When the last human cities learned to float among the stars, places appeared that no map could show anymore. One of them was the Sea of the Void — a region of space where light lost its direction, clocks fell behind their own time, and ships’ compasses spun as if searching not for north, but for memories.
The old navigators spoke of it only in whispers.
Some claimed the true Universe began there.
Others — that it ended there.
Ieva had first heard of the Sea of the Void back at the Academy. The instructors always fell silent whenever a cadet asked whether anyone had ever crossed it.
Only one name was never spoken quietly.
Aronas.
The legendary pilot.
It was said he flew where space refused to obey physics. That his ship belonged to no fleet. That he didn’t search for passengers — passengers found themselves.
Some swore they’d seen him return from the Sea of the Void. His hull without a single scratch, though dust from dead stars drifted around him.
Others insisted that everyone who had flown with Aronas came back changed.
Calmer.
Or didn’t come back at all.
Ieva didn’t believe such stories.
A legend was always just a convenient way to fill in the unknown.
So the invitation surprised her.
It didn’t arrive through the official terminal, carried no federation seal. Simply, one morning, in her cabin window, among the reflections of the stars, a thin silver capsule appeared.
Inside lay a single transparent crystal.
The moment she touched its surface, a voice spread through the air.
“If you’re hearing this invitation, then you’ve long been searching for a path that isn’t on any map.”
The voice was calm. Almost indifferent.
“I depart in three days. If you decide to come, be at the Seventh Lighthouse. Don’t look for my ship. It will find you.”
The recording ended.
The crystal crumbled into silver dust.
Ieva stood by the porthole for a long time.
In the distance, thousands of stars burned.
Suddenly they no longer seemed so far away.
That night she barely slept. She tried to remember when she’d first heard Aronas’s name, but instead of memories, only a strange feeling crept into her mind — as if someone had spoken her name long before she’d learned it herself.
After three days, the Seventh Lighthouse lay drowned in the hazy light of nebulae.
The docks were empty.
There was no legendary ship.
There was no pilot either.
Ieva was about to turn back when the stars above her briefly went dark.
Not because they vanished.
They simply moved aside.
A black ship slowly emerged from the darkness.
Its hull reflected no light.
It looked as if it had been carved from the night itself.
The landing gate opened even before it touched the dock.
A man stood inside.
Not young.
Not old.
His face was so calm that, for a moment, Ieva thought she’d already seen him in a dream.
“You came,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
As if he’d never doubted, for even an instant, that she would.