Atlas sat at the central console, fingers lightly brushing over the cracked edges of the screen.
The display was flickering again, pixels failing like dying stars in an old sky. He didn't move to fix it.
For once, he welcomed the static.
EVA. "It's 04:36 standard cycle. You have not rested in 31 hours."
"I know," Atlas murmured.
His voice was hoarse. Empty in some places, like it had eroded over time.
"I want to record something."
EVA: "Log protocol initiated."
He leaned forward, bones aching, breath slow. And for the first time since the hyperspace rupture, he didn't pause to think. He just spoke.
Log Entry 38 – I Remember Her
Her name was Lia.
She had this way of smiling without showing her teeth.
The corners of her lips would just twitch like she was in on a secret joke the rest of the galaxy didn't understand.
She worked planetary relief. We met during a supply drop on Hadea IV.
I was there to deliver stabilizers. She was there to save lives.
I said something dumb the first time I saw her. Something like, "Are you qualified to lift that med-crate?"
She laughed.
I think I fell in love with that sound.
Atlas stopped speaking for a moment. He looked out the window. There was no movement, no stars. Just cold blackness.
"I should've told her to leave the colony," he said aloud. "When things started getting bad… I should've forced her onto the evacuation shuttle."
EVA: "You could not have predicted the attack."
"Yeah," he muttered, "but I knew something was coming. The tension. The silence on comms. All the signs were there. And I stayed. She stayed."
His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. There was a drought inside him now, the kind born from grief too old to weep for.
"I was too proud. Too loyal to the mission. And I let her burn."
He stood and moved toward the old file archive, digging out a small metal chip a memory drive, dulled with age. He inserted it into the panel, and a faint image shimmered to life Lia, standing in the daylight of some lost world, laughing.
The file was degraded, flickering. But her face remained.
EVA: "Would you like me to enhance the audio?"
"No. Let it stay real. Let it stay broken."
Log Entry 38 (continued)
There's this myth, EVA.
That when you die, your soul travels faster than light outracing time itself, passing through everything you loved one last time.
I hope that's true.
I hope she saw the stars we used to name together.
I hope she felt the warmth of the blanket we shared during the sandstorms.
I hope she heard my voice even if I wasn't there to say goodbye.
I remember her.
Even out here where no one remembers me.
– A.K.
Atlas sat back down. EVA's interface dimmed, as if she too had been listening.
EVA: "She would have wanted you to live."
"I know," he said. "And for a while… I did. But I think living means more than breathing. I think it means carrying them. And forgiving yourself."
EVA: "Then perhaps today is the first time you've lived in years."
A soft, broken chuckle slipped from his lips.
"Maybe."
That night, Atlas didn't dream of being rescued.
He dreamed of her laugh.
And it echoed like light through the void.