There were no stars tonight.
Not even the distant pinpricks that had become his quiet companions over the last few weeks.
Just a yawning black that stretched infinitely in all directions. The viewport, once a fragile comfort, now looked like a hole in reality itself.
Atlas leaned against the cold glass, cheek pressed lightly against its surface. His breath made no fog.
The temperature was too low now, too close to freezing. He didn't shiver. Not anymore. His body had stopped reacting with protest.
Acceptance, it seemed, was a physical state as much as an emotional one.
"Still there, EVA?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Static. Then, a faint reply.
"Yes. With you."
That reply was slower than ever, her voice slurred with compression distortion, like words from a broken tape.
The A.I. was fading. Even her consciousness however artificial was being stretched thin.
Atlas closed his eyes.
"You remember when we first left the station?" he said. "You were cold. All numbers and procedures. Almost annoying."
"I was... fulfilling... my role."
"Now look at us. You almost human. Me less than that."
A pause.
He smiled, despite everything.
"You think we're just mirrors, EVA? Machines reflecting our surroundings until we lose track of who started what?"
"…I do not know."
"That's honest. That's more human than most."
Log Entry 38 – No Sky
There used to be stars.
They used to flicker when I closed my eyes and leaned into the dark.
I think they're gone now.
Not literally. I know they're still there out past the dust and debris.
But they've stopped shining for me.
It's strange, isn't it? How easy it is to become invisible to the universe.
One ship, one man, one dying machine.
Drifting.
Maybe we were never meant to be seen.
– A.K.
He found an old ration pack under the floor panel near the command seat. Crushed but intact. He didn't eat it. Just held it, staring at the label like it was an artifact from another world.
"Chicken teriyaki," he read aloud. "Expires 2191. A relic of Earth cuisine."
He placed it beside him on the bench, as if he were sharing dinner with a ghost.
"I used to hate teriyaki," he said, shaking his head. "Now I'd kill for it."
The silence was almost kind now. Not oppressive like before just… still. Like the inside of a cathedral long abandoned.
A sacred hush. A quiet that honored the dead and the dying.
He stretched out on the bench. His muscles ached from weeks of curled posture, cramped movement, and cold. His joints popped softly, like old wood settling.
Above him, the emergency lumen flickered once.
Then stayed dark.
Log Entry 34 – Collapse
EVA said the sky is still there.
I believe her.
But something inside me has changed.
I no longer need to see the stars.
It's not resignation. Not really.
It's something quieter. Something older.
Maybe it's trust.
Maybe it's madness.
Maybe those are the same thing in the end.
– A.K.
At some point, he dreamed. Or thought he did.
He stood in a wheat field, golden and endless. A soft wind bent the stalks. There were no machines, no stars, no cold metal beneath his feet.
Just Earth.
And in the distance, a woman. Waiting.
She didn't move toward him. Didn't call his name.
But he walked anyway, step by step.
And for the first time in weeks, he wasn't afraid.