The Obsidian Wraith glided silently through the void.
From the cockpit, the stars stretched out in every direction. Bright, crisp, and impossibly vast. Their ancient light shimmered against the polished surface of the controls, casting faint reflections across the curved glass and matte black paneling. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ship's systems and the occasional blink of lights tracking their position. A calm, artificial rhythm, like the pulse of a living vessel cradling him between worlds.
Ethan sat motionless in the pilot's chair, his fingers resting loosely on the controls. The flickers of movement outside, celestial bodies drifting, distant suns pulsing, the slow spin of Kynara in retreat went unnoticed for several moments. His eyes were open, but they were far away.
His thoughts had drifted somewhere deeper.
He remembered the first time he woke up on this ship. Disoriented. Cold. Alone. His body still bearing the last sensations of Earth, even as reality had shifted violently beneath him. One moment, he'd been heading to his apartment after a bento meal… and the next, lying in a narrow bunk inside an alien spacecraft drifting through a galaxy he didn't recognize.
It had been overwhelming, too much, too fast.
He remembered fumbling with the ship's console, trying to make sense of the controls while Iris, the onboard AI, calmly assessed his vitals and offered diagnostic summaries in a voice far too serene for the chaos in his head. Hours later, he'd made planetfall. Not in a smooth descent or calculated landing, but in a fiery crash onto a sun-scorched plateau on Kynara.
From that moment, his life had never stopped accelerating.
He remembered limping into Valeris City, dust clinging to him like a second skin. The Mercenary Guild's towering stone-and-metal hall had loomed ahead of him, alien and cold until he'd stepped inside and met Kael. His wary eyes had sized him up, but there'd been a quiet compassion behind his professionalism. He'd registered him as an F-rank without comment, walking him through everything calmly.
That had been the beginning.
His first few jobs were supposed to be easy. Escorts, scans, delivery runs across small settlements. But Kynara had other plans. The Black Sun Syndicate, bandit warlords, corrupt local enforcers… they had all pulled him into conflicts he barely understood. He hadn't just adapted, he'd bled for it. Fought for it. Survived.
Names began to surface in his mind, like constellations charting his path across the planet.
Dax. Leena. Lyra. And many others.
Friends, allies, gone now. Taken by the same war that had tried to take him. They had fought beside him, laughed with him, argued, and stood their ground until the end. Each had sacrificed something in the battle against the Syndicate, trading their tomorrows so others could live.
Then there were the ones who remained. Nara, Kael, Malek, Rourke, Kara, Zyrix, Thalor, Eliara… people who had believed in him when he barely believed in himself. They had helped him when he was lost, guided him when the world made no sense, and reminded him that he wasn't alone in this strange new universe.
His gaze lingered on the holographic projection of Kynara. The planet now looked like a distant marble, its golden deserts and frost-capped poles wrapped in cloud and shadow.
He had seen things there no star map could ever show.
The innocent outposts he hadn't reached in time still haunted him. Settlements caught in the crossfire, kidnapped families who had looked to the sky hoping for rescue, only to be met with silence. By the time he arrived, the damage had been done. Smoldering wreckage. Hollow-eyed survivors. The cries of those left behind echoed in his memories, a reminder that even the strongest couldn't be everywhere at once.
Then there were the convoys, frightened traders and refugees desperate to cross hostile ground. He had led them through valleys choked with smoke, past ridgelines where ambushers waited in the dark. Each mile had been a gamble. He remembered the long nights in silence, adrenaline wearing thin, pulse quickening with every distant sound. He could still feel the tension in his muscles as he stared down the sights of his laser pistol, praying he wouldn't have to use it and knowing that, more often than not, he would.
The final raids on the bandit warlords had taken everything he had left. Their strongholds were buried deep in the deserts and badlands, protected by layers of traps and merciless fighters. The battles weren't just violent, they were vicious. Up close and personal. He'd fought with grit in his teeth and blood on his hands. Good people had fallen. Friends. Allies. The ground itself seemed to drink in the loss, and the silence after the fighting always felt heavier than the noise that preceded it. The cost of victory was steep and paid in full.
But then came the turning point.
He remembered the old man. Withered, sharp-eyed, with a voice like wind over bone who found him when Ethan was at his lowest. No name, no allegiance, just warnings and riddles. He spoke of the monolith and ruins long buried beneath the shifting desert sands, hidden from maps and forgotten by time. Against every rational instinct, Ethan followed.
They ventured into the dunes, through dust storms and collapsed passageways, until finally, beneath layers of ancient stone, Ethan found it.
The Astral Slayer.
Not just a molecular weapon. A relic of a war predating any faction still standing in the galaxy. Forged with technology that defied logic, etched with symbols Ethan couldn't decipher. The moment he touched it, something clicked. Like it had been waiting for him. It responded to his thoughts, his instincts, its edge humming with dormant psychic energy. Raw, primal, and endless. It wasn't just bound to him, it recognized him.
Harnessing its power hadn't been easy. At first, it felt too much, like trying to harness a star with bare hands. But in time, he learned to wield it. To channel its strength without being completely consumed by it.
And with it, he turned the tide against Drakor Krenna. The leader and most brutal of the Syndicate's high command. The final battle had been unlike any before. Krenna's northern fortress was a bastion of corruption, crawling with soldiers, mutant desert monsters, and machines. The air was thick with smoke and madness. The sky itself seemed to burn that day.
Ethan had walked into hell with the Astral Slayer in hand… and carved a path through it.
That battle wasn't just the end of the Syndicate's reign, it was the moment Ethan knew he had changed. That he couldn't go back to being the man who crash-landed on Kynara all those months ago.
That fight marked the end of an era for Kynara… and for him.
He leaned back in his seat and let out a long, steady breath.
He hadn't meant to grow attached to the place. It had started as nothing more than a crash site. But Kynara had a way of pulling you in, of wearing you down with struggle and forging something new from the pieces that remained. It had tested him, broken him, and then built him back up again. Stronger. Wiser. Different.
Kynara wasn't just a battlefield or a proving ground. It had become his place.
The first world in this strange universe that felt like something close to home.
Ethan watched as the planet had long receded further into the black. A part of him remained tethered to it, an invisible thread he didn't want to cut.
He would return.
"A second home," he murmured, just loud enough for Iris to record the words. "And one I'll come back to someday."
The ship continued its steady course, stars shifting in the distance, the hum of the systems as constant as the pulse in his chest.