Warning lights blinked intermittently, bathing the Astraea-7 in flashes of red, accompanied by a constant emergency siren; the groaning of twisted metal echoed in the background like a leviathan roaring through space. The systems fluctuated wildly, hurling the crew from one side to the other. They fought to stay in control, suppressing explosions across different sections of the ship, but the sparks and smoke seemed endless. Collapse was imminent, and all they could do was keep trying.
In the main cockpit, Captain Arnold coordinated emergency protocols like a conductor in a symphony of the world's end. Kael, head of the combat unit, Kael stood firm, fire roaring around him. One hand on the suppressor, jaw clenched—he wasn't going to let the ship burn. Elara found no logic in any of it: the data, the way the planet was pulling them in, the gravity's intensity... none of it was normal. It pulsed, like it was breathing. But this mission wasn't normal. From the very beginning, it had been doomed.
As the crew struggled to regain control, Haruto remained still. The chaos raged around him, but his mind drifted elsewhere. Through the window, his gaze was locked on the vast darkness of the rogue planet. A shiver ran down his spine. Something about that lightless abyss stirred him in a way he couldn't explain. It wasn't fear or awe, but a strange sensation of recognition, as if that world without light was somehow familiar. He couldn't look away. A voice—deep, distant, like an echo inside his skull—called to him.
"Don't just stand there—do something!" Kael's voice shattered the trance.
But there was nothing left to do.
The ship began to fall, dragged helplessly toward the planet's surface. With a final burst of strength, Kael managed to activate the emergency protocol, sealing off damaged sections. But it was too late.
"To the escape pods—now!" Arnold barked, his deep voice cutting through the destruction.
Elara reacted instantly, sprinting toward the evacuation area. Kael followed close behind, but when he turned, Haruto was still frozen, lost inside his own mind, blind to the chaos closing in around them.
"Damn it!" Kael growled, grabbing him hard and shoving him into a pod.
Before sealing the hatch, he looked Haruto straight in the eyes and said, "Wait for me, brother."
Without letting him speak, he launched the capsule. Haruto felt a violent tug in his gut as the pod detached. For the first time, silence wrapped around him completely. His breathing echoed inside his helmet. He clenched his fists, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Everything was falling apart, and he couldn't stop any of it. The void consumed him.
There was no light, no sound.
Only darkness. Then... a flash of light.
The sun blazed down on humanity's most advanced space base; a sprawling complex built for the most ambitious mission in history. It was peak summer, and preparations pressed forward non-stop between high-tech hangars and cutting-edge laboratories.
Twenty years ago, deep-space telescopes detected an anomaly. It was the Eon-3 telescope that first caught it—barely visible. At first, scientists thought it was a black hole, a void that swallowed even light. But once probes were launched, the terrifying truth was uncovered: it was a planet. It reflected no light, its surface was completely black, and the only way to detect it was by the way it swallowed the stars behind it, erasing them.
What disturbed scientists most wasn't its dark nature, nor the mystery of its origin. It was its movement. At first, it seemed stationary. But as the months passed, calculations showed it was getting closer. Not immediately, but in twenty-eight years, it would be close enough to affect Earth's gravity.
That's why Project Astraea-7 was born. It wasn't just a mission—it was a desperate gamble made by the world's superpowers, gathering every piece of technology they could muster... with Velka's crucial support. The ship was a masterpiece. It could withstand cosmic radiation, had state-of-the-art life support, and scanners that could analyze even planetary dust. Everything needed to explore the unknown.
But deep down, the ship itself wasn't what mattered most.
It was the crew. The ones who would put their lives on the line when everything else failed.
Through the military base corridors, a young man with white hair and light blue eyes passed through reception. His posture was stiff, his gaze fixed ahead, each step deliberates. He stopped at the front desk and spoke in a low, cautious voice.
"Good morning, I'm Haruto, crew member of the Astraea-7."
The receptionist frowned and looked up from her terminal.
"Sorry, speak up. I didn't catch that."
Haruto inhaled, then repeated in a slightly louder tone, "Haruto. Crew member of the Astraea-7."
He presented his ID calmly, like a ritual he'd rehearsed countless times. The receptionist examined it, then gestured for him to follow. As they walked down the hall, heads turned.
"Is that the guy with white hair and blue eyes? Doesn't look like someone I'd send on a mission like this."
"Is he really that special? He looks ordinary, except for the hair."
Haruto didn't react. He didn't lower his gaze, didn't clench his fists, didn't change his expression. He stood still, unmoved. Inside, there was silence—a still ocean where the waves of other people's judgment dissolved before they even reached the shore.
It wasn't that he didn't hear them—he heard every word—but none of it stirred anything inside. His mind processed their voices like wind slipping through a loose airlock. He had more important things to focus on.
The mission. The abyss. Whatever waited out there.
When he stepped into the meeting room, two people were already waiting. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a warm gaze, lit up the moment he saw him.
"You're finally here!" he exclaimed with a genuine smile. "I thought you got lost. Was the transport hard to catch?"
The questions came one after another—real concern, but also the familiarity of someone who knew Haruto well. They weren't strangers.
"They brought me in an armored vehicle," Haruto replied softly, not making eye contact.
Across the room, a woman with her hair in a high ponytail sipped coffee from a machine. At the sound of their voices, she turned, her expression slightly smug.
"I'm Elara. Nice to meet you," she said, tone indifferent.
Kael, the big guy, quickly added with a mocking grin, "She's the genius who built the system that'll make this mission even possible. Impressive, right? Also—total knockout."
Elara sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do you ever shut up? You've been talking nonstop since we got here. Who do I complain to?"
"She's grumpy too," Kael chuckled.
The conversation broke off when an older man entered—gray mustache, commander's uniform, and the presence of someone who'd survived a hundred close calls. Arnold stepped in with unshakable confidence. His eyes, sharp as blades, scanned the room, measuring each of them in seconds. His posture alone radiated command.
"Alright, alright," he said casually. "Try to get along. We'll be stuck together six months before launch. Name's Arnold. I'll be making sure you don't die in this lovely ship."
The mood shifted. Everyone felt it.
That black planet—that bottomless mystery—was waiting for them in the abyss of space.
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