The cliff was cold beneath my feet, a stubborn reminder that the ground still existed even when the mind floated among the stars. Above, the cosmos stretched wide, a black canvas spattered with pinpricks of fire and light. I had stood here countless times, imagining myself hurtling through those distant suns, skimming the edges of unknown galaxies, the thrill of discovery coiling in my chest like electricity.
And then… nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole. Not the gentle sleep of night, not the comforting kind of darkness that blankets the world before dawn. This was vast, infinite, a void that pressed against my senses with oppressive weight. No light. No sound. No sensation beyond the crushing awareness of absence. I gasped for air, my chest tightening in panic. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Is this death? My mind raced, grappling with the terrifying possibility. A thousand questions surged and collided, but the only answer I could feel was the silence — endless, absolute, eternal.
And then, the light came.
Blinding. Warm. All-consuming. It poured over me like liquid gold, searing my vision and forcing my eyelids to flutter shut. I coughed and wheezed, the air tasting sweet and impossibly real. Somehow — impossibly — I was alive. Alive.
A shaky laugh escaped my lips, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the pure, ragged relief of someone plucked from the edge of despair. "Thank God…" I murmured, my breath rattling in my chest.
"No need to thank me, Candidate. I accept gratitude in many forms, though."
I froze.
"…What?"
The voice didn't belong to any human I had ever known. It was too calm, too precise — the kind of voice that sounded like a machine, but with a strange cadence, a subtle humor embedded within it. The words were carefully articulated, deliberate. Not robotic exactly, but unnervingly artificial.
"Welcome to the Trial of the Cosmic Frontier," the voice continued, almost cheerfully, as if reading from a manual it had long memorized. "You have been chosen — somewhat questionably — to participate. Congratulations. Or condolences. Interpret freely."
I blinked, disoriented. "Wait, wait — what trial? What are you talking about?"
"This galaxy functions under natural selection for explorers, leaders, and fools with delusions of grandeur. You clearly fall into one of those categories."
I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry… are you calling me a fool?"
"Would you prefer 'heroic idiot'? It has a nice ring."
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. My brain was simultaneously terrified and incredulous. My heartbeat felt like it had switched to double-time. The void behind the voice seemed to ripple, and in a blink, it peeled away, revealing a battered, lonely starship drifting in the infinite darkness.
I squinted at it, stunned. Beyond the vessel stretched the galaxy itself — black, vast, endless, dotted with stars that burned like distant promises. The ship floated like a relic, isolated and vulnerable in a universe that didn't notice or care. My stomach twisted. "Where… where am I?"
"In space. Congratulations, you noticed."
I blinked, trying to comprehend. "Space? Space? As in outer space?"
"No, the other kind. Yes, outer space. And if you're done asking obvious questions, we should begin before you run out of oxygen."
My lungs worked overtime, trying to catch air I didn't realize I had been holding. My thoughts spun, spinning into panic. I looked around the interior of the ship: blinking consoles, failing systems, flickering lights, and a control panel that screamed "emergency" in every language I vaguely recognized. I was… really here. Dead on Earth, but somehow alive in space.
Then the absurdity of it hit me. I laughed — genuinely, uncontrollably, a little too loudly for the emptiness around me. "System… a system!" I muttered to myself. "Like those protagonists in novels who become overpowered and conquer worlds. Or villains with godlike powers."
"Yes. Exactly like that. Except you are neither overpowered nor competent, so this should be entertaining."
I paused, my laugh catching in my throat. "Great. I'm talking to a sassy spaceship tutorial."
"Correction: a sassy cosmic trial management interface. Tutorial implies I care if you succeed."
I ran a hand down my face, still staring at the blinking lights and the infinite black beyond the viewport. "Okay. Fine. What now?"
"Your objectives are simple: 1) Master the operation of your vessel. 2) Secure essential resources. 3) Recruit an ally who will hopefully tolerate you. Failure to do so will result in permanent termination — of you, not me."
"Of course," I muttered under my breath. The absurdity of the situation was staggering, and yet there was a thread of terrifying reality running through it all. I was alive. I was here. I had objectives. And failure meant death.
"Rewards will scale with performance," the voice added. "Exceptional candidates receive blueprints of rare weapons, ships, and technologies. Mediocre ones… usually explode."
I stared at the controls again, my heart hammering. "Alright. Drive the ship. Find resources. Recruit someone. Easy."
"Statistically? Questionable."
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm the pounding of my chest. The galaxy stretched out before me, infinite and merciless, and for the first time, I wasn't just dreaming about it — I was part of it. The Trial had begun.
---
The first task, as far as I could tell, was to figure out how to move the ship. I approached the control panel cautiously, my fingers trembling over buttons I had no business touching. Red lights blinked warnings at me, panels beeped like annoyed animals, and a holographic display flickered, showing what I could only assume was my location: a lonely, spinning point in a vast void.
"Step one," I muttered aloud. "Don't blow it up."
The voice, ever sarcastic, piped in immediately. "Ah yes, the tried-and-true survival tactic. Very heroic."
I scowled at the console. Survival first, heroics later. Logical. I pushed a few buttons tentatively. Sparks flew. Alarms screeched. My heart jumped into my throat.
"Congratulations," the voice said flatly. "You are now the proud owner of a fully functional emergency oxygen leak alarm. It works… poorly. Try again?"
I groaned. "Seriously?!"
"Statistically, failure builds character."
After what felt like an eternity of trial-and-error, I finally got the engines to respond. The ship lurched forward, thrumming beneath me like a living thing. I pressed forward, heart hammering, barely daring to breathe. The galaxy stretched endlessly, stars blazing against the blackness, and for the first time, I felt it: power. Not true power, not yet, but the intoxicating taste of possibility.
---
Hours passed. Or maybe days — time in space was slippery, like trying to hold water in your hands. I learned to navigate basic controls, though I wasn't sure how. I found resource caches, floating debris, remnants of long-abandoned stations. Each collection was painstaking, each repair painstakingly improvised. Every task reminded me how much I didn't know.
And then came the first unexpected signal — a transmission from another vessel.
"Hello?" I called, unsure of what else to do. "Is anyone there?"
The voice that responded was calm, smooth, tinged with amusement. "Well, well. Look at you. Alive, barely competent, and surprisingly unscathed. I'm… considering helping you. Maybe."
My stomach knotted. "You… you'd help me?"
"Depends on what you can offer. Survival, perhaps. Humor, maybe. Charm? Possibly. Convince me, Candidate."
I blinked at the screen, realizing — for the first time — that I wasn't alone in this Trial. Someone else existed, someone who could be my ally… or my rival. I swallowed. "Alright. Let's… let's see if we can do this."
"Good. I like a candidate with ambition, however misguided."
---
The galaxy stretched wider than I could comprehend, infinite in its cruelty and beauty. Stars exploded silently in the void, nebulae glowed like ghostly fires, and planets spun in lonely dance. And somewhere in it all, I existed — a small, terrified, determined speck in the vast machinery of the universe, under the watchful eye of a voice that was as cruel as it was amusing.
I laughed, heart pounding, chest tight with exhilaration and fear. "Okay," I muttered to myself. "Let's see if I can survive this."
"Statistically? Questionable."
But somehow, against every rational expectation, I felt ready. The stars stretched before me, and for the first time, I was no longer dreaming. I was living.
The Trial had begun.