The ship's engines hummed steadily, their rhythmic pulsing a constant reminder that Drayven was still anchored to reality—his reality. But the faint unease in the pit of his stomach refused to fade, gnawing at him with every passing moment. The crew's concerned gazes were a constant, distracting presence, their eyes full of questions he didn't have the answers to. The breach of the rift had changed something fundamental, and whatever it was, it wasn't staying hidden for long.
"Captain," Varick spoke up again, his voice urgent, yet respectful. "You've been... distant, since we made the jump. Are you sure you're alright?"
Drayven turned his attention to the screen in front of him, watching the starry expanse beyond the Dawnbreaker's hull. There was nothing unusual, just the deep void of space—except it felt wrong. The stars flickered at the edges of his vision, not quite behaving as they should.
"I'm fine," Drayven lied, his voice flat. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the dull ache that had settled there after his encounter with the rift. "Just a little disoriented. Nothing to worry about."
Varick's brow furrowed, but he didn't press further. Instead, he glanced down at the console, his expression flickering with uncertainty. "There's something else, Captain. We've detected a shift in the timeline. Small, but significant."
Drayven's heart skipped. A shift in the timeline? He had hoped that his actions in the rift wouldn't ripple back into reality—that the fractures wouldn't spread. But it seemed his hope had been in vain.
"What kind of shift?" Drayven asked, keeping his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his gut.
Varick hesitated, his fingers tapping over the console as he pulled up a set of readings. "It's like a… shadow, Captain. A distortion in the fabric of time itself. It's almost as though we're seeing echoes from a different version of events. A past that never happened—or maybe a future that hasn't come to pass yet."
Drayven leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the data. It was… troubling. Even though the ship's systems weren't equipped to detect every fluctuation in the timeline, they had been picking up on these irregularities. Things were changing. And, from what he could gather, it wasn't just the ship. It was everything. The universe around them was bending, altering. Reality itself was being shaped by something beyond their control.
"What kind of echoes?" Drayven asked, his voice tense. He needed to know more.
Varick swiped through a few more screens, his face growing increasingly grim. "We've received several transmissions—most of them fragmented. Hints of a battle, a conflict. But… the strange part is that these transmissions don't match anything we know. They're from timelines that don't exist—or at least, they shouldn't."
Drayven stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The unease in his chest intensified. This wasn't just a mistake. This wasn't something that could be ignored.
The crew had fallen silent, and Drayven turned to face them. His gaze lingered on each one of them, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. They didn't understand what was happening. But he did.
"I have to go," Drayven said, his voice low but firm. "There's something out there. Something that's causing these shifts, and I need to find out what it is."
Varick's eyes widened. "Captain, you've barely just returned. We don't even know what's causing these disturbances."
"I don't have time to explain," Drayven snapped, a flash of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. "The longer I wait, the worse this gets. The fractures are spreading faster than I anticipated. I need to find the source before it destroys everything."
With that, he turned on his heel and marched toward the ship's exit, his boots echoing on the metal floors. The rest of the crew exchanged uneasy glances, but no one stopped him. They trusted him, even if they didn't understand.
As Drayven made his way to the shuttle bay, the sensation of being watched crept up his spine once again. He'd been feeling it since stepping back into this reality—the nagging sense that something wasn't right, that the threads of the timeline were slipping between his fingers. Was he even in his own timeline anymore?
The shuttle bay doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Drayven stepped inside. His fingers brushed against the controls, activating the hatch as he climbed into the sleek, silver craft. He wasn't sure where he was going yet—he would figure that out as he went. But the echoes, the fragments, they were all pulling him in the same direction.
He lifted off from the Dawnbreaker and into the darkness of space, the stars once again blinking strangely at the edges of his vision.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was days—time was beginning to lose its meaning. Drayven couldn't tell if he was following a trail or simply chasing shadows, but something told him he was getting closer.
Then, on the outer rim of the star system, he saw it.
The anomaly. The distortion.
It wasn't a planet, nor was it a moon. It wasn't even a ship. It was a mass—a swirling, chaotic presence that hovered in space, warping the fabric of reality around it. Drayven's shuttle was pulled toward it like a magnet, and no matter how hard he fought the controls, he found himself drawn into the event horizon.
He tried to make a quick scan, but the readings were nonsensical. The anomaly wasn't just distorting time—it was shifting it. Fragmented echoes of past and future events collided in the space around it, creating a maelstrom of possibilities that fractured and reassembled before his eyes. Some of the flashes were of battles he recognized from history. Others were completely alien, unfamiliar.
Drayven's mind reeled. What was this place? A convergence? A nexus of broken timelines?
The shuttle's alarms blared, indicating an incoming gravitational pull. Drayven tried to pull up, but it was too late. The rift had already begun to drag him in.
He braced himself for the impact, expecting the ship to crumble, to disintegrate in the chaos. But instead, the world around him twisted violently. Reality bent, stretched, and then—everything went black.
When Drayven opened his eyes, he was no longer in the shuttle.
The air was different—colder. The sky was darker, filled with swirling clouds that threatened to consume the horizon. There was no sign of the shuttle. No stars. Just a vast, empty expanse.
And standing before him, as if they had always been there, was Reya.
Her silhouette was bathed in an ethereal glow, the same violet energy surrounding her like a shield. But now, she was not alone. Behind her, there were others. Figures dressed in strange, alien armor, their faces obscured by dark helmets.
"Welcome, Drayven," Reya said, her voice calm, but with an edge of something darker beneath it. "You've finally come."
Drayven's throat tightened. "What is this place?" he demanded, his voice hoarse from the shock of the experience. "Where am I?"
"You're at the center of it all," Reya replied. "The fracture, the rift—it all comes to this moment. You've crossed the threshold. But now, the true test begins."
Drayven stepped forward, his instincts telling him to be cautious, but the weight of his choices hung heavily on him. The fate of the timelines was in his hands now. But the question remained: What had he truly unleashed by entering the rift?
And what were these strange beings who now stood before him?