Far Beyond the Milky Way
09 Sep 2024Yndi Halda
Logbook Entry – Heart and Soul NebulaThe date was August 22nd, 3310, when I finally completed the preparations for my journey into the unknown—or at least what was unknown to me. The galaxy is vast, unimaginably so, and after last year’s trip to Colonia to meet with our scouts, I hadn’t felt the urge to embark on another adventure. The Thargoids were closing in, and I was called to fight—not for all of humankind, mind you. I’m no hero. But I wanted, at the very least, to be a hero for the ones I loved.
Yet, as always, the call of the stars was hard to ignore. There was more to see, more to discover, and in the brief peace that followed the fall of the Thargoid Titans, I felt that familiar pull once again. It was time to go.
I set my sights on the Heart and Soul Nebula, hoping to encounter new landscapes and perhaps even new life forms. With my Anaconda prepped and ready, I embarked on the journey. The solitude struck me immediately—not encountering any other commanders along the way was something I wasn’t used to. But despite that, or maybe because of it, the experience was incredible. The sense of freedom, the mystery of the unknown, the feeling of being truly alone with the universe—it was exhilarating.
Is this what it means to embark on something new? The thrill of the unknown, the sense that this adventure belongs to you alone. The rush of adrenaline that surges through you when you gaze upon stars you’ve never seen before.
The Heart and Soul Nebula as seen from Eafots MW-U c16-3
I reached the Heart Nebula first and docked at the local station—a miners' outpost. While there, I offloaded some of the data I had gathered during my exobiology explorations and spoke with the station’s crew. They mentioned another station nearby in the Soul Nebula, much closer to the main star. It sounded like a good fallback option in case I needed to return for repairs or to offload anything. I was relieved to hear that; the thought of traveling tens of thousands of light-seconds just to reach a station wasn’t exactly appealing. I may have been chasing excitement, but I didn’t want this to be my last trip.
By the 25th of August, I arrived at the station in the Soul Nebula, and that’s when things started to get interesting. Some local scavengers told me that if I’d made it this far, I should push further and investigate the mysterious settlements that went dark 40 years ago in a place called the Formidine Rift—a desolate region far beyond Sol and the Galactic Core. The scavengers spoke of an ancient expedition, known as Project Dynasty, where they had searched for Earth-like worlds hidden in the emptiness of space. Could it be true? Could the rumors I’d heard during my training really have a basis in fact?But I can’t write about that here.
Logbook Entry – Heading to the Formidine Rift
The Formidine Rift and Project Dynasty were opportunities I couldn’t pass up, so I prepared for the 7,000 light-year journey. I’d traveled farther before, but something about this trip felt different, unsettling even. The truth is, I didn’t know much about this region, and that uncertainty gnawed at me.
Still, I set off once more—just me and my Anaconda, cutting through the vastness toward the Rift. As we ventured deeper, the lights of the Milky Way began to fade, growing dimmer with every jump. Yet, the deeper I went, the more I marveled at the uncharted systems along the way. It was a strange mix of isolation and awe, but one I welcomed as part of the journey.
It took several days, following the trails I’d been told about back in the Soul Nebula, but I think I made it! The keyword here is "Formidine Rift Sites." There are four in total—Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta—located in the Eafots Sector. And I saw them with my own eyes! It’s still hard to believe. My navigation system tells me I’m 8,318.59 light-years away from Sol, in the middle of this forgotten place. After days of darkness and growing unease, it feels almost surreal to finally see something—remnants of what must have been outposts or settlements from the old expedition.
But it’s eerie here. The silence feels heavier than silence itself, and if you look away from the dim glow of the Milky Way, there are barely any stars left in the sky. Everything around me is abandoned, lifeless. I found some old audio logs left by researchers from Project Dynasty. From the sound of it, things didn’t go well for them. Listening to their voices only adds to the creeping sense of dread I can’t shake.
Logbook Entry – There is light in the darkness
What if something happens to me out here? No one would hear me, no matter how loud I scream into the dark. I’m so far from home, and I doubt anyone would come for me. Maybe the only trace of me left would be another log uploaded to the system’s old relays. But here’s the thing—this ancient tech isn’t even compatible with my ship’s systems. Apart from downloading the logs, there’s nothing else I can do. No uploading, no communication. I’m truly alone out here.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Sure, it’s dark and unsettling here, but if I turn around and look back at where I came from, I can still see the distant, reassuring glow of the Soul and Heart Nebulae. And beyond that, the bright heart of the Milky Way itself. Among those countless stars, somewhere, is home. I can feel it. The thought of it warms me, and the light—traveling across tens of thousands of light-years—feels like it’s reaching out to touch my skin, refreshing me in a way even the local star here cannot.
It’s strange, but in this remote system, that distant light feels more real, more comforting. It’s a reminder that no matter how far I’ve traveled, home is always out there, waiting.
The Heart and Soul Nebula as seen from Eafots-LZ-H-b10-0
Logbook Entry – Into the Void
Just as home is always there, waiting, I felt the need to reach for something even further—something beyond all of this. After visiting each of the abandoned settlements, the only clue I could piece together was that the answers I sought pointed to the Core. But which core? The Galactic Core, the heart of the Milky Way? Or perhaps the Core of Humanity itself, back at Sol? I didn’t have the answers to that.
But I found my own answer, at least for this journey. And that was to keep going—further into the void, into a place where there are no stars to guide you, where the emptiness swallows you whole. My navigator struggled to calculate the route ahead, but I didn’t care. I was beyond known space now, and the unknown was calling.
So I set forth, heading toward the outer edge of the Formidine Rift, to explore the uncharted systems where only darkness awaits.
Logbook Entry – On the Edge of the Rift
I was heading toward the very edge of known space in the Formidine Rift, where systems are sparse, scattered far from each other. It’s thrilling to be out here, alone, watching the Milky Way slowly drift away behind me. In front of me, there’s not much to see—just darkness. But it doesn’t matter how far I go. The planets, no matter how distant, still carry the same atmosphere, the same elements as those back home. It’s just a little colder here, and the sky looks... different.
I remember discovering a system with lava erupting from the surface, molten rivers sprouting from the ground like veins of fire. And it hit me again—the realization that despite the galaxy’s incomprehensible vastness, there’s a uniformity to it. The same phenomena, the same forces, repeating themselves, dressed in different forms. It’s hard to explain, but standing there, looking at the Milky Way through the flames of these volcanic rocks, the galaxy itself felt small.
Like a mere drop in the never-ending, ever-expanding universe.
Vulcanic activity on Tyroorst DI-I c26-5
Logbook Entry – We are not, in this Universe, all alone
This is it. I’ve come as far as I can go. No matter where I look, there are no stars, no planets, no nebulae—nothing within reach. But in this long, endless night, I saw them. Glimpses of something that doesn’t belong here, something far beyond our reach—beyond what humanity will be capable of for millennia. Unless IT is found.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of what lies beyond these empty shores, beyond the farthest edge of the Formidine Rift. There, in the void, I saw the faint lights of other galaxies. Andromeda, M32 and Triangulum—or at least, I think that’s what they were. Just hanging out there, 2.5 to 3 million light-years away. And I thought I had come far—sitting here, 19,920.48 light-years from Sol.
There’s a deep sense of accomplishment in this moment, pulsing through me with every heartbeat. A strange clarity comes with it, a realization: we are not alone. We’re surrounded by countless galaxies, embracing and shaping the way we live, the way we see ourselves. The vastness is overwhelming, but the solitude here is softened by the knowledge that we are part of something infinitely larger than ourselves.
And I’m glad—grateful—that I can experience this, in this place, at this time.
Andromeda, M32 and Triangulum Galaxies as seen from Phrae-Dryue-IT-O-d7-0
