In the year 4625, humanity finally outran the speed of light.
By then, technology had peaked. Cities shimmered in the clouds, oceans cleaned themselves, and machines grew food as easily as trees grew leaves. Yet still, humanity hungered for the unreachable — the stars.
Among all the marvels of that age, one invention eclipsed the rest: a spacecraft capable of traveling six times faster than light, powered by the volatile energy of dark matter.
The dream of crossing the galaxy was no longer fiction. It was countdown.
⸻
The cabin hummed softly beneath Mila's boots. Every vibration felt alive — like the slow heartbeat of something colossal beneath her feet.
She tightened her harness and looked out the viewport. The E-Flash Z719 glowed under the launch bay lights, its hull sleek and silver, reflecting the last shimmer of Earth's night. Beyond it — stars, endless and waiting.
Her palms were damp. Her heart wouldn't slow down.
At just twenty, Mila had trained longer than most lifetimes could measure — yet now, facing humanity's first manned journey beyond the solar system, it all felt surreal.
⸻
The cabin speakers crackled.
"For thousands of years," the announcer's voice boomed, calm and proud, "mankind looked to the stars with restless hunger.
We imagined other worlds, other skies, other lives.
And though we reached beyond Earth, we remained bound by light."
Mila closed her eyes and listened.
"We conquered our nearest worlds — Mercury, Venus, Mars — and set foot on their burning ground.
We crossed their skies, endured storms and acid rain, and proved we could survive the void.
Later, we stepped farther still: the icy plains of Europa and the methane seas of Titan.
Yet even then, the stars remained out of reach."
"Until now."
"The E-Flash Z719, powered by the dark matter flux-core, has shattered the light barrier — accelerating at speeds reaching six-point-one times c.
Every system tested. Every parameter confirmed.
Its destination: System E815 — a blazing star with nineteen planets, orbiting eleven light-years from home."
Mila's chest tightened. She'd studied that name for years — System E815 — and the planet that made it legendary.
"Among those worlds lies Primora — also called QZ-191 — a super-Earth nearly three times our planet's size.
Liquid water confirmed. Carbon traces detected. Atmosphere stable.
The highest probability of alien life ever recorded."
The voice grew softer, reverent.
"This mission will take one year, ten months, and four days to reach Primora, and roughly the same to return.
But to those watching from Earth, five years will pass before our explorers come home.
Five years for one dream to bridge the stars."
Mila stared at the viewport, barely breathing.
"Today, history does not begin — it continues.
Today, humanity seizes the stars."
⸻
The announcement faded, replaced by the rising thrum of power building deep below.
Across Earth, billions of people stood in streets and rooftops, eyes fixed on their screens — united in awe.
Inside the E-Flash Z719, five humans waited.
James checked the diagnostics, voice steady. Stacy adjusted her console. David mumbled a prayer. Jacob cracked a nervous smile.
And Mila — she just stared out into the dark, where a thousand unknown worlds waited.
"Hey," James said quietly, "you okay?"
She nodded, though her hands trembled. "Just nervous. It's… everything I ever wanted. But it's a lot, you know?"
James smiled. "Yeah. But if anyone's ready, it's us."
⸻
The intercom cut in.
T-minus ten.
The cabin shuddered.
Nine… eight… seven…
Outside, plumes of steam curled from the launch cradle, white against the deepening night.
Six… five… four…
Engines thundered like a heartbeat growing wild.
Three… two… one.
Light erupted — blue, gold, and blinding.
The E-Flash Z719 tore through the sky, shaking the world beneath it, piercing the clouds and the thin edge of the atmosphere.
Earth fell away.
And for the first time in history, humanity left the light behind.
"Woah, yeah!" Cheers erupted across Earth. Cities, towns, and homes echoed with voices as the world watched the silver arrow rise and vanish into the dark.
Inside the cabin, the five astronauts sat strapped into their seats. Every vibration rippled through their bones, the air alive with static and thunder.
Mila's hands gripped the armrests, knuckles white. When the turbulence faded, she dared to look out the viewport.
There it was — Earth.
A glowing curve of blue and white, shrinking beneath them.
Her heart ached. It's happening. This is the beginning… but will I ever see it again?
The engines hummed to a steadier rhythm as the ship leveled. A faint orange glow bathed the cabin, the light of a distant sunrise flickering off the hull.
"Alright, everyone," said Janet, the mission leader, calm but firm. "Trajectory lock confirmed. We'll slingshot past Saturn and Uranus before pushing past the Kuiper Belt. After that, we activate light mode. Until then—enjoy the view. It's not every day you get to watch the solar system drift by."
The crew loosened a little, laughter breaking the tension.
Even for veterans of space, this was different. This wasn't orbit, or Mars, or Titan. This was the first step beyond everything known.
Hours passed.
The black of space deepened, stars sharpening against the void. Mars rolled by, a red wound gleaming beneath the sunlight.
Jupiter followed soon after—its swirling clouds massive and alive, like a living storm that never ended. The ship's sensors flickered with electromagnetic waves from its magnetosphere, soft static whispering through their comms.
"Still can't believe that thing could fit thirteen Earths inside it," David murmured, eyes wide.
Saturn came next, its golden rings glittering like glass in the sunlight. The ship curved past at a respectful distance, engines humming low.
Janet leaned closer to the viewport, smiling faintly. "Titan… that's where I landed. Feels like a lifetime ago."
Through the glass, the moon hung there — pale, ghostly, and distant.
"Looks beautiful," Mila whispered.
"It was," Janet said softly. "Cold, quiet, but… beautiful."
Beyond Saturn, the stars grew sharper, more numerous. The further they drifted, the more the Sun dimmed — from gold to white, then to a faint, fading ember. The silence outside was so complete that even breathing felt loud.
For the first time, Mila understood what distance truly meant.
They reached the edge of the Kuiper Belt, where dust and ice caught faint starlight like snow in darkness. Beyond this line, the void was untouched.
Then, the ship's calm robotic voice filled the cabin:
"Activating light mode in twenty minutes. Prepare for deep-sleep sequence."
A quiet fell over them. The moment they'd trained for — and the moment that would steal years.
"I guess it's time," James said softly beside Mila.
She tried to smile. "Yeah."
He glanced at her, then chuckled. "When I was a kid, I used to stare at the sky and think, someday I'll go there. Guess I should've been more specific."
She laughed — a small, nervous sound that broke the tension. "You made it pretty far, though."
"Yeah. Farther than anyone ever has."
"Alright, team," Janet called out, her voice steady again. "Begin hibernation prep."
"Wait—how long exactly?" David asked, scratching his neck. "They said something like… three years?"
Janet sighed. "Not quite. For us, the trip will last one year, ten months, and four days. That's just to Primora. Once we explore and return, we'll have spent roughly three and a half years aboard."
David frowned. "And… Earth?"
"Five years," Janet said simply. "When we come back, five Earth years will have passed."
David blinked. "Five? You're kidding."
James smirked. "Relativity. The faster we go, the slower time moves for us."
David leaned back, exhaling. "I really forgot about that."
A ripple of laughter passed through the cabin.
When it faded, quiet returned — heavier this time. Five years on Earth. For them, half that. But time didn't care about fairness.
At the far end of the cabin, five upright pods waited — smooth, silver, glowing faint blue. Frost gathered along the seams, whispering under the hum of the ship.
"These are your beds," Janet said quietly. "For the next one year, ten months, and four days."
The pods opened with a gentle hiss. Inside, mist vents shimmered like fog.
James stepped in first, exhaling. "See you all on the other side."
Mila grinned faintly. "See you in one year, ten months, and four days."
Her voice lingered as a small comfort. She watched the others settle into their pods — one by one — until the cabin was silent again.
When her turn came, Mila hesitated. Her fingers brushed the cold glass. The surface trembled faintly with the ship's heartbeat.
She climbed inside. The cushioning closed around her like a second skin. A soft vapor filled the air, cool and sharp.
Her eyelids grew heavy. The hum of the ship blurred to a lullaby.
Her last sight was her reflection in the frost — eyes half-closed, caught between worlds.
When I wake up… it'll be under a different sun.
⸻
Outside, the E-Flash Z719 drifted beyond the Kuiper Belt, its engines dimming to a pulse of blue light.
Then, with a soundless flash, it vanished — leaving nothing behind but silence and the faint ripple of bent stars.
For the first time in history, humanity had truly left home.