The shuttle cut through the void of space with calculated precision, its thrusters flaring as Drayven pushed the engines harder. The rift loomed ahead, a swirling vortex of jagged, shifting light that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. The proximity alarms screamed as the shuttle approached the event horizon, and Drayven's hands trembled on the controls.
"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, willing the shuttle to hold together. The warning lights blinked faster now, the systems warning him of the extreme temporal fluctuations within the rift. The ship was not designed to withstand this kind of pressure. It was a relic, built to endure the harshness of deep space, but this—this was different. This was something unnatural.
He stared at the rift, knowing that if he passed through it, there was no turning back. Whatever awaited him on the other side could unravel everything—his memories, the crew, the entire timeline. But he didn't have a choice. The ship was already on the edge of collapse, and time was running out. He had to see it through.
Suddenly, a sharp crackle sounded through the shuttle's comms system, causing Drayven to flinch.
"Drayven," came the familiar voice of Captain Varick, calm but edged with tension. "You're approaching the rift. You need to abort the mission. The rift's energy readings are beyond anything we've encountered. It's too dangerous."
Drayven didn't answer immediately, his mind racing. The voice of reason in his ear, telling him to turn back, was like a distant echo. It wasn't that he didn't trust Varick—he did, more than anyone. But this wasn't about survival anymore. This was about answers.
"Varick, I can't. The Dawnbreaker is already falling apart. We're losing control of the timeline. I need to go through," Drayven said, his voice tight.
Varick's voice came back, sharper this time. "You'll be lost in there, Korr. The timeline's fractured enough without you adding yourself to the mix."
Drayven clenched his jaw. The weight of his next decision hung heavy on him. He wasn't just risking his own life—he was risking the entire crew, the mission, and the fabric of reality itself. But there was no other way.
"Too late," Drayven muttered. "I'm already in motion."
With a deep breath, he pushed the shuttle forward, the rift now just meters away. A jagged beam of violet light shot out from the event horizon, its intense gravitational pull threatening to tear the shuttle apart. The ship's systems screamed in warning as alarms blared.
And then—
There was nothing.
The shuttle passed through the rift's edge, the blinding light engulfing the cockpit. Drayven slammed his eyes shut against the sudden glare, his body pressed back against the seat by the force of the pull. A dizzying, vertigo-inducing sensation swept over him, as if his very essence was being stretched across infinite dimensions.
When the light finally began to fade, Drayven opened his eyes cautiously. What he saw through the viewport was not the endless void of space. Instead, he was staring at a strange, unfamiliar landscape—vast, desolate, and bathed in the cold glow of a distant star. The sky above was tinged with an unnatural purple hue, clouds swirling in patterns that didn't belong in any natural atmosphere.
"This is it," he breathed, barely above a whisper.
He had crossed over.
Drayven's fingers hovered over the controls, navigating the shuttle toward the rocky terrain below. The air outside was thin, almost non-existent, and the temperature plummeted as the shuttle descended. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, the oppressive weight of something ancient and unknowable pressing down on him from every direction. The fabric of reality itself was unstable here. Every breath felt like it could be his last.
As he touched down on the jagged surface, the shuttle's engines sputtered, and the landing struts groaned under the stress. He was here. On the other side of the rift. The coordinates had led him to this barren, hostile world, but it wasn't just a world—it was a nexus. A place where time and space twisted together, where the very laws of physics seemed to be in flux.
The shuttle's doors hissed open, and Drayven stepped out, his boots crunching on the frozen ground. The world around him seemed to hum, a low, ominous vibration that rattled through his bones. He could feel it in the air—the presence that had been following him, that strange, distant voice calling his name.
"Reya," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
The name echoed in the silence, a haunting reminder of the mystery that had been gnawing at him. He didn't know who Reya was, but he knew one thing: She was connected to this place, to the rift, to whatever force was manipulating the timeline.
A sudden, sharp noise pierced the silence, like the crackling of static. Drayven spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the sidearm holstered at his waist. The atmosphere felt heavier now, as if something was emerging from the depths of the world. The ground trembled slightly beneath his feet, and he could hear something—no, someone—moving through the terrain.
Then, from the shadows, a figure appeared.
A woman, tall and cloaked in a flowing garment that shimmered with the same violet light as the rift. Her features were obscured by the cloak's hood, but her presence was unmistakable. Drayven's heart raced as he took a step back, his mind reeling.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.
The woman tilted her head, as though considering him. Her voice, when it came, was soft but resonant, echoing in Drayven's mind as much as in the air around him.
"Drayven Korr," she said, her voice dripping with an almost knowing amusement. "You have crossed into the rift. And now, you are mine."
The words sent a chill down his spine. There was something deeply unsettling about her, something far beyond the reach of simple logic. She was not human—not fully, at least. And her connection to the rift was undeniable.
"I—I don't know who you are," Drayven said, trying to steady his breath. "What is this place? What's happening to the timeline?"
The woman's lips curled into a faint smile, and she took a slow, deliberate step forward. The air around her seemed to shimmer, like the very atmosphere was bending under her influence.
"The rift is not just a tear in time," she said cryptically. "It is a gateway. A doorway between worlds, between realities. And you, Drayven Korr, are the key."
Drayven felt his stomach drop. He had crossed into another dimension, yes, but what did she mean by 'key'? What did she know about him that he didn't?
"You've come to understand the nature of time, of memory, of the fracture," the woman continued, her voice laced with a strange sense of finality. "But you have not yet realized what it means to be trapped in the fracture. What it means to become a part of the split."
Drayven stepped back, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy fog. The timeline wasn't just disrupted—it was broken. And now, he was part of it. Part of the crack.
"What are you going to do with me?" he asked, his pulse quickening. He had a terrible suspicion that this encounter was not a coincidence. That this woman, this entity, had been waiting for him all along.
"I am Reya," the woman said, her voice soft, but her words sending a shockwave through his mind. "And I've been waiting for you, Drayven Korr. You and I, we are bound by the fracture. By the rift. The timeline has already been rewritten. Now, it is time to rewrite it again."
Drayven's mind reeled as the woman's presence seemed to engulf him, pulling him deeper into the mysteries of the rift. Whatever this was—whatever had brought him here—it was far beyond anything he had ever imagined.
And yet, one thing was certain: There was no going back now.