Prologue

  “That was a direct hit to the JUMP drive!”

  “Farq! Why are they so mad at us? All we did was progress their evolution by a few thousand years! They should be thanking us!”

  “Not all forms of life are capable of understanding a greater presence within the cosmos,” Fayrok said calmly, unbothered by Syosk’s outburst.

  “But we essentially gave them that ability!” Syosk fired back.

  “Yes, but at what cost?” Fayrok continued, his measured tone the opposite of Syosk’s fiery state. “That species will have a difficult time breeding now. Their lifespans have been greatly increased—but the compensation, the tradeoff, was something they were not prepared to lose.”

  Syosk knew the Myndral was right. They probably should have told the species before dosing them all with modified SCANT. But if they had refused, the experiment would have failed. And they had invested too much time—and too many resources—to walk away.

  "How long until your engineers can get the JUMP drive back online?" Syosk asked, forcing himself to focus on the escape instead of the mistake.

  "Minimal damage. Less than a minute," Fayrok answered.

  "Good," Syosk growled. "I'm done with this system. No... I'm done with this universe. We collected what we needed. Let's finish this."

  Fayrok hesitated.

  They had discussed ending things for a long time now. Even though the remaining Myndral aboard the Sentinel had all agreed that it was time to transcend, a lingering fear remained. Deep within them still whispered the old creed: to return to the stone, to feed the cycle.

  "Yes," Fayrok said at last. "It is time."

  Syosk knew Fayrok spoke for all aboard. Their neural linkage—both to the ship and to each other—allowed them to function almost as a hive mind. They remained individuals, but their thoughts flowed constantly between them, a quiet river of shared understanding.

  Syosk could only imagine what it must be like to live that way, bound so closely to others.

  He had a similar ability—telepathic communication—but only with others of his species. And now, he was the last.

  There had been dozens of them when the Cosmic Sentinel had first taken flight. One by one, they had ascended—collected enough of the Aether to achieve their final release from this reality and escape.

  Their homeworld had long since fallen, consumed by their species’ violent tendencies. But even before that, Syosk had found himself incompatible with them, set apart the moment he left his homeworld aboard this ship.

  The nanites had changed them all.

  It was an unforeseen consequence.

  The enhancements were intended to improve cognitive function, emotional stability, and longevity—and they had succeeded.

  Too well.

  The changes made them too different from their original genetic base. They could no longer propagate.

  Not infertile exactly, but evolved beyond compatibility.

  In the early years, there had been hope.

  Attempts were made—with the Dirogan, the Myndral, the Geolans, the Forgals—but nothing worked.

  The genetic distance was too great.

  In desperation, they had begun seeding worlds, scattering their DNA across the cosmos, hoping evolution would eventually shape something close enough for viable offspring.

  It didn’t happen.

  They turned to cloning.

  They explored quantum duplication.

  Neither yielded the results they sought—at least, not in any way they could accept.

  So they shifted again.

  They abandoned the idea of preserving themselves and turned instead to exploring the unknown.

  They leaned into their differences, spending longer and longer periods within the Aether, studying its tides, its folds, its promises.

  Until, at last, an ancient Dirogan had achieved something extraordinary:

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  Ascension.

  Not death in the way others knew it, but a transcendence—becoming one with the Aether itself.

  It had sparked a new field of study:

  Not how to live forever, they were already doing that.

  But how to die.

  Another blast struck the Sentinel, sending a pulse of electromagnetic interference surging through the ship’s systems.

  The Myndral—each with their internal technological enhancements—briefly powered down, momentarily rendered inert.

  "Why won’t they just let us Farquing leave?" Syosk growled, his fingers moving swiftly as he manually restarted the affected systems, surging dark matter radiation back into the primary conduits.

  The ship—and the Myndral—woke with a jolt.

  The thrusters roared back to life, pinning them hard against their seats as the Sentinel accelerated sharply upward.

  Through the viewscreen, streaks of plasma fire cut across the void, their superheated energy leaving vivid, momentary scars against the darkness.

  "Incoming maneuver," the ship’s warning system echoed, prompting those not already strapped down to do so immediately.

  Gravity abruptly disengaged.

  The familiar weight vanished, leaving them floating for a brief instant before the ship spun violently on its axis.

  At the same moment, a focused pulse of energy—barely visible as a shimmering ripple—erupted from beneath the main viewscreen.

  The pulse swept across the nearest pursuing ships.

  Their flight paths froze, engines sputtering as their ability to maneuver was stripped away.

  Gravity reengaged sharply.

  The Sentinel, having completed a full one-hundred-and-eighty-degree rotation, now flew inverted relative to its original orientation.

  To an outside observer, the ship appeared to be flying "upside down"—but aboard the Sentinel, the artificial gravity systems maintained the illusion of consistency.

  To the crew, it felt as though nothing had changed at all.

  "JUMP drive repairs completed," Fayrok muttered from behind Syosk.

  "Then get us the FARQ out of here!" Syosk barked, his hands already gripping the controls.

  Several JUMPs later, on a planet they had never explored, the Cosmic Sentinel touched down near an active volcano.

  The atmosphere was toxic—thick with ammonia, nitrogen, and helium—but it mattered little to the Myndral. Their bio-organic systems easily filtered the environment, extracting the minimal oxygen required for survival.

  Syosk, stepping out in a sleek APEX suit, patted the ship’s hull affectionately.

  "I do hope you find a new crew," he said, voice low. "You truly are an incredible ship... and I’ll miss you."

  Fayrok, not one for sentiment, still allowed a flicker of emotion to cross his features.

  "You truly believe someone will find this ship again?" Fayrok asked.

  "Believe? No. Hope? Maybe a little. If I didn’t think it possible, I wouldn’t have hidden so many clues," Syosk replied. "If someone does claim this ship again, the pieces will be there for them to find. They'll have to prove themselves worthy, of course."

  Fayrok nodded.

  He had helped hide the clues—the puzzle pieces, as Syosk called them.

  He had just finished infusing his consciousness into the cube, the key to unlocking the ship’s full potential.

  He didn’t share Syosk’s optimism. In his mind, the odds of anyone finding the Sentinel again were infinitesimally small. But if it gave Syosk some final joy, he wouldn't argue.

  A deep vibration rumbled beneath their feet as the volcano belched a fresh gout of magma into the sky.

  "And you’re sure the ship will survive this?" Syosk asked—for the seventh time.

  "Yes," Fayrok replied curtly, giving no further elaboration.

  "Alright then. Let’s do this, shall we?"

  With that, Syosk turned back to the ship, sealing the hatch behind him. The doorway lifted smoothly into the hull, vanishing without a visible seam.

  He turned back toward Fayrok—and with a casual, backward throw, hurled the triangular-ended key far across the blackened ground. It landed atop an unburnt slab of stone with a muffled thud, settling there, half-buried in ash and shadow—waiting for someone, someday, to find it.

  Syosk approached Fayrok, placing both hands on the Myndral’s shoulders. His other two arms reached out, resting on the companions flanking him.

  They stood together—Syosk, the last of the Dirogan, and the final few Myndral, gathered in a small, dwindling circle, the bio-circuitry embedded in their bodies extending outward—tendrils linking, weaving together, forming a living lattice of glowing filaments.

  They had gathered enough Aether in their travels.

  Even after he had infused the cube with a part of his consciousness, he had more than enough stored for this final moment.

  They had forestalled their end for years, clinging to their ship, their memories.

  But now, there was no fear.

  Only acceptance.

  Soft, iridescent lights wrapped around them as the energy stored in their bodies was released. Their physical forms began to disintegrate, the sparks of their consciousness—their true selves—rising with it.

  Energy could not be destroyed.

  It could only change.

  This was what their experimentations had discovered.

  Ascension was not an ending. It was merely transformation.

  There was no pain as their bodies broke apart.There was no fear of death.

  Only a brilliant, transcendent surrender.

  Within moments, the circle of Myndral and Dirogan was gone—leaving behind only a single silver collar lying quietly on the scorched earth.

  The advancing magma rolled forward, swallowing it whole, as it would eventually bury the Cosmic Sentinel itself.

  Waiting.

  Sleeping.

  Until the stars called it forth again.