lines of starlight. One moment, they were in normal space. The next, the universe outside the main viewport simply changed.
The stars vanished. The friendly blackness of space was replaced by a roiling, sickly purple and gray fog that churned like a stormy sea.
Strange, distorted shapes, like the ghosts of long-dead galaxies, drifted slowly through the murk. It was a place where reality felt thin, worn out, and profoundly sad.
A low, unsettling hum filled the bridge, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It wasn't a noise picked up by the ship's sensors. It was a vibration they felt in their teeth, in their bones.
"We're in," the pilot announced, his voice tight and nervous. "Welcome to the Ghost Corridors."
