With a final push of the thrusters, the Obsidian Wraith punched through the last remnants of the atmosphere. The resistance dropped off in an instant. It felt almost like slipping through a curtain, one moment turbulent, the next utterly still. The noise and pressure of the ascent dissolved into a sudden, weightless quiet.
The sky, once a deep, shifting blue, vanished behind him, replaced by the black velvet of space. It was pure and endless, dotted with the cold light of distant stars. The hum of the engines softened, and the gentle pulsing of the ship's stabilizers took over, adapting seamlessly to the shift in environment. The cockpit lights dimmed slightly, the interior display automatically recalibrating for low-light conditions.
Ethan didn't move.
He was transfixed by the view outside the viewport, Kynara now floating behind him like a glowing marble suspended in the dark. Its surface shimmered faintly in the light of its twin suns, a beautiful but fragile jewel in the endless void. The contrast was stark. Up close, he had known Kynara's storms, its rough terrain, its desperate cities and people clinging to survival. But from out here, all of that faded. There were no signs of struggle from this vantage point. Only color, shadow, and motionless calm.
The golden hues of the suns bathed the planet's edge in soft firelight, turning the frozen northern regions into a sheet of reflected brilliance. Clouds moved slowly across the equator, barely visible from this distance, and the once-mighty spires of Valeris City were now no more than invisible specks folded into the curvature of the world.
He stared at it for a long while, watching as the Wraith continued to climb, the ship's trajectory slowly pivoting as it adjusted course. The planet shrank behind him, becoming smaller with each passing second. Its details began to blur, its features reduced to texture and light. And then even that began to fade.
In a few minutes, it would be just another world in the rearview. Another point of light among billions. Indistinguishable. Distant. Quiet.
And somehow, that realization struck him harder than anything else had that day.
Despite everything...the chaos, the danger, the weight of constant responsibility. Kynara had forged him. The planet had tested every limit, pulled him into battles he hadn't chosen, and forced him to become something more than he was when he first woke up on the Obsidian Wraith.
It wasn't just a chapter closed. it was a part of him now. And as he watched it fade into the dark behind him, a quiet resolve stirred inside. He would return someday. Not just as a passerby, but as someone who had seen more of the galaxy, someone ready to stop running and finally call a place home.
Maybe, once the adventures were over, when the credits were stacked high and the urge to chase danger had burned itself out, he'd settle there. Quietly. Permanently.
But not yet.
For now, he watched the distance stretch, the door not closing forever, but simply staying ajar and waiting for the right moment to open again.
Space wasn't like a planet. It didn't wait for you. It didn't forgive or remember.
But Kynara would. And so would he.
With a quiet breath, Ethan turned his attention back to the ship's controls, pulling his thoughts out of orbit and back into the cockpit. The past was behind him, wrapped in atmospheric haze and drifting memory. Ahead, the future sprawled, limitless and unknown.
"Iris, pull up the star map," he said.
The console emitted a soft chime, and a three-dimensional projection blossomed into view above the dash. It was beautiful in its own way, a lattice of light and movement, stars and systems arranged like points in a sprawling web. Data streams ran along the edges of the projection, marking known trade routes, recent conflicts, political borders, and high-risk zones.
Ethan watched the map shift and expand, sectors rotating into focus as Iris highlighted the current location of the Obsidian Wraith. From their position above Kynara, the hologram extended outward, revealing the full breadth of the Ashen Sector, and beyond it, the shimmering sprawl of the greater Orion Federation.
His next scheduled stop was Ashen Prime.
The station wasn't remarkable, not by Federation standards, but it held importance. It served as the capital hub of the Ashen Sector, orbiting a dying gas giant and hosting the administrative core, trade offices, and most notably, Governor Krell. He needed to check in with him, log his departure from Kynara, and make preparations for the next leg of his journey.
But Ashen Prime wasn't a destination. It was a pit stop.
His real aim lay further inward, toward the Federation's denser, more active core sectors. He scrolled across the map, adjusting the zoom and filters until a few core worlds glowed faint blue, designated hubs with Guild branches ranked C and above. That's where his C-rank promotion would be finalized. Somewhere with more contracts, more credits, and maybe, more answers regarding the Astral Slayer and his transmigration.
Still, he hesitated.
The Ashen Sector looked tiny now. A pale, neglected smear on the edge of the map. Kynara was just a dot on the periphery. When he had first arrived, it had consumed his entire universe, its problems too heavy, its battles too urgent. But now, in context, he could see how little it truly was. How far it stood from the center of things.
And how far he could now go.
The Federation stretched endlessly in every direction. The mapped zones alone numbered in the thousands, with countless more left unexplored. Some were governed by corporations, others by local alliances or tribal coalitions. There were war-torn systems where battles raged daily, neutral zones used by smugglers and black-market fleets, and far-flung colonies where humanity clung to existence on inhospitable rocks.
Ethan's eyes lingered on one of the highlighted routes branching toward the frontier, places even the Guild barely patrolled. His fingertips brushed the edge of the console as he considered it. No obligations. No mission timers. No looming patronage demands. For the first time since waking on this ship, he was free to choose where he went next.
Free, but not aimless.
There was a strange pressure in that freedom. The sudden absence of structure. His life on Kynara had been defined by necessity. Survival, resistance, the looming shadow of war. But here, drifting in space with nothing pulling at him, the question of why and where to next felt heavier than he expected.
He leaned back in the pilot's seat, watching the swirling mass of stars rotating slowly above the dash. Each one could hold a story. A beginning. A threat. A purpose.
And somewhere in all that light and darkness, his next step was waiting.