Drift log — Cycle: Unknown.

The stars don’t glitter anymore; they stare. Vast oceans of black between them, whispering promises I can’t quite understand.

I charted worlds no one will ever name, mapped nebulae that glow like dying embers. But the further I go, the quieter the universe becomes—until I realize it’s not quiet at all. It’s listening.

My instruments pick up voices where there should be none. Signals from empty coordinates. A transmission repeating my own breathing back to me.

Now the hull vibrates with something knocking from the outside.
And when I looked through the viewport… I saw my own face staring back.

—End Log