Scene One – Orders from the Council
The Council chamber was a cathedral of glass and steel, a vast dome that looked out over the red giant swelling like a wound in the void. From here, Maya could see the flares licking at the station's protective shields, brilliant arcs of fire that promised both wonder and annihilation. The star was dying, and its fury was growing harder to contain.
But inside the chamber, the only heat came from the sharp eyes of the Councilors.
Maya stood before them on the circular platform, her hands clasped tight behind her back. Alexander was a shadow at the edge of the room, his presence officially unacknowledged but unmistakably felt.
Councilor Ryn, the eldest, leaned forward. His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet. "Dr. Elara, we've reviewed your latest reports on the anomaly. The energy signatures are… unprecedented."
Maya swallowed, her throat dry. "Yes, Councilor. The pulses are increasing in both frequency and amplitude. They're not random. They follow a pattern—one that suggests intent."
A ripple moved through the chamber. Whispers, exchanged glances, the unspoken fear that intent implied intelligence.
Councilor Jorik, younger, sharper, slammed a hand against the table. "Which means it's not just stellar instability. Something is reaching out to us. And we need to know if it's hostile."
The word hostile hung in the air like a blade.
Maya's mind flashed with the vision, the crystalline plains, the voice that had echoed through her bones: Not chosen. Remembered. Whatever it was, it didn't feel hostile. Not exactly. But it was dangerous.
"Hostile or not," Councilor Ryn said, "we cannot ignore it. The colony's safety depends on understanding—and neutralizing—this anomaly." His gaze sharpened, pinning her like a specimen under glass. "Dr. Elara, you will lead an expedition beyond the station's safe orbit. You will take a shuttle into the Rift itself and collect data directly at the source of these emissions."
Maya's heart lurched. "Into the Rift?" The words were barely a whisper.
The Rift was what the technicians called the unstable region near the star's corona, where gravity twisted and light bent unnaturally. Ships avoided it at all costs. Even probes sent too close had been torn apart in moments.
"It's suicide," she said before she could stop herself.
A murmur of disapproval rose around the chamber, but Councilor Ryn only tilted his head. "It is necessary."
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She opened her mouth to argue again, but then she caught Alexander's gaze from across the chamber. His eyes were dark, stormy, but steady.
She heard his voice in her memory from the night before: Then we face it together.
Maya clenched her fists, forcing her voice to steady. "If I go, I'll need the right team. The best pilot. The best protection. Otherwise, the mission is over before it begins."
Councilor Jorik smirked. "And who do you suggest? Commander Kael?"
The chamber stirred again, this time with a different heat—curiosity, suspicion.
Maya's chest tightened, but she didn't look away. "Yes. He's the only one who's survived an incursion that close to the Rift. If you want data, if you want results, I need him."
For a long, tense moment, silence reigned. The Councilors whispered among themselves, eyes shifting between her and Alexander.
Finally, Councilor Ryn nodded. "So be it. Commander Kael will accompany you. You depart within forty-eight hours."
The gavel struck, final as a coffin lid.
The Council rose, their robes whispering as they filed out. The chamber emptied, leaving only Maya and Alexander standing in the vast hollow space, the dying star's light bleeding through the glass above.
For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of what had just been ordered hung heavy between them.
Then Alexander crossed the floor, his boots echoing against the polished steel. His voice was low, rough. "They've just signed our death sentence."
Maya met his gaze, her throat tightening. "Then we prove them wrong."
He studied her, something unreadable flickering across his face—fear, pride, love, maybe all at once. Then he reached out, just barely brushing his fingers against hers, a fleeting touch hidden from the empty chamber's eyes.
"Together," he said.
The word anchored her. It steadied the storm inside her chest.
And yet, as she looked out at the star tearing itself apart, a tremor of dread ran through her. The anomaly wasn't just calling them closer. It was waiting.
Scene Two - Preparations
The hangar was alive with motion. Sparks crackled as technicians welded new plating to the shuttle's hull. Fuel lines hissed, filling tanks with volatile plasma. The acrid scent of heated metal and coolant hung in the air, mixing with the faint ozone tang of shield generators being stress-tested to their limits.
Maya stood on the platform overlooking it all, clutching a datapad. The shuttle gleamed under the floodlights, its surface scarred with the memory of previous missions but reinforced now with fresh alloys. She had overseen the modifications personally—additional shielding, improved stabilizers, reinforced escape pods, though she wasn't sure any of it would matter in the Rift.
The Rift didn't care about alloys.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"You're still here," Alexander said, his voice carrying over the din.
She glanced at him as he stepped onto the platform, his uniform jacket undone, sleeves rolled up. For once, he looked less like a commander and more like the man she used to know—the man who had once held her in silence under an alien sky, who had whispered dreams instead of orders.
"I can't sleep," she admitted, staring at the shuttle. "If I do, I'll dream of fire."
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he moved to stand beside her, following her gaze. For a long time, the only sound was the hammering and hissing from below.
"You're not wrong," he said finally. "It will feel like fire. The Rift… eats light, bends it until it claws at your eyes. Every instinct in your body screams to turn back. The first time I went near it, I thought I'd gone blind."
Maya's hand tightened on the datapad. "And you went anyway."
His lips curved, faint, humorless. "And I survived. Barely." He shifted, looking at her now. "That's why they want me with you. Because I've already walked close enough to see what waits."
Her chest ached with questions she couldn't ask. She wanted to demand if this was why he'd left her years ago—if the Rift had claimed more than just his time. But the words tangled in her throat.
Instead, she said softly, "I don't need protection, Alexander. I need a partner."
The air thickened between them. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped—his eyes softened, raw emotion flickering across them.
"And what am I to you now?" he asked quietly. "Protector? Partner? Ghost?"
Her breath caught. She hadn't expected him to cut so close, not here, not with the clang of tools ringing around them. She turned away, fixing her gaze back on the shuttle.
"You're the one who left," she whispered.
Silence fell, heavier than before. She thought he might walk away, like he had once before. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice rough.
"And I live with that every day."
The words stunned her. They carried no excuse, no justification—just a weight that mirrored her own. She looked at him sharply, but he wasn't watching her. His gaze was locked on the shuttle, his jaw tight, his hands curled at his sides as though holding something in.
"I don't want to fight you, Maya," he said. "Not now. Not when tomorrow we fly into hell."
Her throat tightened. Against her will, she softened.
She reached out, hesitating before her fingers brushed against his wrist. The contact was small, fleeting, but it made his breath hitch almost imperceptibly.
"I'm scared," she admitted. The words escaped like a confession. "Not of the Rift. Not even of dying. I'm scared of what it will take from me. What it already has."
Finally, he turned to face her, and in his eyes she saw the man she remembered—the one who had once loved her with a fierceness that made the universe seem conquerable.
"Then let me stand with you," he said simply.
Something inside her cracked open at that.
Before she could respond, a technician below shouted, "Systems check complete!" The noise broke the fragile moment, scattering it like glass. Maya pulled her hand back, forcing composure into her face.
"Then tomorrow," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "we'll see if the Rift takes us both."
Alexander studied her, as though he wanted to say more, as though the unspoken between them burned hotter than the star outside. But in the end, he only nodded.
"Tomorrow."
He turned and descended the stairs, his figure swallowed by the chaos of the hangar.
Maya stayed, watching the shuttle gleam under the lights, a vessel meant to carry them where no one should go. She pressed a hand against the railing, grounding herself.
The Rift was waiting. And so was the truth she wasn't sure she was ready to hear.
Scene Three - Launch Day
The day of departure came cloaked in silence. Even the station's usual hum—the layered thrum of generators, distant footsteps in metal corridors, announcements echoing faintly through the decks—seemed subdued, as if the whole colony was holding its breath.
Maya woke in her quarters long before dawn cycle. She hadn't truly slept; every time her eyes closed, the Rift was there, burning like an open wound in the sky. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind was sharp, clear. The kind of clarity born of inevitability.
She dressed in the reinforced flight suit, its polymer weave cool against her skin. It felt heavier than she expected, as though it already carried the weight of choices she hadn't made yet.
When the door chime sounded, she already knew who it was.
Alexander stood on the other side, suited, helmet tucked under his arm. His hair was damp, his jaw freshly shaven, but his eyes carried the same shadows as hers.
"It's time," he said simply.
She nodded, slipping her helmet into the crook of her arm. They didn't speak as they walked the long corridor toward the hangar. The silence between them wasn't awkward; it was charged, like a string drawn taut, waiting to snap.
The hangar was alive again, though different than the night before. The frenetic clamor of preparation had given way to a kind of reverent focus. Crew members moved with practiced precision, checking systems one last time, their eyes flicking often toward Maya and Alexander with unspoken worry. Few expeditions ventured into the Rift. Fewer returned.
The shuttle loomed at the center of the bay, bathed in the harsh glow of floodlights. Its angular frame looked almost predatory, reinforced wings folded inward like the talons of a waiting bird.
As they approached, Commander Deylan, head of operations, saluted them with grim efficiency. "Systems are green. Shield harmonics at peak capacity. You've got seventy-two hours of fuel, but if the Rift destabilizes the field faster than expected, you'll need to turn back immediately. No heroics."
His eyes lingered on Alexander, as though the word heroics was directed squarely at him.
Alexander only inclined his head. "Understood."
Maya stepped closer to the shuttle, running a gloved hand across the cold hull. This vessel will either carry us into discovery or oblivion, she thought. A vessel of fate.
Inside, the cockpit was cramped but efficient—two seats side by side, banks of controls, and a forward viewport that offered a direct view of the endless void. She slid into the left chair, her fingers dancing over the console, checking diagnostic readouts.
Alexander took the right, his movements steady, precise. His presence beside her was both grounding and unnerving. Every time their shoulders brushed, every time his breath echoed faintly through the comms link in their helmets, her heart tightened.
"Engines online," he said, flipping switches. The shuttle vibrated as the reactors engaged, a low growl that pulsed through their bones.
Maya activated the long-range sensors. The Rift appeared on her display as a distortion, a seething whirlpool of gravitational chaos just beyond the safe perimeter. Even in digital form, it made her skin crawl.
"Course locked," she reported. Her voice was steady, but she could feel her pulse racing.
The hangar bay doors groaned open, revealing the star beyond. It dominated the void, massive and furious, flares writhing against the shields like the lashes of some celestial beast. And there, on its edge, the Rift pulsed—a jagged wound in space, darker than shadow, shimmering faintly as though alive.
Maya's breath caught. The anomaly seemed larger than she remembered, its edges shifting like smoke, like something breathing.
Alexander glanced at her. "Ready?"
She turned to meet his eyes, her throat tightening. "No. But let's go anyway."
His lips curved faintly, almost a smile. "Good answer."
The shuttle lifted, artificial gravity shuddering before compensating. With a steady push of thrusters, they rose into the star's brilliance, leaving the hangar and the station behind.
The silence of space pressed in, broken only by the rumble of the engines and the faint hum of their life-support systems. The Rift loomed larger with every passing second.
Minutes stretched into hours. Navigation required constant adjustments; the gravitational distortions grew stronger as they approached. Maya kept her eyes fixed on the readouts, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
"You're quiet," Alexander said at last.
"I'm concentrating," she murmured, not looking up.
"That's not what I meant."
Her hands stilled on the controls. Slowly, she turned to him. His eyes were fixed on her, steady, searching.
"Don't do this now," she whispered.
"If not now, when?" His voice was soft, but beneath it was something raw. "If we don't make it back—"
"Don't," she snapped, sharper than she intended. The word hung between them, brittle, aching. She drew a breath, forcing her voice lower. "Don't talk like that. Not yet."
He studied her, then nodded, turning back to his console. But his hand rested briefly on the edge of her seat, close enough that she could feel its warmth even through the layers of suit fabric. The gesture said what words couldn't. I'm here. With you.
The Rift swelled before them now, filling the viewport. Its edges rippled like water disturbed by invisible winds, its heart a void that seemed to pull at their very thoughts.
Maya's chest tightened. The same voice that had haunted her visions whispered again at the edges of her mind: Remembered… not chosen…
Her hands trembled on the controls. "Do you hear it?" she asked suddenly, eyes darting to Alexander.
He frowned. "Hear what?"
"The voice. It's—" She stopped, realizing how insane it sounded. Maybe it was insanity. Or maybe the Rift wasn't just tearing at matter, but at the fabric of minds.
Alexander's expression hardened. "Focus, Maya. Don't let it get inside your head. That's how it wins."
Her throat tightened. "You've… heard it too?"
He didn't answer right away. His silence was answer enough.
The shuttle jolted violently, alarms shrieking. Maya's console flashed red.
"Gravitational surge!" she shouted. "Hold the stabilizers!"
Alexander gripped the controls, muscles straining as he fought against the pull. The Rift clawed at them, invisible fingers dragging the shuttle toward its heart.
"Shields holding!" he barked, though sweat beaded at his brow.
Maya's pulse thundered. The Rift filled her vision now, consuming everything else. It wasn't just darkness. Shapes writhed inside it, faint and shifting, like the silhouettes of beings moving in a place that shouldn't exist.
She couldn't breathe. The voice grew louder. You are remembered.
Her hand reached instinctively for Alexander's, gripping tight across the console. His head snapped toward her, eyes wide, but he didn't pull away.
Together, with the Rift swallowing them whole, they held on.
Scene Four - Into the Rift
The moment they crossed the threshold, reality shuddered.
The stars vanished. The dying sun that had filled their viewport was snuffed out as though someone had closed a fist around its light. In its place stretched a churning expanse of black and violet, shot through with veins of silvery radiance that twisted and curled like living things.
Maya gasped. Her breath fogged the inside of her helmet, her chest constricting as though the Rift itself were pressing against her lungs.
The shuttle's systems wailed in protest. Alarms blinked red across her console, warning of gravitational shear, temporal distortions, quantum instability—words that were too small for the enormity of what she felt.
"Stabilizers at maximum!" Alexander shouted, his voice cutting through the cacophony of alarms. His hands flew across the controls, fighting to keep the shuttle from spinning apart.
Maya clung to her console, forcing herself to think. Numbers streamed across her display, shifting so fast they blurred. Time stamps contradicted themselves—seconds skipping, looping, erasing. The Rift was tearing at chronology itself.
"This is impossible," she whispered.
Alexander's jaw was tight, his eyes burning with a grim focus. "We're still here. That's all that matters. Stay with me, Maya."
But she wasn't sure she could.
Shapes began to emerge from the swirling dark. At first they were indistinct, little more than smudges of light. Then they sharpened—tall, humanoid figures walking across the void as though it were solid ground. Their forms rippled, bending like water, and yet there was no mistaking the way they turned their heads toward the shuttle, no mistaking the eyes—eyes that glowed pale silver.
Maya's blood turned to ice. "Do you see them?"
"Yes." Alexander's voice was hoarse. "I was hoping I wouldn't this time."
"This time?" She snapped her gaze to him, panic spiking. "What do you mean, this time?"
He hesitated, knuckles white on the controls. "I'll explain later. Right now, just—don't look too long. They'll notice you."
Her stomach lurched. Notice me? The beings were already staring straight through the hull, their luminous eyes boring into her soul. And then, impossibly, one of them smiled.
A voice filled her head, smooth and resonant, vibrating through her bones. Remembered… not chosen…
Her vision blurred. She felt weightless, untethered, as if the Rift were peeling her away from herself. Memories unspooled—her first kiss with Alexander, the warmth of his hand pressed against hers, the ache of waking alone the morning he disappeared.
"Maya!" Alexander's shout snapped her back. His hand was on her arm, gripping tight, grounding her. His eyes—sharp, desperate—pulled her back from the edge.
She sucked in a ragged breath. "It's in my head," she whispered.
"I know," he said, voice low but steady. "That's what it does. It feeds on memory. On love. That's how it lures you deeper."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "You've been here before."
The silence that followed was more damning than words.
Before she could demand an answer, the shuttle lurched violently. The figures outside raised their hands in unison, and the void itself seemed to reach for them. Space folded inward, dragging the shuttle toward a vortex that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Hold on!" Alexander barked, throwing the engines into overdrive. The shuttle groaned, metal shrieking under the strain.
Maya's display flickered, then died, leaving only static. For a heartbeat, there was nothing—no alarms, no readouts, only the sound of her own ragged breathing and Alexander's curses as he fought the controls.
And then the viewport filled with light.
Not the light of stars, but something deeper, older. Vast spirals of golden radiance unfolded before them, weaving through the Rift like veins of fire. They moved with purpose, coiling and uncoiling, forming patterns that looked almost like—
"Language," Maya breathed.
Alexander glanced at her sharply. "What?"
"It's not random. It's communication. Look—those spirals, they repeat. They're structured." Her scientist's mind surged to life, pushing back against the fear. "It's trying to speak."
"Or it's trying to trap us," Alexander growled.
But even as he said it, she couldn't look away. The spirals formed shapes that tugged at her memory—constellations she'd studied as a child, the symbol etched into Alexander's insignia, the curve of his hand against hers.
Her throat tightened. "It knows us."
The voice returned, louder this time, a chorus that seemed to come from everywhere at once. You are remembered. You are bound.
Maya's vision swam. Images flashed through her mind—herself standing at the altar of a burning world, Alexander walking away from her into shadow, the Rift yawning open behind him.
Her body trembled. "Alexander… what is it saying?"
His face was pale, drawn tight. He didn't answer.
"Tell me!" she cried, her voice breaking.
His hands shook on the controls. For the first time, he looked afraid. Truly afraid. "It's saying the same thing it said six years ago."
Her heart stopped. "Six years ago—you were here?"
He closed his eyes briefly, as though the weight of the confession was unbearable. "This is why I left you, Maya. Because I made a bargain with it."
Her breath hitched, the world tilting. A bargain… The words crashed through her, shattering everything she thought she knew.
Before she could speak, the figures outside stepped closer, their silver eyes blazing. The shuttle trembled as though caught in a great hand.
Maya clutched Alexander's arm, terror and fury tangled in her chest. "What did you give it?"
His eyes met hers, dark and filled with torment. "Me."
The Rift howled around them, swallowing her scream.
Scene Five - The Bargain Unveiled
The Rift roared around them, a storm without wind, a chorus without mouths. Its voice reverberated in Maya's chest, threading into her pulse until she could not tell if her heartbeat was her own or the Rift's.
You are bound. You are owed.
The shuttle groaned as though it would tear apart. Sparks rained from the ceiling, the control panels flaring and dying in bursts of static. Gravity shifted in nauseating waves; Maya's stomach heaved as her body insisted she was falling, though her seat harness held her locked in place.
Beside her, Alexander's hands fell away from the controls. His shoulders slumped, his eyes fixed on the swirling void ahead with the resignation of a man staring at an executioner.
Maya gripped his arm, panic clawing up her throat. "What did you give it, Alexander? What does it mean—you gave it you?"
His gaze met hers, hollow yet burning. "Six years ago, the Rift opened near another colony. I was sent to investigate. I thought it was just another anomaly—a temporal fold, a gravitational tear. But when I crossed the threshold…" His voice cracked, hoarse with memory. "It spoke to me, Maya. Just like now. It said it had chosen me. That I carried something it wanted."
Her breath hitched. "Something? What?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not something. Someone."
The Rift pulsed, light lashing across the void like veins of fire. The beings outside pressed closer, their silver eyes unblinking.
Maya's throat closed. "You're telling me—it wanted me?"
His silence was answer enough.
Her mind reeled. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off as impossible, but the Rift itself seemed to confirm it with another chorus:
The heart remembers. The heart binds. She is ours.
The words speared through her, both alien and intimate. Her skin burned as if invisible hands pressed against her ribs, reaching for the rhythm of her heart.
She gasped, clutching her chest. "Alexander—"
He grabbed her shoulders, fierce, desperate. "That's why I left. Don't you understand? If I'd stayed, it would have taken you. The Rift marked you, Maya. And the only way to protect you was to walk away. To carry its curse myself."
Her vision blurred with tears. The memory of that morning six years ago—the cold sheets, the silence where his warmth had been—crashed over her anew. "You left me because of this? You left me to fight it alone?"
"I thought I could hold it off. That if I gave myself, it would forget you." His voice broke. "But I was wrong. It never forgot. And now it's come for both of us."
The Rift howled in triumph, its voice swelling until the very air vibrated. The bargain remains unfinished. One must stay. One must bind.
The figures outside raised their hands again, and the shuttle shuddered as if caught in a tide. Panels ripped from the walls, equipment floated in sudden weightlessness. The Rift was dismantling their world piece by piece.
Maya's chest tightened. "It wants one of us."
Alexander's jaw hardened. He unfastened his harness. "Then it will have me. It always should have been me."
"No!" She lunged, grabbing his wrist. Fury seared through her tears. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare make this choice for me again."
He stared at her, pained. "Maya—"
"You left once," she said, her voice trembling but fierce. "And I spent six years with half a heart because of it. If you walk into that void now, you'll finish what you started. You'll kill me long before the Rift does."
The Rift's voice surged again, almost amused. Two hearts. One fate. Choose.
The beings outside began to merge, their forms weaving together into a towering shape of light and shadow. It pressed closer, its face both beautiful and terrible, silver eyes like moons.
Alexander cupped her face in his hands, his forehead pressing to hers through their helmets. His breath fogged the glass, his voice raw. "I can't lose you, Maya. Not to this. Not again."
"You don't get to decide," she whispered fiercely. "We decide. Together."
For the first time, the Rift hesitated. The towering figure stilled, its eyes flickering. The spirals of golden light around them faltered, as though confused.
Maya felt it then—a shift. A crack in the Rift's certainty. It fed on division, on love torn apart. But what if love refused to break?
She squeezed Alexander's hands, holding on as if anchoring them both. "It doesn't get to take us. Not like this. We are not yours."
The Rift recoiled, its howl turning sharp, almost furious. The golden spirals twisted into violent knots. Gravity warped, throwing them against their harnesses.
Alexander gritted his teeth, his arms shielding her as sparks cascaded around them. "Hold on—if it can be pushed back, this is the moment—"
Maya shut her eyes, pouring every ounce of herself into one thought, one truth. We are not yours. We belong to each other.
The Rift shrieked. The towering figure dissolved into fragments of light, scattering like ash in a storm. The shuttle lurched violently, then—sudden silence.
When Maya opened her eyes, the void had receded. Stars glittered in the viewport. The dying sun returned, its swollen red glow bleeding across space.
The Rift was gone. For now.
Her body trembled with exhaustion. Beside her, Alexander slumped back into his seat, his face pale, his chest heaving. Their hands remained clasped, knuckles white.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Alexander whispered, hoarse, "It's not over. It will come back."
Maya squeezed his hand, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. "Then let it. Next time, we face it together."
His eyes searched hers, haunted and unworthy, yet filled with a desperate hope. For the first time in six years, he nodded.
Together.