I left the quiet of Qohen’s Cohort to begin the long haul toward Cheia Eohn YW-I d10-1. I’ve found myself getting deeply caught up in exobiology lately—I spent far too long scouring the dust of Fleckeae AL-V d3-0 for signs of life—but that’s the beauty of this trip. It’s not just about the stars anymore; it’s about the dirt under my boots. I’ll take a lonelier, less-traveled route on the way back to the Bubble, but for now, I’m following the trail of giants.

Navigation struggled with the jump density today. The computer kept flagging the route as "out of range," forcing me to plot manually in smaller chunks. It added about 40 jumps to the trip, but I’m in no hurry. The "Black" doesn't have a clock.

When I finally reached the Cheia Eohn system, the target—body B 1 a—was over 400,000 light-seconds out. I pushed my FSD into SCO (Supercruise Overcharge) to bridge the gap. It’s a violent way to travel; the cockpit shakes, the heat levels redline, and the fuel gauge drops like a stone. I pushed the engines to the absolute edge of structural failure before dropping back into a normal cruise.

The reward was worth the stress. The moon orbits a stunning Earth-like world. I banked the Asp close to the parent planet, watching the clouds swirl over deep blue oceans and vibrant green continents—a rare, fragile sight this far from home. I finally set down on the volcanic surface of the moon B 1 a. Stepping out of the airlock, I stood on the dark, sulfurous soil and looked up at that bright blue marble hanging in the black.

Tomorrow, I make the final push for Waypoint 4.

I spent most of yesterday bathed in that magenta glow, watching other DW3 pilots slip in and out of the atmosphere like fireflies. It was hard to leave, but the next landmark was calling: Qohen’s Cohort in Fleckeae ZQ-Y c16-0. It was a short 15-jump sprint, a distance that felt like a stroll compared to the Abyss crossing. I’m finding a much better rhythm now—savoring the sights instead of just chasing the fleet’s tail.

Arriving at Fleckeae, the scanners immediately lit up with other commanders. I haven't stopped for any formal meetups yet, but there’s a quiet comfort in seeing those hollow squares on the radar. It makes this corner of the deep black feel a little less like a void and a little more like a community.

The target was body A 1 b, a blindingly white ice world locked in a dance with another ringed neighbor. As I descended, the horizon was dominated by the spectacular geometry of the nearby planet’s rings cutting across the sky. I found a landing site on the frozen plains, killed the engines, and just stared. There are organic signals nearby—strange life clinging to the ice—so I’ll spend some time with the scanner tomorrow before I move on. For tonight, I’m just enjoying the view from the porch.

The morning at Beagle Point began with a silence so profound it felt heavy. Standing at the very edge of the galactic abyss, the usual hum of the fleet felt distant, muffled by the sheer scale of the void outside. I grabbed a coffee and settled into the commander’s chair, the cockpit displays flickering to life with the low-frequency whispers of the system. Most of the carriers were still dark, their jump drives cooling for a few more hours, but the restlessness of the deep black had already taken hold of me. It was time to move.

Waypoint #4 is the goal, but the journey is measured in the sights between the stars. I plotted a course for Syriae Thua GC-M d7-4, drawn by rumors of a "Hot Pink Sunrise."

Upon jumping into the system, I was greeted by a complex dance of four stars—a steady K-type primary flanked by two M-type companions, and then, the outlier: a massive L-type brown dwarf. I banked the ship toward body D 1, and as I broke orbit, the view through the canopy shifted from the black of space to a surreal, glowing magenta. The L-type star didn't just rise; it commanded the sky, a colossal, radiant sphere of hot pink that washed the entire landscape in alien light.

I found a flat stretch of crimson dust and brought the ship down gently. Landing gear locked, engines powered down to a standby hum. I’m currently sitting here, facing the sun, watching the light of a pink star bleed across the horizon of a world at the end of the world.

I stayed at Waypoint 3 longer than I intended, and with the announcement of Waypoint 4 looming, I knew I had to move. The next leg is over 11,000 light-years. There won't be time for sightseeing or side-trips this week; it’s time to put my head down and bridge the gap.

It took 138 jumps to reach Beagle Point. I leaned heavily on the "Neutron Highway" to navigate the sparse reaches of the Abyss—41 of those jumps were neutron-boosted. My Asp Explorer’s engineered FSD pushed its limits today, at one point hurling me 256.49 light-years in a single leap. Even at that pace, I couldn't help but scan; 468 celestial bodies recorded along the way. I had to stop frequently just to stretch my legs and fight off the space-madness that sets in when the stars start to disappear.

The loneliness of the Abyss is heavy, which made the end of the trip so much sweeter. When a contact finally flickered onto my radar at my last neutron boost, I knew I was close.

As I made the final jump into Beagle Point, the silence was replaced by the sudden, beautiful noise of radio chatter. The fleet was here. I could finally breathe.

Waypoint 4 has been revealed: Eclipsion Halo (Eictach KU-D d13-4). I’ve made up the distance. Now, I’m hoping to slow down just enough to actually see the sights instead of just watching them flash by in a blue-white blur.

This week was a blur of high-speed transit. I’ve been leaning on the neutron highway to keep pace with the fleet, using the white-blue jets to sling my ship toward Waypoint 2. It’s a faster way to travel, but it leaves less room for the quiet moments. I still pull over when the sensors catch a hint of life—a few first footfalls, a few biological samples—but mostly, I’ve been watching the galaxy move past my canopy. The photos I take are just shadows of the real thing; out here, you don't just see the view, you feel the scale of it.

The "Black" nearly claimed me three times this week. Inattention is the real killer out here. I fumbled the controls exiting witch space and nearly flew straight into a star’s heart. Later, I boosted toward the Viruna black hole with more momentum than I could shed. Both times, the emergency drop saved me.

But the planet surface at the Waypoint 2 gathering was the closest call. I misjudged my speed as I approached the surface and bounced the ship off the terrain like a skipped stone. I limped to the carrier with 26% hull integrity. If it weren't for the Pillar of Chista being stationed nearby for repairs, my journey would have ended in a cloud of debris.

Data is turned in. Hull is patched. I’m currently camped at the gathering point on Thuecheae WR-H d11-54 (13 b), watching the Seldowitch Nebula hang in the sky.

The next destination was revealed today: Beagle Point. We are heading where the stars thin out and the light dies. On DW2, I reached the edge just as the party was ending. This time, I’m determined to be there while the lights are still on. The carriers move tomorrow. There is still so much left to see.

We’ve been at Waypoint 1 since Day 12. To be honest, the journey so far has been... comfortable. Too comfortable, perhaps. Sitting on a carrier while it eats the distance for you makes the deep black feel less like a threat and more like a view from a window. The thought of leaving that safety feels lonelier than I expected. But exploration isn't about comfort; it’s about facing the silence to see what’s hidden within it.

While we wait for the next move, I’ve been pushing a few jumps out to practice the science. I’m hunting for "First Footfall" moments and trying to find a rhythm with the surface scanners. I haven't quite mastered the workflow for biologicals yet—it’s a slow, deliberate process—but with the carriers holding position, I finally have the time to learn.

The next leg is live now: 7,500 light-years a week between waypoints.

On DW2, I started late and spent the entire expedition chasing a fleet I never caught. This time is different. My goal is to be at every meetup, to see every Point of Interest, and to stay in the heart of the fleet. There will be plenty of time for the long, cold stretches of loneliness on the way back to the Bubble. For now, I’m keeping pace.

After Fimbulthul reached Waypoint Carrier Alpha on Day 06, the weekend slipped by with little time to explore. Today was the first real chance to slow down before the carriers began moving again. Jump window was set for 18:00 UTC—destination: Waypoint 1—so I stayed close and plotted only a handful of jumps out.

Spoihaae QD-Z D1-298 was already tagged, but the scans told a different story. Two bodies showed biological signals. That was enough.

I set down on both worlds and began my first proper exobiology work of the expedition. It took longer than expected—longer to find the samples, longer to move between them, longer because I didn’t rush. Somewhere along the way I realized I’d miss the carrier’s departure.

I didn’t mind. The schedule showed Pillar of Chista leaving tomorrow. There was time.

Samples secured, I lifted off and turned back toward the carrier, feeling like the expedition had finally begun—not with distance covered, but with something found.

The carriers are relentless. Every twenty minutes, another jump—500 light-years at a time, for hours. I watched the galaxy blur past from the bridge, each jump a small shock of acceleration and light. There's no time to explore, no time to breathe. You're a passenger now, not a pilot. I stayed strapped in, watching the distance counter climb, feeling the weight of how far we'd already come from home.

By evening, the carriers finally held position near Colonia. Our first real stop: Waypoint Carrier Alpha in Spoihaae EX-X d2-9. A few days to stretch our legs.

The weekend brings a dare. There's a planetary body here—Monde de la Mort, the locals call it. World of Death. It orbits a white dwarf so close that the star's radiation cone sweeps across it like a searchlight. You have twenty minutes after the body rotates clear before the heat returns. Twenty minutes to land, to touch it, to leave.

I'm thinking about it. The carrier has spare ships. The risk feels small against the story it would make.

After almost five years away, I’m back—for Distant Worlds 3.

In that time, a lot about Elite Dangerous has changed: new ships, longer jump ranges, fleet carriers, colonization, on‑foot adventures, Powerplay 2.0, and the Thargoid War. Yet there’s still a feeling of comfort and familiarity as I walk up to my Asp Explorer, sit down, and settle into the Commander’s seat once more.

I decided I wasn’t going to purchase and engineer a shiny new Mandalay for this expedition. I spent a great deal of time engineering Galaxy Quest for long‑range, deep‑space exploration during Distant Worlds 2, and she served me well. Back then, her 63.51 LY maximum jump range suited me just fine.

This time around, preparation meant re‑familiarizing myself with the Galaxy Map—plotting routes, scanning systems and planetary surfaces, and gathering materials. The one notable upgrade was installing a new SCO Frame Shift Drive, which I engineered to push my maximum jump range out to 68.9 LY.

Today was launch day.

We gathered at the newly colonized Distant Worlds 3 HQ, located on the surface of body 7c in NGC 1981 Sector ZU‑Y d27. The launch site, an area just outside the HQ, had been christened Plain Justice. I arrived early to double‑check last‑minute details and meet fellow commanders. It didn’t take long before we were friending each other, comparing ships, and generally messing around with SRVs and on foot.

At 22:30 GMT, it was time for the mass launch. We oriented our ships to 280 degrees, pitched up to 60 degrees, and climbed. At roughly 3 km altitude, we spooled our FSDs and, on the mark, engaged our hyperdrives.

I didn’t yet know my next destination, but after winging up with my assigned flotilla leader, I followed along to where the rest of our group assembled.

We waited there for nearly an hour as more commanders arrived. Stories were exchanged—past expeditions, ship builds, engineering choices, and whether this was a first Distant Worlds journey or another chapter in a long tradition. I had missed much of this during Distant Worlds 2, having departed weeks after launch, so this felt special.

Eventually, we locked in our first destination: Running Man Sector WP‑W b2‑0.

At 00:00 GMT, our flotilla leader began the countdown. FSDs spooled, throttles pushed forward, and one by one ships flashed away, leaving luminous wake trails behind them. It was an incredible sight.

Seconds later, we arrived. Nearby was one of the four official expedition fleet carriers—the Fimbulthul. I docked, disembarked, and joined several other commanders gathered in an observation area, looking out into the void ahead.

For now, I’ve settled into the bar to end the evening.

Until next time.

As I came upon my last few jumps closer to Beagle Point, I began to feel both the excitement of completing this journey, and a little sadness it will be ending. I made my last jump into the system and scanned for the planet Beagle 2, then found the coordinates for basecamp. There was radio chatter about potential hostiles waiting to ambush explorers, so I paid attention to my scanner in front of me. I found the coordinates for Legacy Crater, but found the area empty. So I landed and turned off my HUD and enjoyed the morning sunrise and my sense of accomplishment. I'll hang around a few days to meet others from the fleet before planning a trip to Colonia.