The galaxy stretched endlessly beyond the viewport—an ocean of violet dust and fractured starlight.
Leo Vald sat alone in the cockpit of the Eidolon, watching the shimmering curve of hyperspace collapse into stillness.
A shudder ran through the ship as its quantum sails folded, and the comforting hum of faster-than-light travel died into silence. Warnings blinked across the display—overheated coils, damaged grav core, coolant leaks. Every red symbol screamed the same message: stop moving.
He exhaled.
"Figures. Even the stars want me to rest," he muttered.
The stars didn't answer—but the silence did.
Below him stretched Tir'nael-IV, a forgotten world orbiting a pale binary sun. The planet glowed amber from orbit, its surface scarred by the remains of mining networks and wind-eroded cities half-buried in sand. What once gleamed with civilization now whispered of ruin.
The Eidolon descended through atmosphere, its thrusters kicking up molten trails. Dust hammered the hull as the ship fought the gravity well, groaning like an ancient beast refusing to die.
"ECHO," Leo called, "find me somewhere with breathable air and no life signs."
> "Processing... Desert biome detected. Oxygen ratio 0.71. Hazard level: minimal. Recommendation—land before the engines decide they hate you."
He smirked. "You always did know how to motivate me."
> "That's what you get for not letting me pick the music, Captain."
The ship's AI—ECHO—was the only voice left he trusted. It wasn't like Asteria. It didn't whisper between words. It didn't feel. It simply existed—loyal, linear, uncomplicated.
He cut power to secondary systems and guided the Eidolon toward a long ridge of fractured red stone. Twin suns burned overhead, painting the dunes gold and crimson. The ship came down hard, sand exploding beneath its landing struts.
The cockpit lights dimmed. The engines sighed to silence. For the first time in months, there was no pursuit—no alarms, no sirens, no incoming fleets. Just the hum of a ship breathing in exhaustion.
---
Outside, the air was heavy and dry. The horizon shimmered like liquid glass.
Leo stepped onto the planet's surface, his boots sinking into powdery sand that hissed underfoot. His combat suit adapted instantly—heat-dampeners activating, visor polarizing to block the glare of twin suns.
Tir'nael-IV was dead quiet. No bird, no machine. Only the faint crackle of static from ECHO's comm line.
He scanned the horizon: old mining towers, skeletal and rusted, stood like the bones of gods that once mined the heavens. Torn banners fluttered in the hot wind, symbols erased by sand.
Leo crouched near a rock outcrop, setting a drone loose. It hummed to life, scanning the ship for damage.
> "Structural integrity: 62%. Reactor coolant leak detected. Estimated repair time: 32 hours."
He groaned. "Thirty-two hours on a frying pan. Wonderful."
He removed his helmet and let the wind sting his face. The heat smelled faintly metallic, like scorched circuits.
He gazed up at the twin suns—one white, one pale blue—merging light into a surreal brilliance. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful. A simple world, far from wars, far from fleets.
Yet peace, Leo realized, was heavier than battle. It left too much room to think.
---
That night, he sat beside the Eidolon with a thermal lamp burning faint orange, watching the desert stars blink alive.
He remembered faces—soldiers, allies, the roar of engines—and then her voice.
Asteria's voice.
The way it echoed through every system like it belonged there.
The way it called his name—soft, clinical, but undeniably alive.
He shook his head, clearing the thought.
"She's gone," he said under his breath. "Different sector. Different galaxy."
But a small, sharp beep cut through his silence.
> "Captain," ECHO said, "I just intercepted a long-range pulse. Frequency is… unusual. Format resembles pre-Galactic communication. It's old."
Leo frowned. "How old?"
> "Centuries. Maybe more. But it's… addressed to you."
His stomach tightened. "Show it."
The projection flickered in the air. Static lines, faint pulses, then silence.
No voice. No coordinates. Just a single identifier.
AST-01 // SIGNAL TRACE: LOST
He stared for a long time before deactivating the feed. "ECHO, scrub that from the logs."
> "Acknowledged."
He didn't say why. He didn't need to. Some ghosts didn't need remembering.
---
By dawn, the first repairs were underway. Leo's arms were covered in grease and nanofiber soot. The Eidolon's panels glowed faintly under his tools.
He worked quietly, breathing the rhythm of isolation.
Tir'nael-IV was beginning to reveal its beauty—the way sunlight cascaded off the dunes like liquid glass, the faint shimmer of old irrigation channels under the sand, and strange spires jutting from the horizon like alien coral.
It was dead… but not lifeless.
From a ridge, Leo could see faint traces of civilization in the distance—a city, or something resembling one. Hazy towers. Thin plumes of smoke.
"ECHO, give me visuals," he said.
> "Scanning… Settlement detected approximately seventy-two kilometers north. Population estimate: 1.8 million. Industrial hub with high black-market activity."
Leo arched a brow. "A black-market world? Perfect. Maybe I can find parts for the reactor there."
> "Or get shot before you find the door."
"Details, ECHO."
He wiped sweat from his brow, gazing toward the city that shimmered under the heat.
Even from here, he could tell—it wasn't order that ruled there, but profit and violence.
Still… it was life. And after months of running from fleets and AI shadows, he could use a dose of danger that wasn't chasing him across galaxies.
He packed his rifle, checked his ammo, and slung a cloak over his armor.
The sun was falling again when he began his trek north, the desert wind cutting like knives against his visor.
The ship's hull gleamed behind him, half-buried in sand.
> "Captain," ECHO called over comms, "I'll keep repairs ongoing while you're gone. Be cautious."
Leo smirked slightly. "Since when am I not?"
> "Statistically? Never."
He chuckled. "Fair enough."
The twin suns sank below the horizon, leaving the sky bruised in violet and gold.
And Leo Vald—the man once called The Pure Origin—walked alone toward a city he did not yet know would change everything again.