Between The Stars & Beyond (PerEl 1x1)

[El]

It had not been a dreamless sleep. No, there had been faint images that would occasionally replay themselves behind his closed eyes. He'd seen many things. It started with an explosion. Silent in the expanse of space. But what it lacked in sound it made up for in how beautifully it'd gone out. A dying star going supernova, just for a moment it shone even more passionately than it had while it was alive. More vibrant in death than in life. Then...Something came from it. Surely it'd taken longer than how quickly he'd seen it happen, but the light had turned to dark in the blink of an eye and something spun rapidly in the star's place. The light from the supernova was sucked into rings that went round and round, leaving a pitch black sphere in the middle. From the corpse of a star something else rose. Over time it swallowed countless which had gotten too close, sealing the fate of many, growing bigger as it's hunger seemed to know no bounds. For some time this was all he saw. Then there was a lapse. Suddenly rather than looking in he was looking out, watching the rings spin tirelessly around him. Yet there was the faintest feeling that something was missing. It was not enough.

At the time he could not see his own limbs but he knew he had reached beyond, and everything felt as though it had been turned inside out. Then it was dark again. Somewhere in his chest the rings still spun, their light concealed. In that moment he realized it had not been a hunger that drove the void to consume all that was around it. It was a need. A need to fill the emptiness. Something that no amount of eating stars, planets, or ships could have ever hoped to fill. So he would find something else to do it for him.
It was a long time after this that the dreams had stopped. Instead nothing but the dark behind his eyes was there to comfort him, and the soft hum of something beyond what he could perceive. When the dreams came again they were an amalgamation of what might have been memories once. Flashes of people and places. Of triumph and sorrow. There was a life that had been lived but it had melted away into something that was quickly being forgotten. All coming to an end with the sound of metal clanging together as something closed tightly. It had gone dark for a long, long time after that. These images began to slip from his memory. And when he woke they were already gone.

Now, there were few things that were familiar.
The reflection that he glimpsed on the dimly lit metal that stared back at him was not one. This, thing that contained him wasn't either. A ... sealed pod of some kind. Hardly big enough to hold him at that. Such a tight fit that only allowed for some shifting and if he really wanted to push his limits maybe a bend of the knee. He felt stiff. Like he hadn't moved an inch during his slumber and it'd taken it's toll to locking him into place, discomfort stemming from every movement made. The sound of his limbs clumsily hitting the curved walls around him echoed. This seemed like a situation that called for some level of panic but the lull of the sleep that he'd barely dragged himself out of was calling sweetly for him to come back. Exhaustion outweighed all else. How had he gotten here? Every attempt to try and think back to before the dark was met with nothing. A void. There wasn't even a strain to try and remember. There was simply nothing. Nothing but the thrum of something beyond the walls around him. That was familiar. It was a soft vibration that he could barely feel if he pressed his hand to the metal around him. Another thing that gave him some knowledge was the only bit of memory his brain could conjure. Something he recognized as his own.

Achlys.

It was all he had. A name and nothing else.
His finger tips dragged along the metal that encased him. There was a seam where two halves seemed to try and meet but left a slim gap. Bright light filtered in. He pressed the tips of his fingers between them with an intent to try and pry them apart further. Yet the metal crumpled like it'd been made of paper. Either it had been too weak or he'd been too strong. Either side of the metal pod crashed to the floor with a clatter as he sat up. Achlys blinked, eyes flicking from left to right at the fallen contraption, which left nothing more than him on a metal bed in the middle of a room he did not recognize. He himself wore nothing but a loose shirt and shorts. The attire felt weirdly unfitting to him. A window curved behind him, floor to ceiling it showed nothing but the vast expanse of the stars. In front of him...Something blue stared back. It took him a moment to realize it was a living creature. Achlys stared back with wide glowing eyes having gone rigid at the acknowledgement that there was in fact someone else in here with him. He flexed his fingers uncertainly against the metal bed under him and it began to dent from the pressure.

 

[Peregrine]

"Krak!" Syranth cursed, long pointed fingers withdrawing from the inactive console. "Krak, krak, krak!"

For a second, the blue-skinned being's cursing appeared to create a foul-mouthed doppelganger within the confines of a certain floating tin can. But the echo dissipated into the emptiness, leaving Syranth alone once more. Nothing but the inky darkness filled the window, stretching out endlessly. The distant glimmers of starlight taunted it from beyond, far beyond the reach of being any form of salvation. All that remained was a useless heap of junk, once an emergency escape pod, now destined to be mercilessly squashed by the cosmic indifference of it all.

Only the emergency lights still flickered within the pod, far from bright enough to obscure the intermittent crimson and cobalt flashes that glowed along Syranth's floating tendrils and frills. The reflection of its bioluminescence only further exacerbated Synrath's frustrations, offering worse comfort than a disco party thrown by a malfunctioning robot.

Less than two hours ago, Syranth had been the VIP guest aboard a cross-solar merchant ship. With all frankness, those money-first merchants were about as interesting as a collection of space rocks. But, bless their deluded hearts, they sang their song and danced their dance, dreaming of becoming an Etherian designated dealer. Of course, Syranth had standards like any other Etherian, and would never entrust precious equipment permits to strange beings. But there was no way Syranth would burst their bubble. After all, there was no denying the budget-friendly perk of traveling on the sheer foolishness of those who believed they were the crème de la crème of salesmanship.

But you know what? All the warm welcomes and fancy accommodations proved completely meaningless when fate decided to throw them all into a cosmic blender. Before Syranth could say "hyperspace travel," the entire ship got sucked into the wrong end of a warp inverter and landed smack dab in the clutches of a bunch of space pirates. Those pirates were quicker to attack than drunkard racing to a bottomless happy hour.

Unsurprisingly, sheer chaos followed. Everyone scrambled like panicked quarks for the few escape pods on board (a number far below regulation requirements, Syranth would have added, if there was anyone to listen) and no one cared a whit for VIP privileges or designated dealer permits. Who would, when pirates were carving the outer hull open like overzealous treasure diggers.

Syranth had considered itself lucky to find a ship that everyone seemed to have overlooked, but it wasn't until the little pod had already launched into the void of outer space that the alien realized one tiny detail—the local-range warp system was nowhere to be found.

In a further cruel twist of fate, a single stray plasma bolt from the pirates sent Syranth and its malfunctioning escape pod twirling off into the depths of outer space. No food, no water, and limited air became its new, bleak reality. Even a Rebirth didn't seem like it would save Syranth from this particularly messy Sojourn.

"Krak," Syranth muttered once more, the enthusiasm drained from its voice. Slumping back into the captain's chair, its long legs dangled at an odd angle, and its tendrils hung limp, emitting a lackluster yellow-green glow.

Syranth had no desire to meet its demise. And while many of the memories in its head had already been shared with the Etherians, this latest Sojourn had provided fascinating discoveries it did not wish to surrender to the depths of space. Yet, even with five generations' worth of knowledge on space mechanics, there seemed to be no way out of this predicament that didn't require a divine miracle.

The darkness drifted on. Syranth's vision gradually blurred, its labored breaths no longer able to provide sufficient oxygen. When a patch of stars vanished from its weary gaze, Syranth could only assume it was the looming presence of death. And then everything faded into utter darkness.

 

[El]

It had once been a voracious hunter. It had swallowed many ships because that was part of it's design. To hunt, to eat- although it did not need to-, and to shred. Affectionately, and appropriately, named Leviathan by the small little mortal creatures it once harbored. Though names had no meaning to it. A hulking 'ship' that stretched 6 kilometers long. There were bigger somewhere, there always was, but this one was different. Something that blended in between the stars and should it pass your gaze would make those bright balls of gas disappear if only for a split moment before it was gone. A ship whose design allowed it to twist in ways many materials would not bend to. Sleek, elegant, and dangerous.

Or at least, it once was.
Perhaps it still was should it ever stir, but for now it slept. Dreamlessly floating through the void as it had been for some time now. It had not meant to swallow that small pod funny enough. This was a sheer act of fate and a coincidental movement one of its formidable 'jaws'. One of many, that was.

In that split moment the pod disappeared into what could have been considered an observational deck. It was a large oval shaped space, windows that bowed outward and seemed to almost resemble a row of long and uncannily sharp teeth lined half its crescent. Allowing one to see back out into the cosmos. Unknowingly their exterior was nothing more than a mirror, never showing what was laid inside and reflecting the dark. The other half of the walls were made out of inky black material that mocked metal in appearance but if one were to look hard enough they would be able to see the way it rose and fell. The movements were ever so slight and achingly slow. As if to further prove this material was in fact not what it claimed to be, strands of it claimed the high ceiling in overlapping web like shapes. Some hung lower than others. In certain bulging areas giving off soft glows of pale blue. Dim in theory but there were enough of them to light the room. Two arching indents in the walls, one on either side of the far curve of the room. Equal distance from each other. Doors perhaps.

An empty deck. Save for some large round tables and chairs that had now been scattered by the abrupt addition of the pod, which had slid across the floor with a piercing noise, and a collection of papers- letters?- that once were in order but now thrown to the wind and scattered about the floor. All was silent save for the soft thrum of the ship.

 

[Peregrine]

As Syranth's eyes blinked open once more, it was greeted by a faint glow of blue light that bathed the interior of the pod, creating a somewhat odd ambiance that seemed more fitting for the depths of the ocean than the vast expanse of outer space. But Syranth wasn't one to complain, especially when there was air to breathe and a dry place to call home. Other than the feeble illumination that seeped in from the window and a small gash in the escape pod, the tin can was now plunged into absolute darkness, devoid of even a lick of power. The limited light did little to shed any clarity on Syranth's new whereabouts.

It took several, painfully elongated minutes of dedicated breathing exercises for the blue-skinned being to gather enough strength to stir. The dim grey luminescence emitted by its tendrils gradually brightened and warmed to a pale yellow.

It was alive!

Somewhere in the vast unknown, without a morsel of sustenance or a drop of hydration, but hey, at least it had air to fill its metaphorical sails. Or at least its lungs. The stubborn pod had failed to put an end to Syranth's Sojourn, much to the being's delight!

Take that, you stupid contraption! And you stupid pirates! Nothing could stop it now, not even the most ludicrous odds!

Filled with the energy provided by newfound enthusiasm, Syranth clambered to its feet, nearly tripping over the captain's chair in the process. With a triumphant stumble, it made its way to the lever that released the escape hatch. The moment the door hissed open, the Etherian toppled out into the surrounding space.

As it lifted its head from the floor, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Syranth's first impression was that it had stumbled into the gaping maw of some monstrous creature. But the solid, smooth, flat floor beneath its hands reassured Syranth that this was no time for a feeding frenzy. After all, it was certain that no tongue could ever so compellingly pretend to be a solid surface. Quickly diverting its attention from the giant domed window that initially caught its eye, Syranth's gaze swept across the rest of the room.

It seemed Syranth's less-than-graceful entrance had caused quite a ruckus. Tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly, large scratches in the floor marked the wild path of the uninvited pod. The air was filled with a few floating papers, twirling like they were preparing to audition for the ballet, while the rest lay scattered chaotically across the floor, having partied a little too hard and passed out in random places.

But what truly stole Syranth's attention were the walls. Eagerly stumbling across the space with far less grace than the papers, Syranth's hands landed flat against the solid, mysterious material that composed the walls.

"Moving! Indeed!"

Its eyes had not deceived it! Syranth's tendrils danced in a vibrant, almost manic display of colors, pulsating purples, radiant greens, and mesmerizing magentas.

This was new! Across countless generations of memories curated by the entire Etherian species, there was absolutely nothing like this! It was the find of the eon! A discovery that would allow Syranth itself to become a cornerstone memory of future generations!

With determined fingers, Syranth probed, poked, scratched, and tugged, all to no effect. The stubborn bio-metal resisted all forms of disturbance. If only it had a blow torch! Liquid nitrogen! A microscope! Even a nano-blade would do. Yet the Etherian was embarrassingly barehanded after its hasty escape from its previous quarters. It could only stew in the agony of curiosity denied.

Several long, long minutes passed before Syranth reluctantly detached itself from the unyielding wall. Finally, its eyes shifted towards the archways that beckoned beyond, leading to the untold mysteries of the rest of the ship. The excitement, which had momentarily subsided due to the wall's fine ability to resist any and all forms of scientific curiosity, bubbled up again. This was just a wall. Who knew what other mind-boggling discoveries awaited Syranth in this strange place?

Besides, it wasn't as though this room were a five-star restaurant. If Syranth intended to survive and bring home this fantastic find, it would have to find something to eat and drink. Clearly, the walls were not on the menu, although the papers might be if matters grew truly desperate. But ink didn't sit particularly well on its stomach, and certainly wouldn't provide any fluid. Time to find some snacks instead!

 

[El]

Syranth would find that the left door on the far side of the room led to a small cafeteria. Certainly not anything spectacular, but big enough to support four long lunch room-like tables and a kitchen. The room lacked the moving faux metal substance that the other room held. It was sterile and white. Perhaps it simply wasn't the main mess hall, rather just set to support what little crew had been stationed in this little corner of the ship, so what use was there in making it stand out? More so it certainly wasn't filled with anything extravagant. That was to say nothing that could be cooked. Just freeze-dried substances made to last and linger. Though what exactly those substances were...Was questionable. Bland and oddly textured. But it was food regardless, and fluid to go with it. As if nutrition was put above pleasure. It seemed the food matched the room. Not a speck of personality or individualism to be found in this room. Maybe consumption had simply been considered something only born from the limits of the bodies that had once taken up that ship. Something they would have rather not bothered themselves with until absolutely necessary and so when they did eat it was meant to be quick and clean, nothing more.

But what was it they did bother their time with? What had they enjoyed?

The scattered papers might tell. Or if not those papers, the second room.

Though the second door at equal distance from the food did not exactly lead to a single room per se. No rather it led into a short hallway that gave way to multiple rooms. The hall kept the breathing walls. The cabins that lined it did not. Three on either side of the hall. Each held no remnants of their owners. So instead the standard layout was a bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand. None of these rooms had any windows. The lights in each room seemed to be a single line built into the ceiling dead center. It was not nearly enough to keep the rooms properly lit, though only enough to make sure that one did not run into anything and was able to find their way into a bed if need be.

The papers scattered along the floor back on the observational deck were out of order. Though mercifully they were numbered. 16 pages in total, labelled in roman numerals. Distinctly human. Or mayhaps the crew had taken inspiration from what was considered human. There were a handful of alien species that did, it was not an impossible thought.

The writing on these papers were not human however. If you could call it that. The writing seemed fluid, sentences lacked commas and the only separation between them was a single period. It could be that the language was spoken in the same way. Stealing the speaker's breath before they were able to finish if they weren't quick enough. Letters were swooping and weaving shapes, the occasional dots decorated into some. Almost impossible to read at first glance, and yet the longer someone would look...They might see the symbols move. Unraveling themselves to create words in languages they knew. The downside, is that if the reader knew multiple languages, the words would morph constantly. You might get halfway through a sentence before the writing switched into something else. May the cosmos have mercy if one tries to reread something. The language would've already changed again by that time.


The papers spoke with an urgency that could not be ignored, even if it was in riddles. Words that decorated the birth of something in the death of another, and how it had shaped itself into the image of something akin to man. How it's hunger knew no bounds and it thirsted to acquire, collect, gain, conquer. This being wanted everything that could be offered. There was a thrill in taking what was given, and stealing what was not. And who had they been to deny the creature? When it held them like they were treasured, even if they were considered a part of a collection...

But there would always be something bigger. Something far more hungry. In the vastness of the universe there would always be jaws that opened far wider. And so, the hands that had held them so softly curled in on them for if it could not have them, it would sooner make sure that no one could. The author did not know where they would go when they were done writing these pages. But above all they needed the reader to know that this being was not malevolent. What lied ahead was not death, but something...Different. Something the author didn't understand. What they knew was that it was necessary to stay hidden and escape the eyes that sought their downfall. Even if for a little while.
What's more, by the time someone found these papers they would already be gone. But the entity would not. It laid somewhere within the ship. A ship who had dutifully kept it hidden until stirred to rise again. Within the last four pages of the script the reader would find the instructions to wake them once again, and how to open the wall between the doors to the lunch room and quarters. It's journey would start over but this time with the knowledge that something was coming for them. For everyone. And they would need to use the time they had to become something more than before. But very first; Wake them.

Had there been a third door? It looked simply like a wall...The pages said otherwise. The instructions would say otherwise, as well.

 

[Peregrine]

Syranth dramatically collapsed onto the bed with a noisy huff, sprawling out like a starfish. It was clear that the lanky alien had pushed itself to the brink of exhaustion, its limbs having danced a marathon back and forth across the small collection of rooms it could access. Then, it had subjected itself to a mind-numbing study session that could surely rival the vexation of attempting to decode an alien cookbook written entirely in interpretive dance moves.

At first, when Syranth had realized just how small this space was, it had felt almost overwhelmed with sadness. The lofty dreams of mind-bending discoveries, astounding contraptions, and incomprehensible technologies were promptly deflated. Even the beautiful living walls that had welcomed Syranth to this enigmatic place seemed to have been evicted, replaced by the cold familiarity of metal and glass.

Well, at least Syranth had stumbled upon some form of sustenance, or at least that's what it assumed. Tasteless blocks that could've been mistaken for intergalactic building material and water packets, all suspiciously unlabeled with any sort of intergalactic safety certification. Who knew if there was a very necessary "Etherians should not consume" warning conveniently omitted from the packaging? Regardless, Syranth had taken the plunge a few hours ago, nibbling a corner of a block and hoping it wasn't playing a deadly game of culinary roulette.

At the very least, no immediate signs of impending doom arose, which meant it could probably survive a few more months before the prospect of "death by lack of flavorless snacks" became an actual concern.

And so, the cycle of search, search, and search some more had commenced, Syranth scouring every nook and cranny for a speck of interest. It hunted for any breadcrumb of information about its location, the identity of this ship, and perhaps a way to extract some incredibly useful knowledge from this peculiar situation.

And what had all this rummaging yielded? A resounding symphony of nothing.

Eventually, defeated by the cruel hands of fate, Syranth was driven back to the only potential source of information. The dancing papers that had been so disturbed by its initial intrusion.

It hadn't taken long to physically gather the papers, but the extraction of useful knowledge from them was a task that had stretched time itself. Out of the five hundred and forty-six languages held in Syranth's memories, these papers seemed to have been penned in a special dialect known as "None of the Above."

Just when Syranth was about to declare the papers a lost cause, a peculiar thing happened: the dark letters began to squirm, shifting into more familiar shapes.

Familiar forms. That. Wouldn't. Stop. Moving!

And thus began Syranth's study session from hell.

Anything so much as a stray thought was enough to send the text spinning, transforming into a completely different language. Syranth's memory might've been top-notch, but these passages were like squirrels on an espresso binge, changing before its very eyes in a shape-shifting word dance.

After a few more hours, when Syranth was seriously questioning the safety of those food blocks and considering the possibility that it had landed in a completely different universe, it recognized one undeniable truth—it needed a break.

A brief intermission from this maddening mental obstacle course, and then it would plunge back in once more.

---

Five days later, Syranth and its tendrils, now resembling overcooked strands of spaghetti, managed to conjure a smile as it gazed at the completed manuscript splayed out in front of it. Several days ago, the alien had unearthed a cache of ancient notebooks from a drawer in another room, and located a writing utensil that might have been intended for culinary experimentation rather than linguistic exploration.

The initial day and a half after it had found these pages had been a monumental display of struggle as Syranth wrestled to uncover a deciphering strategy for these accursed pages. The genius plan? Replicate whatever it could read, regardless of the language, onto another sheet where the ink dared not to perform acrobatics.. This routine of transcription and re-transcription looped in a seemingly infinite loop until every conceivable iota of ink had been captured at least three times over.

Just this repetitive act had gobbled up three whole days, and the initially modest 16 pages had ballooned to an unwieldy 70-plus collection.

Then? The translation escapade. Convert the perplexing mosaic of over 500 languages scattered across the pages into the common Etherian tongue. There went another half- day, and contributed a further 50 pages to the burgeoning pile.

Finally, with meticulous patience, Syranth worked to assemble something actually readable by discerning commonalities among the maze of verbiage. Thank the cosmic forces that the decipherable bits outnumbered the translations lost in the thickets of linguistic distortion. This puzzle-solving extravaganza culminated in a semi-cohesive narrative.

And now, stars be praised, Syranth fervently hoped this Herculean effort would prove its worth.

A beat later, Syranth rocketed to its feet, practically executing a zero-gravity dance around the room.

An exit strategy! Amidst the tangled mess of references to insatiable hunger and cosmic obscurity, there it was—an escape clause. A hidden door in the labyrinth of nonsense!

With a renewed burst of energy, Syranth raced down the corridor like a sentient meteor. The fluttering remnants of its once-precious papers trailed in its wake as it hurtled towards the food room. Its linguistic conquest had once again transformed into whimsical ballerinas pirouetting through the air, but Syrant's attention was singularly focused on one thing.

On the floor, hidden like a gem within rock, lay the subtle mechanism. Syranth's fingers caressed the wall with a blend of tenderness and triumph, and as if responding to an intimate code, a previously invisible crevice etched itself into the once smooth surface. Bracing itself, Syranth took a deep breath and pushed its way into the next room.

 

[El]

The hall was grand. In size, to be certain, it dwarfed the door that Syranth came through.

Tall walls led up to an arching ceiling, the same dim lights up the bedrooms were placed here. And though there were no windows yet still, there was scenery. Imagery that came to life on the walls that were made out of the same biological matter, but now with veins that seemed to run through them. That pulsed occasionally as though they had a heartbeat. The veins twisted and turned, giving rise where needed, texture and depth. They depicted different systems this vessel had once traveled. Different stars, planets, other cosmic structures it'd seen. Somewhere far above reach was a small blip of light, and despite her size she was bright. Maybe a depiction of where the 'ship' laid at present, as that light moved at an achingly slow pace. One would have to stare for a good chunk of time to even realize that it was in fact moving. The papers didn't speak of this hall, nor of the scenes it displayed, aside from telling that the necessary chamber was at the far end, past another room. Surely, there might be more hidden doors, as how could such a long hall be so void aside from the living map that its walls showed? The pages spoke not of those, either. In fact, the hall was disregarded. Had this not been worth awe, in the authors eyes? No, of course not. How many times had they traveled this same hall, spared mere glances to see where they were in their travels, or maybe reminisce on where they had once been before continuing on their way? What an odd sense of priority these predecessors had.

What was important, so said the papers, was the room beyond this hall. At the end, through a very obvious and important door, they wrote. This was a door that took one to the Leviathan's core. This was where her real colors began to show. Quite literally.

A circular room that was of a fair and decent size. Sterile, like the kitchen, bright but not because of any lights. Yet the floor and ceiling was made of an almost crystalline material that was somewhat transparent. Giving a view to those veins that seemed to erupt from nowhere at every given angle- travelling both under and over the room. Then, coming up or down to meet in the very center of the room in an entrapment for the real beauty of it all. It's core. It's heart. Composed of translucent layers, a crystal sphere. Throughout those layers intricate networks of luminescent veins that course through it. Some of those black encasing veins from the ceiling and floor curled inward to connect to the veins inside the heart. Each vein glows with vibrant colors of blue, white, orange, red, and yellow. Replicating the colors of stars. Was the core made from a star? Or were stars used in it's creation? Was it a simple matter of different heat depending on the vein? Again, the papers lacked explanation. But they did tell of one very, deeply important detail. If one were to prefer to stay intact and not to say...disintegrated...Then it was best to keep away from the heart itself. All hands, tentacles, extensions of oneself physical or otherwise were to stay outside the veiny prison that contained this core.

But some of those veins would branch off. Coming out of the wall on the far side of the room, though it was more like they'd forced their way out as shattered remains of that same crystal material lay scattered. Never cleaned. Sealed and left. The veins twisted and grappled with each other over one last door. And this was, if the first half hadn't already been enough of a pain in the ass, the worst part. The papers did, at least, offer their condolences. It had to be like this to ensure the safety of the entity inside from those less...worthy, of meeting it. Or from those who would try to force their way in. After all, whoever was to oversee this entity needed patience. And lots of it.

One must, making sure they tugged on the right one, tug on the veins that connected to the ones in the heart in the correct order; White, red, yellow, orange, blue. Only then would the door beyond be allowed to be opened, and inside, lay both the slumbering end and the beginning. Though, then again- so the author wrote- was there really a difference?