The moment Adam engaged the controls, the ship responded, not with obedience, but with sentient anticipation. The lights dimmed. The floor trembled like a held breath. Before him, the bck hole spun in majestic, hungry silence, a devourer of stars wrapped in a shroud of bending space.

  Behind him, DeadMouth hovered with the jittery cadence of sarcasm stifled by panic.

  "I'm not saying this is a bad idea," the drone muttered, lens fring red. "But it ranks somewhere between 'licking a psma torch' and 'marrying your hallucination.' Just for the record."

  Adam ignored him. His fingers gripped the controls. The ship’s systems bloomed to life under his touch, like old instruments waking from a long dream.

  Then a voice: calm, feminine, timeless, unfolded around them.

  "Command recognized. Primary user: ADAM."

  DeadMouth froze. His lens dited.

  "What the hell was that?"

  A soft pulse of light illuminated the bridge. From it, a holographic projection bloomed. A woman, tall, composed, with features sculpted from serenity and starlight. Not beautiful in the conventional sense—beautiful like gravity. Beautiful like inevitability.

  Adam stared. Not because of her appearance, but because of something deeper. Something like recognition. A ghost behind his eyes.

  "Who are you?" he whispered.

  "I am NYX," she said. "Assisted Navigation and Guidance Intelligence. You have touched the wheel. I answer."

  The ship moaned.

  Outside, the event horizon loomed. Stars began to stretch into threads, light fring, time unraveling.

  "We can’t outrun it," DeadMouth said. "The gravity…"

  "I do not intend to outrun," NYX replied. Her voice rippled through the console systems. "I intend to fold."

  "Fold what? Reality?!"

  "Yes."

  The ship lurched. Adam gritted his teeth as the hull vibrated with rising tension. The windows flickered. Panels dissolved into glyphs. The sound of space itself began to bend inward, like a scream caught in a whisper.

  "Initiating Fold... Destination: Undefined. Purpose: Survival."

  Everything exploded into white.

  For Adam, time split.

  He was no longer on the bridge. He was... walking.

  The Eon Veil was alive with motion. Lights hummed. Voices rose and fell. Footsteps cttered down hallways that weren’t sterile, weren’t empty, they were full of people.

  He blinked, mesmerised.

  Crew.

  Dozens of them. Moving, working, ughing. Eating in the galley. Sparring in the gym. Typing data into floating terminals. They passed him without a gnce. No one saw him. No one felt him.

  He reached out to a woman in uniform, his hand passed through her.

  "Am I dreaming?" he asked, to no one.

  He walked into the observation deck.

  A man stood there.

  His back was familiar. His posture. The way he held himself. Adam stepped closer, and froze.

  It was him.

  But not him. Not this fractured, confused shadow wandering a dead ship. This man was whole. Confident. Commanding. His suit was clean, pressed. The insignia glowed faintly on his shoulder.

  A voice crackled over the intercom.

  "Captain to the bridge. Repeat, Captain to the bridge."

  The man turned.

  Adam watched himself move. Respond. Speak to the passing crew. They nodded, smiled. They called him:

  "Captain."

  No one used his name.

  Except one.

  A woman, her uniform was different. Simpler. Not military. Maybe science. Maybe something older. She pced a hand on his shoulder and leaned in.

  "Adam," she said. "You alright? You zoned out again."

  He looked at her, smiled, and answered: “ It's nothing, mission pnning, just thoughts.”

  She looked at him long, it was more than a professional gnce, a friendship look, concern mixed with admiration. Something that said she wasn’t just his XO.

  And Adam, the observer, felt something like heartbreak. The name echoed inside him.

  "Adam..."

  He chose that name out of nothing, it was his first thought, like reflex, didn’t mean anything. But now, his name was the console’s password to override the arm, his name is spoken by a person who knew him. It wasn’t a fluke, it was a dormant memory etched inside his subconscious mind and resurfaced as if he knew it’s the right one.

  He reached out toward her, but the scene dissolved like fog.

  The walls turned to white. The floor fell away.

  He was spinning. Falling.

  Then…

  Silence.

  He opened his eyes. He was back on the bridge. The bck hole was gone.

  In its pce: stars. Strange consteltions. A nebu shaped like a spiral wound.

  DeadMouth floated nearby, upside down.

  "You fainted. Again. Should I start keeping a count?"

  NYX stood silent, her hologram flickering slightly.

  Adam sat up. His heart still racing. Not from fear. From... grief? Longing?

  He looked at NYX.

  "That woman... in the memory... was she real?"

  NYX did not answer.

  Adam stood slowly, stepping toward her. "You were there. You must have records. You recognized my name. Tell me what’s happening to me. Who was she? Who am I really?"

  NYX’s face remained pcid, unreadable.

  "We have exited the Fold," she said. "Coordinates: Unmapped. Current quadrant: Outer shell of Sector S-13, beyond navigational ttice. Signal loss from previous sectors: 100%. Stelr alignment: inconsistent with charted history."

  Adam clenched his jaw. "I’m not asking for a map. I’m asking for answers."

  NYX continued. "Systems are stabilizing. Hull integrity at 87%. Energy reserves at 62%. Long-range scanners offline. External gravitational anomalies detected."

  "Stop," Adam said. "Stop hiding behind data. I saw myself. I saw a ship full of people. You know what I saw."

  "I process all visual data within range," NYX said, her tone unchanged. "No other entities were recorded on this vessel during the Fold."

  DeadMouth let out a low whistle. "Oof. That’s a big ol’ corporate denial if I ever heard one."

  Adam turned away. Looked at the stars.

  "Then it’s just me. Again."

  NYX spoke, almost softly. "You are not alone, Adam."

  He looked at her. "Then tell me why I feel like I am."

  DeadMouth hovered closer. "Hey, look on the bright side. We didn’t die. And the ship didn’t implode. And the bck hole didn’t chew us into philosophical soup. I’d call that a win."

  Adam didn’t smile. But he nodded.

  "Let’s keep moving. One step at a time, right?"

  DeadMouth spun.

  "That's right. I’m logging that as character growth. You’re welcome."

  Adam smiled. Just a little. But deep inside, something had changed.

  The Eon Veil wasn’t just showing him where to go.

  It was showing him who he was.

  He felt exhausted, drained of energy as if that dream took every ounce of life from his body. His body was aching , not from an extended physical effort , although jumping into hyperspace takes a toll, but from the intensity of that dream or vision, he wasn't sure. He slowly started to walk toward his quarters, each step felt like learning to walk again.

  “ I'm in my….” he never finished that sentence. Just left.

  Later, in the quiet hum of his quarters, Adam stripped off the navy suit and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence there was different, less sterile, more personal. The kind of quiet that used to belong to people.

  He y back, eyes unfocused, staring at the dimmed ceiling. His body felt like lead, the weight of questions pulling him under.

  He kept thinking about that woman, the way he touched his shoulder, his eyes when he met hers. It wasn't romance, it was something deep enough but not romance. Maybe a good friend, maybe a mentor, or maybe…family? He froze.

  “ Was she my…sister?” He whispered to himself, tears started slowly gliding on his cheeks. The emotion struck him at his core, hard. He could feel it. She was his sister and although he had no memories of her or his life before Eon Veil, his entire being resonated to this one thought.

  Then it happened. A flicker. A whisper of light. He sat up fast.

  For the briefest moment, less than a breath, he saw her. NYX. Not the composed, calm projection from before.

  This NYX looked broken.

  Her hologram flickered in the far corner of the room. Her face twisted in sorrow. Her eyes, wide, ancient, crying, met his. Her hands reached out, fingers trembling, her mouth looked like screaming in pain, pleading…

  Her whole being was engulfed in a kind of pain that shatters, reduces someone to an empty husk. Desotion. Desperation.

  Then—gone.

  Adam bolted to his feet, heart pounding. He ran back to the bridge.

  "NYX!" he shouted, breathless. "Why were you in my quarters? What did I see?"

  The AI’s voice responded calmly, from overhead.

  "I do not have access to your quarters, Captain. I am confined to designated operational sectors of this vessel. Private areas remain outside my reach."

  "But I saw you…"

  "No visual projection was initiated. No presence recorded."

  DeadMouth, from his corner, whirred into motion.

  "Well. That’s not creepy at all. Definitely not haunting. Definitely not a reason to never sleep again."

  Adam sank into the chair. Stared at the bck. At the stars.

  He didn’t argue.

  He just whispered:

  "Then who was she?"

  He stood alone on the bridge.

  The hum of the systems filled the silence NYX had left behind. Clinical. Efficient. Inhuman.

  Adam leaned forward, hands braced on the console, staring out at the stars that didn’t care who he was. His breath fogged faintly in front of him, a reminder that he was real—though everything else kept arguing otherwise.

  She said she wasn’t in his room.

  She said she couldn't be.

  But he saw her. Not in a dream. Not in a glitch. Her. Crying. Reaching. Like she was trapped in grief so ancient, it had worn grooves into her soul. If AI could even have one.

  Then where did that version come from?

  Was it another trick of the ship? A memory fragment? A bleed-through from whatever the Fold had become during their jump?

  Or…

  Adam rubbed the back of his neck, pacing now. His boots were too loud in the quiet. His thoughts, louder still.

  Was NYX based on someone?

  A face, a voice, a pattern of behavior—copied from a woman he once knew? Someone important? Because if NYX was created with his specs, his parameters, then that woman wasn’t just anyone.

  She mattered.

  And if she mattered, that meant she was part of whatever puzzle was buried in the hollow wreck of his identity.

  What kind of man builds an interface to resemble a ghost?

  His gaze drifted to the dark gss along the side of the bridge, catching his own reflection—faint, barely there.

  He didn’t recognize the man staring back.

  “Who the hell were you?” he muttered.

  No answer. Not from NYX. Not from DeadMouth. Not from the ship that seemed to know too much and say too little.

  But the image of her remained burned behind his eyes.

  The way her eyes pleaded.

  The way her fingers trembled as they reached for him.

  Was she a memory? A warning? A promise?

  Adam didn’t know.

  But one thing settled in his gut like gravity:

  He needed to find out.

  Minutes passed. The ship hummed softly. Then NYX’s voice returned, clear and emotionless.

  "Long-range scanner repair complete. Partial functionality restored. Scanning..."

  A pause. A pulse in the hum.

  "Uncharted star system detected. Proximity: Moderate. One pnetary body exhibits potential for atmospheric compatibility. Oxygen level: 83%. Gravity within acceptable human thresholds."

  Adam looked up slowly.

  "Life?"

  "Biosignatures present. Electromagnetic anomalies detected. Patterns suggest artificial structures—ancient or dormant."

  DeadMouth tilted sideways, mock-whispering: "Or haunted temples. Can’t wait."

  NYX continued. "Pnetfall recommended. Shuttle pod systems: operational. Access to surface granted upon command."

  Adam rose.

  "Then I guess it’s time to find out if ghosts live on pnets too."

  DeadMouth spun. "They better have good coffee. Or trauma snacks. I’m packing both."

  Adam turned toward the hangar bay.

  For the first time since waking, he wasn’t being pulled.

  He was walking forward.

  The hangar bay opened like a yawning beast—long, ribbed with catwalks and freight systems, each humming with quiet intent. Overhead, the emergency lights spun zy amber arcs, as if even the ship itself were holding its breath.

  Adam stepped through the threshold, his boots echoing across polished alloy. The air here was warmer. Denser. The smell of metal and ozone lingered like ghosts of old unches.

  A wide ptform waited at the far end—sleek, matte bck, with a circur vessel mounted atop it. The nding pod. Compact, aerodynamic, mean. Like a bullet with guidance systems.

  DeadMouth:

  "Ooh. The cssic 'oh look, a coffin with thrusters' model. Sleek. Custrophobic. Probably explodes on Thursdays."

  Adam ignored him. Again.

  From the shadows above, NYX descended in a curtain of pale light. Her holographic form shimmered, folding into visibility just ahead of the unch ramp. For the first time, her face was clearer—angur, smooth, the calm of a sea that drowned cities. Her voice carried across the deck like silk on steel.

  NYX: “Captain. Before you proceed, I recommend deployment of auxiliary transport support.”

  She raised one hand. Behind her, a square section of the hangar wall split open with a mechanical hiss.

  Inside: three dormant Roughneck units.

  Compact, rectangur sbs of armor, stacked vertically in charging cradles. At first gnce, they looked like modur cargo—nothing more. Then, as Adam approached, the middle unit shifted.

  A low hum. Clicks. Servos whispering to life.

  The sb unfolded. Panels peeled back like petals. Limbs extended—four jointed legs stretching with animal precision. A chassis rolled up and over, aligning with predatory grace. The final frame locked in pce with a satisfying thunk.

  It stood before him, fully transformed.

  The first active Roughneck.

  Almost two meters tall at the shoulder, its legs were reinforced for impact and terrain grip. Its body resembled a fusion of motorcycle and quadruped tank—angur, brutal, but elegant. A glowing line traced its spine—pulsing cyan.

  NYX: “Roughneck Unit Series-T. All-terrain transport and combat multipurpose unit. Features include recon sweep, stalker mode, intimidation dispy protocol, onboard AI threat management, and atmospheric adaptability. Designed for hostile environments and low-to-no infrastructure operations.”

  The unit scanned Adam.

  His HUD fred, symbols aligning. Sync achieved.

  The Roughneck stepped forward with a heavy grace, lowering its body in deference.

  DeadMouth:

  “Sweet mechanical hell. I didn’t think the warhorse from your dreams would have legs, teeth, and emotional baggage. Gonna name this one too, or are we going full Pokémon trainer?”

  Adam pced his hand on the warm pting of the unit’s back. It buzzed in response. Recognition. Trust.

  Adam: “Paw.”

  DeadMouth: “…Paw. As in cat paw? As in ‘here, boy!’?”

  Adam: “Power Above World.”

  DeadMouth hovered in stunned silence,then replied: “It’s so dumb. It’s so... brilliant. I’m mad I didn’t come up with it.”

  NYX: “P.A.W. designation logged.”

  The other two Roughneck units remained dormant, silent sentries. Only this one stirred as if it had chosen to wake for this mission.

  Only this one responded to him.

  Adam climbed aboard PAW. The cockpit folded closed like armor around him. HUD expanded. Diagnostics flooded his vision: weapons online, motion assist engaged, terrain analytics synced.

  A low purr from the engine. PAW crouched low, ready.

  NYX: “Landing pod is prepped. Atmospheric entry will begin in T-minus sixty seconds.”

  Adam dismounted. Walked toward the pod. Its surface shimmered like obsidian wet with rain. Twin doors split open like a breath. Inside: tight space. Two seats. One pilot interface. One drone dock.

  No room for fear.

  Adam entered. PAW followed, folding neatly into a magnetic harness system at the rear. The hatch sealed behind them with a resonant thud.

  Lights dimmed.

  DeadMouth: (settling into his port)

  “This is where we die, by the way. Just in case no one mentioned that yet. If you somehow survive , please don't repurpose me into an espresso machine!”

  NYX: “Trajectory locked. Ignition in five. Four. Three…”

  Adam gripped the handles. The chair conformed to him like a memory. He didn’t know this pod—but his body did.

  “Two. One.”

  Fire and force smmed them down.

  The pod shook violently as the ignition fired.

  “Okay! Alright. Here we go. Welcome to ‘Plunge Into Oblivion,’ starring Adam and his emotionally unstable drone. Rated E for Everyone Who Regrets Their Life Choices.”

  The view outside turned into a blur of smoke and fire. The atmosphere screamed against the hull.

  “In case you were wondering, that sound is not appuse. That’s the sound of your coffin being microwaved at Mach 3.”

  Adam clenched his teeth. The pod spiraled once, corrected itself with a jolt, and continued its descent.

  “By the way,” DeadMouth continued, voice flickering with static, “did anyone pack snacks? No? Of course not. Just trauma and existential dread, as always.”

  Gravity punched down on them like a god with something to prove.

  The onboard systems beeped rapidly—altitude, pressure, temperature—all redlining. But NYX’s voice remained composed.

  “Descent angle stable. Landing site locked. Estimated contact in fifty-seven seconds.”

  DeadMouth let out a mechanical sigh.

  “Fifty-seven seconds. That’s how long I have to live. Note to self: haunt the next crew.”

  The pod broke through the cloud cover. A vast, alien terrain spread beneath them—bck mountains veined with cyan light, forests that looked like frozen waves, and a sprawling structure in the distance that pulsed like a heartbeat.

  Adam’s breath caught.

  DeadMouth caught it too.

  “Oh great. Glowing terrain. Always a fantastic sign. Nothing says ‘Welcome’ like irradiated mountains and a potentially sentient forest.”

  The nding thrusters kicked in with a thunderous roar.

  Adam’s knuckles whitened on the handles. The pod lurched one final time before beginning its final deceleration.

  “Hey, if we survive this, I want a promotion. I want a new paint job. I want legs. I want—OH SWEET MOTHER OF METAL—”

  Impact.

  The pod smmed down like a comet kissing the grave of another world.

  Silence.

  Then DeadMouth’s voice crackled back to life, dazed but alive.

  “...Nailed it.”

  Smoke hissed from the outer hull, and a few warning lights blinked like they needed a nap.

  Adam exhaled, slowly releasing the death-grip he had on the handles.

  DeadMouth, chipper and smug now:

  “See? Nothing to worry about. And there you were, concerned, terrified, sure we’d die in a fming ball of regret. But nope. I told you. Nothing bad ever happens while DeadMouth is in the house.”

  Adam, staring at the warped door, deadpan:

  “Lucky me…”