"Beyond the stars, the countless whispers of matter hurling through the ever-changing universe, lies a soul at every turn waiting to hear the call of a new destiny from one world to the next."
The air in the Supply Zone tasted of ozone and polished metal, a familiar scent now tinged with the bittersweet aroma of departure. Before them, docked in the main bay, the Prospect rested with a quiet dignity. Its hull, a sleek composite of deep grey and dark black, absorbed the hangar's harsh lighting, making it seem like a sliver of the void itself had come to rest. Kallus and Artemis Eldrath stood by the open boarding ramp, their work complete. The ship hummed with latent power, every system primed and ready.
Mr. Vanaheim, his four auxiliary mechanical arms folded neatly behind his back, regarded the Voidwalker with an expression that was at once stern and deeply paternal. "I wish you farewell, Voidwalker, but remember: the cosmos... it's a maelstrom of glorious impossibilities and terrifying truths. You will see suns born from nebulae that weep light, and you will see things that hunt in the silent dark between stars. Do not let one blind you to the other."
He stepped forward, one of his metallic arms extending to offer a small, silver object no larger than a bird's egg. It was smooth, cool to the touch, and featureless save for a single seam.
"A Pocket-drone," Vanaheim explained. "When you encounter something you cannot comprehend—a stellar phenomenon, a fragment of forgotten technology, an unfamiliar lifeform—deploy it. Its scans will link directly to my archives here on the Nexus. I will be your library across the void."
The Voidwalker took the drone, its weight a surprising comfort in his palm. "I… thank you, Mr. Vanaheim. For everything."
"Don't thank me. Learn," the old researcher replied gruffly, though his eyes softened. "And when you look out at it all, don't just survive it. Inhabit it." The image his words painted—of standing amidst the chaos and wonder not as a victim but as a part of it—etched itself into the Voidwalker's mind.
Dr. Xypha, stepped up next. She gave him a playful nudge. "Eric gets to be the font of cosmic wisdom, so I'll be the voice of reason. Have a little fun out there, will you? You'll meet a lot of people as old and serious as Kallus," she said, winking at the Eldrath patriarch, who offered a thin, tolerant smile. "Sometimes, they just need someone to remind them that the universe is also magnificently, ridiculously absurd."
Beside her, Dev's screen flickered to life. A series of complex graphs and charts zipped by before resolving into a single, pixelated teardrop rolling down a sad-face emoji. A synthesized voice warbled, "Probability of missing your presence: 98.7%. Margin of error: negligible. Emotional impact… significant." The screen then flashed with a rapid succession of images: a waving hand, a heart, a gold star, and finally a smiling face so wide it stretched the limits of the display.
"He'll miss you," Xypha translated, patting the robot's cubic head.
The Voidwalker smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through his chest. "I'll miss you all, too."
With a final nod to his benefactors on the station, he turned and walked towards the Prospect. The Eldraths greeted him with solemn inclines of their heads. As he stepped across the threshold, the hiss of the boarding ramp sealing behind him was a sound of absolute finality. The Nexus was his past; this ship was now his present.
And what a present it was.
The interior was not the cold, utilitarian space of a military vessel, but a haven of calculated comfort. Soft light emanated from recessed panels, casting a warm glow on walls of a smooth, cream-coloured material. He was mesmerised. It felt less like a machine and more like a home.
"Welcome aboard the Prospect," Artemis said, her voice echoing slightly in the sudden quiet. "She's a Finnrel-class courier, modified by my father for long-range scholarly pursuits. The atmospheric recyclers maintain a perfect Terran balance, and the inertial dampeners are top-of-the-line. You'll barely feel us break orbit."
She guided him past a semi-circular sofa upholstered in a rich crimson fabric that faced a dormant holotable. "This is the briefing room. Further back," she gestured down the main corridor, "is the common area. We have terrariums containing flora from a dozen different worlds, a galley that can replicate over a thousand nutritional profiles, and the sleeping quarters."
The Voidwalker followed her into the cockpit. The design was breathtaking. The floor was a single, transparent pane of reinforced crystal-steel, offering a dizzying view of the hangar bay below. Two raised seats for the pilot and co-pilot were positioned for a panoramic vista of the stars. Kallus was already seated in the pilot's chair, his long fingers dancing over the glowing console.
The Voidwalker took the third seat, a comms station to the right, and watched as Kallus finalised their flight plan. A course shimmered into existence on the main display—a silver thread stretching from the icon of the Nexus Station to a brilliant, star-like point. Beside it, elegant script spelled out a single word: CELESTARA.
"Celestara," the Voidwalker said, testing the name on his tongue. It sounded like a promise. "What is it?"
Kallus didn't turn from the console, but his voice was resonant with a deep, private reverence. "Some would call it the heart of the Imperium. The throne world of the God-Emperor. They would not be wrong, but they would be incomplete."
Artemis leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. "It is where the Great Dynasties convene, where Nexium flows like water, and where technologies that border on magic are commonplace."
"That still does not do it justice," Kallus murmured, a rare hint of wonder in his tone. He finally turned his gaze to the Voidwalker, his ancient eyes holding the glint of distant galaxies. "Celestara is a world of nature and artifice, where mountains carved by wind and time loom over cities that scrape the heavens. It is a place of monoliths and grasslands, of politics and spirituality. To describe it would be to paint a sunrise with charcoal. It is something that must be witnessed."
With that, he turned back to the controls. A deep thrum vibrated through the deck plates as the Nexium engines whined to life. The Prospect lifted from the docking clamps with an impossible grace, the view through the floor shifting from hangar deck to the star-dusted black.
They had gone.
The Nexus Space Station, a marvel of Imperial engineering that had been the Voidwalker's entire world, shrank in the viewport. It became a beacon, then a bright star, and then was lost in the infinite expanse of the cosmos. The comforting, crimson-and-cream interior of the ship was an island of tranquility as the engines pitched to a higher frequency. They had left the world he knew behind, racing toward a destination that defied description, cradled in the quiet brilliance of a new destiny.