Among the Stars, We Fade

The last ship docked in the port of Harlan Station just as the twin suns of Erythra dipped behind the jagged horizon. Mara could feel the hum of the engines through the floor beneath her boots, a vibration that matched the thrum of her chest. She hated goodbyes. Or maybe she hated the way they felt in this sector of the galaxy, where distances were measured not in miles, but in uncountable light-years, and every horizon hinted at something unspeakable beyond the veil of reality.

“Don’t you dare leave without me,” came a voice behind her.

Mara spun. Lian was there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair sticking up like he hadn’t slept in days—which, by his own admission, he hadn’t. The faint neon glow of the docking bay reflected in his eyes, making them seem too bright, almost human.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the jump,” she said, forcing a smile. Her stomach knotted. She’d tell herself she was just nervous, but she knew. This wasn’t a normal mission.

Lian stepped closer. “You always sound so sure, but your hands—” He reached for hers, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “—they don’t lie.”

Mara let him. Let him anchor her in this moment, fleeting as it was. They had danced around each other for months aboard the Ardent, a freighter hauling cargo to the rim of known space. Flirtation had been easy. Connection had been easy. But now, with the J’vaan Rift looming like a wound in the fabric of the universe, nothing was easy.

The air shimmered around the hull, and Mara felt the telltale pull of the jump field. Beyond it, the void waited: infinite, cold, and indifferent. Ships entering the Rift reported nightmares. Whispers. Sightings of things that shouldn’t exist. Even the Ardent’s AI had refused to describe them, repeating in its clipped mechanical voice that some truths were “not for human comprehension.”

“You shouldn’t go,” Lian said softly, the warmth in his hands clashing with the chill rising up Mara’s spine.

“I have to,” she replied, voice tight. “You know why.”

He nodded, biting his lip. For a long moment, they just stood there, two fragile humans against the machinery and mystery of the cosmos. Then, without another word, he pulled her close.

The kiss was small at first. Uncertain. But the universe had a way of pressing in, of demanding attention. As Mara melted into him, she became aware of the hum in the hull, the way the lights flickered, the way the shadows seemed to gather in corners, almost sentient. Her mind briefly skimmed the edge of fear. She shook it off. Lian tasted like salt and metal, like the nights they’d spent charting stars while the rest of the crew slept.

But the Rift was not a forgiving place.

The moment their lips parted, Mara’s vision warped. Shapes swirled at the edges of her perception, impossible geometries folding over each other like ink in water. Lian stiffened, and she caught his hand, holding on to something real. Or maybe real enough.

“Don’t look,” he warned, his voice trembling. “Whatever happens… don’t look.”

But curiosity is a human failing. Mara’s eyes flicked toward the viewport. What she saw almost made her scream.

The Rift was alive. Or it was something like life, writhing and folding, a chorus of black tentacles and lightless eyes that blinked in and out of existence. Time stretched, unspooling like a reel. Stars bent. The hull groaned, and somewhere deep in the ship, a voice—a thousand voices—whispered her name.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. And yet…

Lian’s arms tightened around her. “It’s okay,” he said, though his own eyes betrayed his fear. “I’m right here.”

She believed him. And somehow, that belief was a weapon. The Rift recoiled, or maybe she recoiled from it. The hum intensified, the shadows retreated, and for one brief heartbeat, they were just Mara and Lian again, human, fragile, and alive.

Then the jump happened.

The transition was not gentle. Mara felt her mind stretch, her body dissolve into vibration, the stars collapsing in on themselves and reforming around her like a kaleidoscope of impossible angles. Lian’s grip never faltered. She tried to scream, tried to speak, but words were meaningless here. The cosmos had its own language, and humans were inadequate.

When the ship emerged on the other side, everything was silent. The Rift’s tendrils had vanished, leaving only a fractured sky streaked with alien auroras. Mara collapsed against Lian, shaking. Her heart raced, her chest burned, and she knew she would remember this forever.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing her hair from her face.

“I… I think so,” she said. Her voice was small, hoarse. But even in the aftershock, she felt something stirring: awe, terror, and an undeniable connection that no cosmic horror could sever.

They found themselves in the orbit of a world uncharted, oceans of black liquid under skies that pulsed like living veins. The sensors were off the charts, detecting energies Mara couldn’t even name. Yet here, in the center of incomprehensible terror, she felt Lian’s hand in hers, grounding her.

“You know,” he murmured, “if anyone asked me what love is, I’d probably say… surviving the end of reality with someone you care about.”

Mara laughed softly, the sound brittle, almost wrong in the face of the alien landscape. But it was hers, and it was human. She leaned into him, pressing her cheek to his chest. Somewhere deep inside, where instinct and fear tangled, she made a promise: Whatever this universe throws at us, we endure. Together.

They set the ship down on the shadowed shore. The ground was soft, almost liquid, sucking at the boots. Tentacles of phosphorescent fungi crawled across the sand like veins, and something—something huge—moved beneath the surface of the black ocean. Yet Mara did not flinch. Lian did not flinch.

They walked hand in hand, stepping into the unknown. Every instinct screamed at them to turn back. Every rational thought said they were insane. And yet, somehow, the bond forged in terror made them stronger than fear.

Mara caught a glimpse of her reflection in a pool of the alien liquid. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and somewhere deep behind them, she saw the Rift staring back. Not with malice, exactly. More with curiosity. With hunger.

She turned to Lian. “If it comes for us…”

“It won’t,” he said, and even as doubt gnawed at the edges of her mind, she believed him.

They kissed again, slower this time, not out of lust or habit, but out of defiance. A declaration. Against the void. Against everything that was not human. Against the universe itself.

And for a moment, just a moment, Mara thought maybe love was enough.