Above the stars, a few galaxies away from Nexara, a massive ship drifted through space like a ghost with nowhere to go.
Its once-shining hull was battered now. The outer plates were dented, scorched, and cracked.
Several panels were half-melted, revealing tangled cords and burned-out systems that had long since ceased to function.
Engines that were once praised for their precision now sat frozen, cold, and useless.
Inside, the ship was quiet.
Too quiet.
The crew that once filled its halls with movement and chatter was mostly gone. Over three-fourths had died.
During the initial impact, during the fires, the systems sometimes failed, and life support would drop without warning.
The rest had stayed alive.
Barely.
No one knew how long the ship had been drifting. Several hundred years since the storm hit. That much they could agree on. But anything before that felt distant. Blurry.
