Chapter 1: The Last Transmission
The hum of machinery filled the air in Dr. Mira Calder's dimly lit lab aboard the research station Obsidian . For months, she had been consumed by the search for the Eclipse , humanity’s most advanced deep-space exploration vessel. It had vanished without a trace near the Andromeda Expanse—a region so dangerous that even seasoned pilots referred to it as "the void's maw." Ships entered and never returned, their fates lost to the swirling chaos of distorted space-time. But now, after countless sleepless nights and dead ends, Mira finally had something tangible: a faint, fragmented transmission.
Her hands hovered over the console, trembling slightly as she adjusted the audio filters. Static crackled through the speakers like dry leaves underfoot, then faded just enough for Captain Arlen’s voice to break through. His words were strained, almost desperate, as though he knew his time was running out.
"This is Captain Arlen of the Eclipse. We found it. The artifact is real. But it’s—"
The transmission dissolved into static once more, leaving only silence behind. Mira leaned back in her chair, her sharp green eyes wide with both awe and dread. What had they found? What could inspire such urgency in one of the fleet’s most decorated captains? She replayed the message again and again, each repetition sending another chill down her spine.
The implications were staggering. If the Eclipse had truly discovered the Echo Device—an artifact whispered about in ancient texts and dismissed as myth by modern scholars—it would change everything. Legends spoke of its ability to bend time itself, unraveling the very fabric of reality. To some, it promised salvation: the chance to undo mistakes, rewrite history, heal wounds centuries old. To others, it represented destruction on an unimaginable scale. Time wasn’t meant to be tampered with; meddling with cause and effect risked tearing apart the delicate threads that held existence together.
Mira’s thoughts were interrupted by the sharp clanging of boots against metal. Admiral Soren strode into the lab unannounced, his tall frame casting a shadow over her workspace. He wore his usual stoic expression, but there was no mistaking the tension radiating from him. His piercing blue eyes scanned the data scrolling across the screens before settling on Mira.
"What have you got?" he asked, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge of urgency.
She hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. Soren wasn’t known for his patience—or his compassion—but this discovery required careful consideration. Still, she owed him the truth.
"It’s… complicated," she began, gesturing toward the blinking console. "We intercepted a partial transmission from the Eclipse . Based on their coordinates, they were near the edge of the Andromeda Expanse when they sent it."
Soren stepped closer, leaning over her shoulder to study the readouts. His presence was imposing, but Mira tried not to let it rattle her. She’d earned her place here through years of relentless dedication, and she refused to shrink under anyone’s gaze—not even his.
"Play it again," he ordered.
Mira complied, hitting the playback button. The static crackled to life once more, followed by Captain Arlen’s haunting voice. When the transmission cut off abruptly, leaving only silence, Soren straightened, his jaw tightening.
"If they found the Echo Device," he said after a long pause, his tone grim, "we need to retrieve it. Whatever the cost."
Mira turned to face him fully, her heart pounding. She knew what he meant—and what he didn’t say aloud. Retrieving the artifact wouldn’t just mean risking lives or resources; it might require crossing moral lines they weren’t prepared to cross. Yet, the alternative was unthinkable. If someone else—another faction, another species—got their hands on the Echo Device first, the consequences could be catastrophic.
"And if we can’t control it?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them comforting. Temporal anomalies were unpredictable at best and apocalyptic at worst. Even attempting to harness the Echo Device’s power could destabilize entire star systems—or worse.
Soren’s eyes hardened, glinting like shards of ice. "Then we ensure no one else does either. Humanity isn’t ready for something like this—not yet. Maybe not ever."
His words hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. Mira felt a knot form in her stomach. She had spent years studying temporal mechanics, chasing answers to questions others deemed impossible. But even she couldn’t shake the feeling that pursuing the Echo Device was tantamount to playing with fire—and fires had a way of consuming everything they touched.
Still, there was no turning back now. The Eclipse ’s last transmission was proof enough that the legends were real—or at least partially true. Whether the artifact was a gift or a curse remained to be seen, but one thing was certain: ignoring it wasn’t an option.
As Soren left the lab, his boots echoing sharply against the metal floor, Mira stared at the blinking console. Captain Arlen’s final words echoed in her mind: "We found it. The artifact is real. But it’s—"
What had he been about to say? Had he realized the danger too late? Or had he glimpsed something beyond comprehension, something that defied logic and reason?
Whatever awaited them in the Andromeda Expanse, Mira knew one thing for sure: nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter 2: Into the Expanse
The Pioneer sliced through the void like a knife cutting through silk, its sleek hull glinting faintly under the dim light of distant stars. Yet, as it entered the Andromeda Expanse, the sense of unease aboard the ship grew palpable. Space here didn’t feel right—it was warped, unnatural, as though reality itself had been stretched too thin and was on the verge of tearing apart. Pilot Kael Voss gripped the controls tightly, his knuckles white as the ship bucked and shuddered under forces none of them could see or comprehend.
"Something’s out there," muttered Rhea Kane, her voice barely above a whisper. The ship’s brilliant but eccentric engineer leaned over the sensor array, her fingers flying across the interface as she tried to decipher the chaotic readings flooding the screens. Her dark hair fell into her face as she squinted at the data, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Not just the Eclipse . Other ships too... echoes of them. Like they’re trapped between moments."
Kael glanced back at her, his jaw tight. "Trapped? What do you mean?"
Rhea hesitated, her hands pausing mid-motion. "I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like… these ships aren’t gone. They’re still here, somehow. Fading in and out of existence. Like ghosts."
Commander Rhys Torren stood stoically behind her, his rifle slung across his chest. A veteran of countless missions in deep space, he’d seen enough anomalies to recognize when things were about to go sideways. But this—this was different. This wasn’t just an anomaly; it was something far more sinister.
"Focus on the task at hand," Rhys said sharply, though his tone betrayed a hint of unease. "We’re here for the Eclipse . Let’s not get distracted by whatever else is lurking out there."
But distractions were hard to ignore. As the Pioneer pushed deeper into the Expanse, the crew began to notice strange phenomena outside the viewport. Swirling clouds of energy pulsed erratically, their colors shifting from deep crimson to electric blue. Shadows flickered across the glass, indistinct shapes that seemed to move just beyond the edge of perception. It was as though the very fabric of space-time was unraveling around them, erasing any semblance of normalcy.
Then they saw it—the derelict Eclipse , floating eerily silent near a colossal alien monolith.
The sight sent a collective chill through the crew. The exploration vessel looked almost intact, its sleek design marred only by scorch marks along its hull. But what truly unnerved them was the monolith looming beside it. Towering hundreds of meters tall, the structure resembled a tombstone carved from obsidian, its surface etched with shifting, glowing symbols that pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm. Each pulse seemed to resonate with a low hum that vibrated through the Pioneer ’s hull, setting everyone’s teeth on edge.
"No signs of life," Rhys reported after scanning the wreckage with a handheld device. His voice was calm, but his expression betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Just like every other ship that’s disappeared in this sector."
Mira stepped forward, her heart pounding as she stared at the scene unfolding before her. Something about it felt profoundly wrong. The silence of the Eclipse , the eerie glow of the monolith—it all screamed danger. Yet, despite the dread pooling in her stomach, she couldn’t shake the feeling that answers lay within that derelict ship.
"We need to board the Eclipse ," she said firmly, turning to face the others. Her voice carried a quiet authority that demanded attention, even from Rhys.
Kael frowned, his grip tightening on the controls. "Are you sure that’s wise? We don’t even know what happened to them."
"And we won’t unless we investigate," Mira countered, her green eyes blazing with determination. "If the Echo Device is real—and if it’s aboard that ship—we can’t afford to turn back now."
Rhys exchanged a glance with Kael, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But we go in armed and ready for anything. Whatever happened to the Eclipse ’s crew, I doubt it was friendly."
As the team prepared to board the derelict vessel, the air inside the Pioneer grew heavier with anticipation. Rhea double-checked the equipment while Kael ran diagnostics on their suits, ensuring they were sealed against potential environmental hazards. Rhys, meanwhile, briefed the team on protocol, his voice steady but laced with caution.
"Stay close, stay alert," he instructed, his rifle slung securely over his shoulder. "If anything feels off—if anything moves—we fall back immediately. No heroics."
Mira nodded, trying to steady her breathing. She knew the risks—they all did—but the stakes were too high to walk away now. If the legends about the Echo Device were true, humanity’s future might depend on what they found aboard the Eclipse .
When the boarding party finally stepped onto the derelict ship, the silence was deafening. The corridors were eerily empty, the only sounds the soft creaks of the metal frame settling and the faint hum emanating from somewhere deep within the vessel. Desks were cluttered with unfinished tasks; meals sat cold on trays. It was as though the crew had simply vanished mid-motion, leaving behind fragments of lives interrupted.
"This doesn’t make sense," Rhea whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "There’s no sign of damage, no evidence of a struggle. Where did they go?"
Mira shook her head, her mind racing. Whatever had happened here, it defied logic. As they moved deeper into the ship, the hum grew louder, vibrating through their suits and making it difficult to think clearly.
Then they reached the bridge—and the artifact.
At its center lay a crystalline orb suspended in midair, radiating faint waves of light. The air shimmered around it, distorting the surrounding space. Mira felt a pull, an inexplicable urge to step closer, but Rhys held up a hand, stopping her.
"Don’t touch it," he warned, his voice low but firm.
But it was already too late.
Reality fractured.
Mira blinked, and suddenly she was standing on a desolate Earth, cities reduced to ash. Then she was back on the Pioneer , watching horrified as the crew argued over whether to claim the artifact. In another flash, she witnessed the Eclipse exploding—not in the past, but in some alternate future yet to occur.
Kael grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the artifact. "It’s rewriting time around us! We have to leave!"
But it was too late. The artifact flared brighter, and the crew collapsed to their knees, overwhelmed by visions of timelines collapsing, lives erased, entire civilizations undone.
Chapter 3: The Artifact’s Curse
Boarding the Eclipse felt like stepping into a nightmare frozen in time. Every corridor, every room, was a snapshot of interrupted life. Desks were cluttered with half-written reports and scattered tools; meals sat cold on trays, untouched but still steaming faintly as if abandoned only moments ago. Personal belongings lay strewn about—a photograph frame face-down on the floor, a datapad left open to an unfinished journal entry. It was as though the crew had simply ceased to exist mid-motion, leaving behind fragments of lives that would never be completed.
The silence was suffocating. No hum of machinery, no distant chatter of voices—just the eerie creak of metal as the ship drifted through the void. The air inside was stale, tinged with a metallic tang that made Mira’s skin crawl. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t alone, that unseen eyes were watching them from the shadows.
When they reached the bridge, the source of the strange energy became clear. At its center floated the artifact—a crystalline orb suspended in midair, radiating faint waves of light that pulsed rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat. Its surface shimmered with colors that seemed to shift and swirl endlessly, defying logic and comprehension. Around it, the air distorted slightly, bending and refracting light in unnatural ways.
Mira hesitated, her breath catching in her throat as she approached. Something about the orb called to her, drawing her closer despite the warning bells ringing in her mind. As she took another step forward, the air around her shimmered violently, and a voice echoed directly into her thoughts—not heard, but felt , resonating deep within her very soul.
"You seek control. But time is not yours to command."
The words sent a jolt of fear coursing through her veins. Control? Was that what this was about? Or was it something far more insidious? Before she could process the meaning, Rhea stepped forward, her eyes wide and unblinking, utterly entranced by the artifact’s hypnotic glow.
"No!" Rhys barked, reaching out to grab her arm. "Don’t touch it!"
But his warning came too late.
Rhea’s fingers brushed against the orb—and reality fractured.
For Mira, the world dissolved into chaos. One moment she stood aboard the Eclipse , staring at the artifact; the next, she found herself standing on a desolate Earth. Cities stretched across the horizon, their once-majestic skylines reduced to skeletal ruins cloaked in ash. The sky above was a sickly orange, choked with smoke and dust. A lone wind turbine spun slowly in the distance, its blades groaning under the weight of decay.
She blinked again, and suddenly she was back on the Pioneer . The crew argued heatedly in the briefing room, their voices rising over one another as panic set in. Kael shouted that they should destroy the artifact, while Rhea insisted it could save humanity. Mira watched herself sit silently at the table, her expression unreadable, as Admiral Soren slammed his fist down and demanded answers.
Another blink, and she witnessed the Eclipse exploding—not in the past, but in some alternate future yet to occur. The shockwave rippled outward, tearing through nearby ships and scattering debris across the expanse. Mira saw herself standing among the wreckage, her face streaked with tears, clutching a fragment of the artifact in her hand.
Each vision hit her like a tidal wave, overwhelming her senses and leaving her gasping for air. Time itself seemed to unravel around her, collapsing into fragments of possibilities both realized and imagined. Lives erased. Civilizations undone. Alternate futures colliding with the present.
Kael grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the artifact. His voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.
"It’s rewriting time around us! We have to leave!"
But it was already too late.
The artifact flared brighter, its light engulfing the entire bridge. The crew collapsed to their knees, overwhelmed by visions of timelines collapsing, lives erased, entire civilizations undone. Each person saw something different—something uniquely tailored to their fears and desires.
For Rhea, it was a glimpse of utopia: a perfect world where suffering had been eradicated, famine abolished, wars ended before they began. She reached out desperately, trying to grasp hold of the illusion, even as tears streamed down her face.
For Rhys, it was a battlefield stretched endlessly before him, littered with the bodies of those he’d failed to protect. He clenched his fists, shaking uncontrollably as guilt and regret consumed him.
And for Mira…
She saw herself standing before the monolith, the artifact cradled in her hands. In this vision, she wielded its power effortlessly, bending time to her will. Entire galaxies bowed to her command; history bent to her whims. Yet, as quickly as the triumph came, it turned to horror. The fabric of reality unraveled beneath her touch, stars collapsing into black holes, planets crumbling into dust. Billions of lives vanished in an instant, their existence reduced to echoes fading into nothingness.
"You are unworthy," the voice whispered again, colder this time, reverberating through her skull like a death knell.
Mira screamed, clutching her head as the visions intensified. The artifact wasn’t just showing them the consequences of wielding its power—it was testing them. Those who sought dominion over time were deemed unworthy, their existences erased, reduced to mere whispers in the void. Only those who rejected its temptation survived—but even survival came at a cost.
Through the chaos, Kael managed to drag Mira toward the exit. His voice broke through the cacophony, grounding her in the present.
"We can’t fight this thing!" he shouted, his grip tightening around her arm. "We need to get out of here—now!"
Rhys staggered to his feet, his rifle raised defensively despite the futility of such an action against something so incomprehensible. "Fall back! Everyone, fall back!"
Rhea remained transfixed, her hand still reaching toward the orb. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered brokenly, "It doesn’t have to be this way… We can fix everything…"
"Rhea, snap out of it!" Rhys yelled, grabbing her roughly and yanking her away from the artifact. She resisted, sobbing and clawing at him until finally, reluctantly, she stumbled after the others.
As they fled the bridge, the artifact flared one final time, its light piercing through the corridors of the Eclipse . The walls warped and twisted, reality itself seeming to fold inward. Shadows moved in the periphery, indistinct shapes that flickered and vanished before anyone could identify them.
By the time they reached the airlock, the crew was barely holding themselves together. Mira leaned heavily against the bulkhead, her breathing ragged, her mind reeling from the torrent of visions. Kael supported her, his own face pale and drawn. Rhys kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting the artifact—or whatever force it represented—to follow them.
Rhea trailed behind, her steps slow and mechanical, her gaze fixed blankly ahead. When she finally spoke, her voice was hollow, devoid of emotion.
"We shouldn’t have left it," she murmured. "We could have saved everyone…"
"No," Mira said sharply, turning to face her. Her green eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "That thing doesn’t save—it destroys. Anyone who thinks otherwise is fooling themselves."
They boarded the Pioneer in silence, the weight of what they’d witnessed pressing down on them like a physical force. As the frigate disengaged from the Eclipse , the derelict ship and the monolith receded into the distance, swallowed once more by the swirling chaos of the Andromeda Expanse.
But the artifact’s curse lingered, etched into their minds like scars that would never fully heal.
Chapter 4: The Final Choice
The Pioneer shuddered as it pulled away from the derelict Eclipse , its engines straining against the invisible forces still emanating from the Andromeda Expanse. Inside, the crew was a wreck—physically and emotionally battered by what they had witnessed aboard the doomed ship. The artifact’s influence lingered like a shadow over their minds, whispering promises of power and salvation even as it revealed the horrors that came with them.
Mira sat slumped in the co-pilot’s seat, her hands gripping the armrests tightly to steady herself. Her vision swam, flashes of alternate timelines flickering across her mind like static on a broken screen. She could still hear the voice—the cold, implacable voice that judged those who dared seek control over time. It wasn’t just an object; it was alive, sentient, testing each person who approached it. Those who failed were erased, their existences reduced to echoes trapped between moments.
And yet… there was something else. Something Mira hadn’t told the others. Amidst the chaos of fractured realities, she’d glimpsed a truth so profound it left her trembling. The artifact didn’t destroy indiscriminately—it tested. It sought out those who understood its true nature, who recognized the futility of trying to bend time to their will. Only then would it allow itself to be destroyed. But destroying it wouldn’t come without sacrifices.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Rhys Torren, who stood at the center of the cockpit, his rifle raised defiantly. His sharp blue eyes burned with determination as he stared back toward the viewport, where the Eclipse and the monolith grew smaller but no less menacing.
"We destroy it," Rhys growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Now."
Rhea Kane let out an anguished scream, lunging forward to claw at him. Kael grabbed her arms, holding her back as she thrashed wildly. Tears streamed down her face, streaking through the dirt and grime smeared across her skin.
"No!" Rhea shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "Think of what we could do! Wars ended before they begin, famines wiped out, suffering erased! We can fix everything!"
Rhys turned to her, his expression hardening further. "Fix? You think that thing fixes anything? Look at yourself, Rhea. Look at us. It’s tearing us apart already!"
Mira staggered upright, her legs unsteady beneath her. Her vision blurred momentarily, but she forced herself to focus. She understood now—the artifact wasn’t a tool. It wasn’t meant to be used or controlled. It was a test, a mirror reflecting humanity’s deepest flaws and desires. Those who sought dominion over time were unworthy, condemned to become nothing more than echoes fading into oblivion. Only those who rejected its temptation survived—but survival came at a cost.
She made her decision.
"Kael," she said, her voice cutting through the chaos with surprising clarity. Despite the turmoil swirling inside her, her tone was steady, resolute. "Overload the ship’s core."
Kael froze, staring at her as though she’d spoken in a language he couldn’t comprehend. For a moment, silence fell over the cockpit, broken only by the faint hum of the Pioneer ’s systems. Then Kael’s eyes widened in disbelief.
"That’ll kill us all!" he exclaimed, his voice rising sharply.
"Or reset time," Mira countered, stepping closer to him. Her green eyes locked onto his, unwavering despite the fear gnawing at her insides. "Break the cycle. It’s the only way."
Kael hesitated, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. He glanced at Rhys, who nodded grimly, then at Rhea, who had collapsed into a chair, sobbing quietly. Finally, his gaze returned to Mira.
"You’re sure about this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mira took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. "I’ve seen what happens if we don’t. This isn’t just about us—it’s about everyone. Humanity can’t handle something like that. Not yet."
For a long moment, Kael said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Alright," he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. "But if this works… you owe me a drink when we wake up."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Mira’s lips, but it quickly faded as Kael moved to the console and began inputting commands. The ship’s systems responded immediately, warning alarms blaring as the reactor core began to destabilize. Red lights flashed across the cockpit, bathing the crew in an ominous glow.
Rhea looked up, her tear-streaked face pale with shock. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Stop this! Please!"
"It’s too late," Rhys said quietly, his rifle lowering as he leaned against the bulkhead. "We’ve already lost."
"No," Mira corrected firmly, meeting Rhea’s gaze. "This isn’t losing. This is surviving. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away."
As the countdown timer ticked down, the crew braced themselves. The Pioneer vibrated violently, its hull groaning under the strain of the impending overload. Outside, the expanse seemed to twist and warp even further, as though reality itself recoiled from the approaching cataclysm.
Mira closed her eyes, focusing on the image of the artifact one last time. She could feel its presence, distant but undeniable, watching silently as the crew prepared to make their final stand. In her mind, the voice whispered again—not angrily, but almost approvingly.
"You have chosen wisely."
When the explosion finally tore through the Pioneer , it engulfed both the ship and the artifact in a blinding burst of energy. Reality rippled outward, folding in on itself like a wave crashing against the shore. Stars blinked out of existence, only to reappear moments later in new configurations. Timelines collided and unraveled, collapsing into a single, unified thread.
And then…
Silence.
Chapter 5: The Echo’s End
The explosion tore through the Pioneer with a ferocity that defied comprehension. It wasn’t just an ordinary blast—it was as though the very fabric of reality had been ripped apart. A blinding burst of energy engulfed both the ship and the artifact, consuming everything in its path. The light was so intense it seemed to sear itself into the minds of those who witnessed it, even if only for a fleeting moment before oblivion claimed them.
Reality rippled outward like a stone dropped into still water, waves of distortion cascading across space-time. Stars blinked out of existence, only to reappear moments later in new configurations. Timelines collided and unraveled, collapsing into a single, unified thread. The chaos subsided as quickly as it began, leaving behind an eerie silence—a void where once there had been sound, movement, life.
And then… nothing.
When Mira gasped awake, her first thought was that she must be dead. Her lab aboard the Obsidian was exactly as she’d left it—the blinking console, the scattered notes on her desk, the faint hum of machinery filling the air. Yet something felt… different. The weight of what she’d experienced pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Had it all been real? Or had it been some kind of fever dream brought on by exhaustion and stress?
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the console, half-expecting it to remain dark and unresponsive. But when the screen flickered to life, replaying the same transmission she’d spent months chasing, her heart sank.
"This is Captain Arlen of the Eclipse... We found it. The artifact is real. But it’s—"
But this time, the message ended differently—not with static, but with silence.
Mira stared at the playback, her mind racing. Was this proof that they had succeeded? That the cycle had been broken? Or was it merely evidence that history had rewritten itself, erasing their actions from existence while leaving fragments behind?
Before she could dwell further on the implications, Admiral Soren entered without knocking, his boots clanging sharply against the metal floor. His piercing blue eyes scanned the data scrolling across the screens before settling on her.
"Any luck with the signal?" he asked, his tone clipped but laced with curiosity.
Mira hesitated, her hand hovering over the console. She knew what she had to do—what she had done—but the decision weighed heavily on her. Slowly, deliberately, she deleted the file.
"No," she said, forcing calm into her voice despite the storm raging inside her. "Just static."
Soren frowned, studying her for a long moment. There was something in her expression—a weariness, a resolve—that gave him pause. He opened his mouth as though to press further, but ultimately decided against it. With a curt nod, he turned and left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded entirely.
As the door hissed shut behind him, Mira slumped back in her chair, exhaling deeply. For the first time since this ordeal began, she allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. They had made the right choice—she was certain of that. Destroying the artifact hadn’t just saved humanity; it had preserved the natural order of things. Time wasn’t meant to be controlled or rewritten, no matter how tempting the prospect might seem.
Yet the cost of that decision lingered, etched into her very being. As she unclenched her fist, she noticed something glowing faintly on her palm—a single symbol, intricate and alien, pulsing softly as though alive. It was an imprint left by the artifact, a reminder of what they had faced and overcome.
Mira traced the symbol with her thumb, feeling its warmth spread through her skin. She didn’t know what it meant or why it had chosen her, but one thing was clear: the artifact wasn’t truly gone. Somewhere in the Andromeda Expanse, the monolith still waited. Silent. Patient. Watching.
But humanity would not be its next victim.
Not today.
As the days passed, Mira found herself unable to shake the feeling that their victory was temporary—a fragile reprieve rather than a permanent solution. The artifact had tested them, judged them, and ultimately accepted their sacrifice. But what happened now? Would it remain dormant, content to observe from afar? Or would it seek out others, drawing them into its orbit like moths to a flame?
She couldn’t answer those questions—not yet. All she could do was prepare, gathering whatever knowledge she could about temporal mechanics and anomalies. If the artifact ever resurfaced, humanity would need someone ready to face it again. Someone who understood its true nature—and the price of wielding its power.
For now, though, she focused on the present. Life aboard the Obsidian continued as usual, oblivious to the events that had transpired in the depths of the Andromeda Expanse. To most, the disappearance of the Eclipse remained an unsolved mystery, another chapter in the annals of deep-space exploration.
But Mira knew better. She carried the truth with her, etched into her palm and burned into her memory. And though she hoped never to encounter the artifact again, she couldn’t ignore the nagging sense that their paths were destined to cross once more.
Until then, she would wait.
And watch.
Because somewhere out there, beyond the veil of stars and shadows, the monolith still stood. Silent. Patient. Watching.
But humanity would not be its next victim.
Not today.
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