The ship drifted through the abyss, a silent silver ghost in a sea of stars. Then, as if the void itself exhaled, the horizon shifted.
A great frost-cloud appeared before them — a pale, rippling expanse suspended weightlessly in space. It moved like something alive, like breath frozen in time. No color. No sound. No welcome.
Everett leaned forward, brow furrowed. "That's not a nebula."
"It looks like…" Gloria squinted. "A white ocean?"
Guruji, seated cross-legged beside them, murmured, "Not all oceans flow with water."
"It moves," Everett said quietly. "It's not anchored. It's… drifting. Like some kind of cosmic tide."
They stared in uneasy silence.
Gloria bit her lip. "Should we turn back? It's giving me goosebumps and we're not even in it."
"No," Guruji said with serene finality. "This path is true. The deviant current leads only to delusion."
Everett nodded slowly. "He's right. If we try to dodge this… thing, we'll get lost in the dark. We don't know what lies beyond it — but we do know what we're here for."
Gloria muttered, "I hate when both of you start sounding like fate-worshipping cryptkeepers." Still, she set the course forward.
They entered the cloud.
---
Hours passed. Or days. Time thickened like syrup inside the frost-mist.
Then—
[ALERT!
Unregistered extraterritorial planet detected.
Danger level: EXTREME.
No records found in Human Federation or Alliance Archives.
Immediate course correction advised.
Repeat: DO NOT APPROACH.]
The ship shuddered.
Below them loomed the impossible: a shattered world — cracked into floating tectonic plates, each the size of continents. Between the broken plates festered thick black mist that churned with slow malice.
Everett's heart skipped. "Gloria! Boost speed! Wormhole — now!"
"I'm on it!"
The ship jolted forward.
But a terrible pull gripped them — gravity, but more than gravity, like a mouth dragging them downward.
Guruji stood, arms outstretched, fingers forming ancient mudras. His voice became thunder:
"Yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir bhavati bhārata…"
"Whenever righteousness wanes and unrighteousness rises, I manifest Myself."
Light flared from the golden sigils spinning around him. Frost energy flared from Everett's core into the thrusters. The ship screamed forward—
—but it wasn't enough.
One moment, they were aboard. The next, the universe cracked.
They were ripped from the ship — falling through the void.
---
Everett reached out instinctively, clutching Gloria's hand with one and Guruji's with the other. He channeled everything — frost, intention, desperation.
A flash of cold blue light enveloped them — and in the next heartbeat, they were elsewhere.
On the ground. Charred, cracked, windless.
Above them, the remains of the ship rained down as glowing embers.
---
The Forgotten World
It was a dead planet.
Not just lifeless — emptied.
Gloria slowly stood, brushing off ash and bits of ship metal. "This wasn't a crash. That planet… it took us."
Guruji murmured, "The void does not take prisoners. Only pilgrims."
Everett knelt, hand pressing against the ground. "Nothing's growing. Not even bacteria. The soil… it's sterile. Completely dead."
Black mist clung to the ravines between the floating landmasses. It hissed quietly. Watching.
"I think we're being sucked dry just standing here," Gloria muttered.
Guruji sat and began chanting again:
"For Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me."
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
A warm golden aura radiated from his staff, keeping the mist at bay.
---
That night — or whatever passed for night here — they sat near a blackened ridge.
"What do we do now?" Gloria asked, arms crossed, watching the mist squirm near the shielded perimeter.
Everett stared into the void. "We explore. If there's no way to leave, then maybe there's something that explains what this place is. Or a way off it."
"Explore a haunted hell-planet," Gloria muttered. "Sounds like a plan cooked up by someone who wants to get eaten by his own frost power."
"I second the madness," Guruji added serenely.
"…You two are hopeless," she sighed. "But fine."
So they set off.
For weeks, they explored. Everett's frost daggers grew sharper, his vision keener. Gloria became quieter, more thoughtful. Guruji… remained Guruji — mysterious, patient, and unnervingly at peace.
They found ruins. Towers curled like fire frozen mid-flame. Bridges that led nowhere. Statues worn faceless by time.
The mist crept always. But Guruji stood guard, and his chants shielded them:
"Aham Brahmāsmi"
"I am Brahman. I am the infinite."
The mist hissed, recoiled, scattered like cockroaches under a lantern.
At last, they found it.
A massive structure — uncollapsed, untouched — as if preserved by the planet itself.
A cathedral.
They entered with reverence. The air inside felt… thicker. Time seemed slower.
A great statue loomed ahead — hands twisted skyward in a cry of agony. At its feet, a long-dead figure clutched a blade.
A rusted dagger, embedded in its own ribs.
The atmosphere whispered silence.
Everett's breath caught. "There's… something here."
They searched.
Behind the statue lay a stone wall — blank.
But Everett paused. He closed his eyes.
For weeks he had practiced. Honed the second Mystery: Chrono-Strain Eyes.
[Retrocognition Thread
Everett can trace the past of any being or object he touches, visually replaying key moments from their history like echoes chained to their present.]
He whispered, "Let me see."
Pain lanced through his skull as time folded. His eyes burned.
Then — a voice. Not in words, but feeling:
"Do not fear. I speak through the weight of years."
He opened his eyes.
And in a blink — the cathedral changed.
Time reversed, playing in real-time.
Everett saw hooded figures chanting. The statue being raised. The final sacrifice. The inscription carved in agony.
He read it aloud, eyes glowing with frost and fire.
"Hear now, descendant of dust and flame,
Whose blood carries the legacy of stars.
The betrayers walk among you, veiled in shadow,
Sinners of the sacred line, architects of despair.
They who turned their blades on kin and kindred,
Devouring light, casting night eternal.
Beware the day the seventh ascendant rises,
When the scythe shall swing, and the cycle renews.
The ancient oath broken, the covenant shattered,
The harbingers of ruin awaken once more.
Remember the price of forgotten pride,
Lest the scourge return to claim what remains.
Rise, bearers of the flame, and stand unyielding,
For in the shadow of doom, hope yet burns bright."
Everett stumbled.
Gloria caught him — barely.
Then, his body went limp.
Everett fainted.