Destiny Among the Stars - Scifi - LitRPG - Adventure

"We do not exist for ourselves alone, and it is only when we are fully convinced of this fact that we begin to love ourselves properly and thus also love others."

– Thomas Merton

The Triumph sliced silently through the void, each passing day bringing them closer to the Oort Cloud Passage.

The Oort Cloud Passage. Just saying it out loud made it feel like something straight out of a sci-fi novel, but it was real. Two massive, clear-as-day corridors, one from Sol to Alpha Centauri and another from Sol to Barnard's Star, cutting through the icy chaos at the edge of the Solar System. No debris, no rogue ice, no orbiting bodies to worry about. A clean shot, like someone, or something, had cleared the table and left the rest of humanity guessing why. It was eerie, almost unsettling.

Nobody knew for sure whether it was natural or another trick from the System, but one thing was clear: without these passages, FTL travel wouldn't just be dangerous, it'd be suicidal. At the speeds they were talking about, even a microscopic grain of ice could punch through the ship like a bullet through glass. And considering they were all crammed into this shiny tin can of a spaceship, that wasn't exactly ideal. It was a miracle they weren't all dead yet.

The passages were discovered a couple of years ago when Earth's exploration teams started pushing out toward the Solar System's edge. Lucky for them, someone figured out these pathways were the only reason FTL travel could even be possible.

The FTL engine itself was... well, complicated. From what Luca understood, barely, it worked by slipping them between real space and subspace, a realm where the usual laws of physics were more... suggestions. Think of it like riding the edge of a wave, but that wave was light speed, and they were pushing past it.

It didn't just shove them into that dimension and hope for the best, though. That's where the "skip-jump" came in. It wasn't one continuous push, but a rapid-fire sequence of thousands of micro-jumps. They'd surge into subspace, hurtling forward at an insane speed, then briefly pop back into real space for the barest fraction of a second, a breath of normal reality before plunging back into the void. The engine generated that Reality Anchor Field around the ship, shielding them from reality while they burned through the nothingness at speeds they weren't supposed to be able to hit. A shield of localized reality.

The catch? At those speeds, even the tiniest particle could become a nightmare as they touched back into real space.

That's where the passages came in, giving them a clean, unobstructed runway straight to Alpha Centauri. No ice, no debris, just a long, empty stretch of space to light up the engine and pray it held together. It was genius. Or terrifying. Probably both. And he was leading the charge.

What a life.

The lounge was a welcome change from the intensity of the bridge. The soft glow of the electric fireplace cast long shadows on the comfortable couches and the mismatched beanbag chairs scattered around the room. Morale was important. And it seemed like a good way to burn off the weird energy that had been building up as we approached the jump point.

A few personal touches were now evident. Someone had hung a faded poster of some vintage sci-fi movie, a small, scraggly plant that Zoe was determined to keep alive, and a collection of mismatched mugs that they'd each claimed as their own.

The opening credits of Alien, Robocop, or Star Wars, take your pick, they've seen 'em all, played on the screen, the familiar soundtracks blending with the low murmur of conversation. They'd sprawl on the floor or couches, snacks passed around, tonight, it was popcorn. It felt like they'd finally settled in, and the ship was mostly put together.

"Alright," Emily announced, stretching out on the couch beside Luca, "who's picking the next movie? And if anyone says 'Her' again, I'm shoving them out the airlock," she said. She really hated that movie, Luca could tell. As she stretched, her bare feet peeked out from under her loungewear, the toes wiggling. He needed to stop staring.

Ryan, naturally, had to object. "It's a good movie!" Still salty about that, apparently.

"No one's debating that," Zoe quipped, nudging him with her foot, "but maybe try picking something where people actually stay awake this time." Classic Zoe, cutting right to the chase. They bickered like an old married couple, and Luca bit back a laugh.

He smirked from his spot on the couch, Emily's arm resting lightly against his as she settled in. He forced himself to look away.

"Predator," Joey declared, pointing at the screen. "We're doing Predator. End of debate." He was always so dramatic, that one.

"Finally, some taste," Chris said from the pool table, where he and Danny were engaged in a surprisingly intense game.

Luca shook his head, his eyes drifting to Ryan. He was at it again, quietly pulling a loose panel off the side of the coffee table, his fingers tracing the wires underneath and probably trying to distract himself from the fact that he was losing at pool, to Danny of all people. Seriously.

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"Ryan, for fucks sake, leave the table alone, would you?" Luca said, making sure to force some exasperation in his voice. He was always doing that kind of shit, and it was hard to concentrate.

"It's a reflex!" Ryan shot back defensively. "And it was loose anyway. I was fixing it." He was always making excuses for his behavior, like a little kid caught stealing cookies. He had to be doing this shit on purpose.

"Right," Zoe replied, rolling her eyes. "Because a loose table panel is such a priority."

Luca found himself laughing more these days, even when Zoe's jabs turned his way. But he noticed how she often paired off with Danny during pool matches, her competitive streak drawing out the quieter guy's playful side. There was something magnetic about that relationship; they were really good together, and they made his stomach hurt in a good way. Envy?

"Nice shot," Danny said after Zoe sank a tricky bank shot.

"Nice shot?" Ryan mocked from the sidelines. "She's cleaning your clock, man. You're one ball away from losing." He was jealous, of course, Ryan was always jealous.

"I call it a tactical retreat," Danny said, shrugging as Zoe shot him a triumphant smirk. He clearly seemed to love to make her happy. Damn.

The lounge was their place to unwind. These evenings wove something deeper between them than mere friendship, that was for sure. He saw it in Emily's quiet smiles, the way Zoe pulled Danny out of his shell, even Ryan's begrudging teamwork when they needed him. It was like they were all leveling up, and not in the way they had been back at Sandworth; it was more like they were all getting closer to something. And it was almost scary.

Emily, as always, remained a steady presence by his side. She had a way of looking at him when he spoke, her eyes unwavering, that made him feel like she actually cared about what he had to say, like he was the only person in the room.

He wasn't blind to the glances she threw his way, or the way her smile lingered just a second longer when she caught him looking back, and it made him so nervous, and also incredibly excited.

"You've been quiet tonight," Emily murmured, her voice barely a whisper above the end credits. It was like she'd slipped a scalpel under his skin, gentle but precise, laying bare whatever bullshit he was about to feed her. He swallowed, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. What was it with her, and always knowing what he was thinking?

He nodded, suddenly very aware of how close they were. Her green eyes locked onto his, and his pulse went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. He could feel the tips of his ears burning, a blush creeping up his neck like an unwelcome rash. Too close, too damn close. "Yeah. Just… thinking."

"About?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her eyes holding his like she could see straight into his brain. This felt like an interrogation, not a friendly conversation. What was she trying to do?

Luca hesitated, glancing at the others. Zoe was leaning over the pool table, laughing as Danny flailed through some excuse about why he lost, and Ryan was loudly accusing them of hustling. At least someone's having fun. He dragged his eyes back to Emily, his gut clenching like he'd just swallowed a handful of gravel. "About how… this feels like the calm before the storm, you know?"

His brain scrambled. What was he trying to say? That, after nearly blowing up the FTL drive, getting their comms hijacked, and surviving more system failures than a beta-test, this quiet evening felt… precious? Vulnerable? Dangerous in its own way because it made him lower his guard?

The truth was, he was overthinking everything, especially Emily. The way she'd been looking at him tonight, those lingering glances, that soft smile when she caught his eye… it was messing with his head.

Should he say something? Acknowledge the electricity that sometimes sparked between them, or was he just imagining it? It wasn't like they had known each other their entire life or anything. It wouldn't work. And what about her boyfriend?

Would she even want him to? What if he misread everything, again? What if she didn't feel the same way, and it shattered this fragile peace, changed the comfortable dynamic between them forever? Just the idea of messing up their friendship, of losing this easy closeness, sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him.

He didn't want to risk it, not with her.

The corner of Emily's mouth quirked up, a small, knowing smile softening her gaze. She could tell he was holding something back.

"Then let's appreciate the eye of the storm while it lasts, Luca," she said softly. He knew, with a sudden, gut-wrenching certainty, that if he didn't ask now, he never would.

"Being out here," he started, "so far from everything... it must be hard." He watched her face, seeing the flicker of understanding in her eyes. He had to push on. "Especially with... you know. Pierre."

Emily didn't look surprised. Her knowing smile faded into something more fragile, more real. She let out a slow breath she seemed to have been holding for a long time.

"That's over, Luca," she said, her voice quiet but clear, leaving no room for doubt. "We broke up before we even launched. The... chaos of the departure just never gave me a chance to tell you."

The confession hung in the air between them. For a moment, all Luca could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. This was it. The moment he'd imagined, dreaded, and hoped for a hundred times. And his first was a sharp, sudden pang of concern for her. He saw the subtle pain she was trying to hide behind her steady gaze.

"Oh," he managed. He shifted on the couch to face her more fully, the movie and the pool game completely forgotten. "Em... I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

The question seemed to surprise her. Her expression softened, the careful guard she held around herself dissolving completely. "I... I will be," she whispered.

He did what felt as natural as breathing. He put his arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her closer. She didn't hesitate, leaning into him, resting her head against his shoulder with a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire journey.

But his mind was still racing, tripping over his own caution. He had to be careful. This was Emily. He couldn't mess this up. She was hurting, and the last thing she needed was him piling his own complicated feelings on top of it.

"If you need... you know, space," he murmured against her hair, "or just don't want to talk about it, I get it. We can just..."

The shift was subtle, but it was there. The weight of her against his shoulder tensed, just for a second. She didn't lean in further. The moment was frozen. Her voice was neutral, all the earlier vulnerability gone.

"It's fine, Luca. Really."

She straightened up slowly, creating some space between them. She turned her gaze to the movie screen, where the end credits were scrolling. "Looks like we missed the ending."

He watched her, a knot of self-recrimination tightening in his chest. He'd pushed too hard. He saw it now. She'd been vulnerable, and he'd almost made it about him. She needed a friend, and he'd almost been... something else. The way she pulled back, changed the subject… it was a clear signal. He'd done the right thing by backing off.