We left the village just a couple hours after seventh bell, slipping away like shadows beneath a sky crowded with unfamiliar stars. The forest swallowed us within moments, and I found myself entranced by the sensory experience of moving through this wild, untamed place.
In my previous life as Callahan O'Shea, nature had been something distant and theoretical. The Bellerophon was a sterile environment of recycled air, artificial lighting, and the constant hum of machinery. Even Earth's remaining wilderness areas had been carefully managed, monitored by drones and environmental regulators.
But this—this was something primal and raw.
My boots crunched softly on fallen leaves as I breathed in air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in silver shafts, painting dappled patterns across the forest floor. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, its haunting cry echoing through the trees.
