Location: Somewhere between Colonia and wherever we're going, aboard DSEV Distant Suns

Vessel: Princess of Ruin (Fer-de-Lance)

Made it past the bubble in the first day. Then things got slow.

Stopped at some crystalline formations along the way. 200,000 light-seconds off the route. Not amazing, but something is something. Bookmarked it. Kept jumping.

After that the Scout started acting strange.

Witch-space felt wrong. You know how the tunnel usually hums? This was more like grinding. Like scraping the hull against walls you can't see. What should have taken seconds stretched longer. And longer. The cockpit smelled like something burning that shouldn't be.

Maybe something latched onto the ship when I flew through those crystals? Didn't want to check.

Started wondering if I'd end up stuck somewhere between stars, just me and the void and that grinding sound forever.

Finally traced the issue to the power relays feeding the FSD. Old ship. Old problems. Rerouted through bypass cables. Got wires hanging everywhere now, looping under the seat, across the floor. Ugly. But it worked, and I kept jumping.

Had to put in some long hours after that. Numbers weren't looking good. The math kept changing in my head, and none of the answers felt safe. Too tired to trust the calculations, too stubborn to stop.

That's when I dropped too close to a Class B. Scout's wearing scorch marks down the port side now. Cargo hatch started throwing errors after that. Won't seal right. Doesn't matter. Nothing to haul but myself.

Sat there for a bit, listening to the hull tick as it cooled. Keep going like that and I'd have gotten roasted for real.

A few days later managed to arrive with time to spare.

Forty Sidewinders at the photoshoot. Give or take. All parked on the same rock, canopies catching the same light. One of them had a cracked canopy. Held together with... is that gum?

Didn't ask. You look at forty small ships that crossed the same void and you know what it cost each one to be there.

Nobody said much on comms. Nothing to say.

Sat there a while longer before heading back.

First real rest in a week. Slept heavy. Dreamed about the grinding sound. Woke up and it was just the ventilation.

Next day I fetched the Princess. Took her for a spin, heard the engine purr. Felt good. Different from the Scout's rattle.

Got a bit brave and went to visit the Monde de la Mort. Successfully landed, and more importantly successfully came back. The neutron star spins fast enough to make you dizzy if you watch too long. I watched too long.

Put a spare cable on the Princess too.

We departed a few hours ago. 25,000 lightyears to the next waypoint.

Already I keep finding excuses to stay in the hangar. Smells like every carrier I've ever been on. Fuel and metal and recycled air.

I'll be sleeping in the Princess's quarters. The Cradle's been on my mind.

Still don't know what I'm looking for out here. But I made it with everything I left with.

End Log.

Location: En route to Colonia, approximately 3,000 LY from Shoulder of Orion Vessel: Abyss Scout (Sidewinder Mk I)

Funny thing about the Shoulder of Orion. I helped build the supply chain out here. Ran commodities, coordinated drops from the Cradle. That was... what, a year ago? Less? Feels longer.

Now I'm back in a Sidewinder. Stock frame. Four tons of fuel capacity if you count the extra tank I crammed where the cargo rack used to be. Twenty-one lightyears per jump. No weapons. No room for error, really.

The Abyss Scout. I've refitted her twice now. First time I had the docking computer, the supercruise assist, the little luxuries you keep when you think the hard part is behind you. Stripped all that out. She's leaner now. Meaner feels like the wrong word. She's not mean. She's just... honest about what she is.

Four weeks to Colonia in this thing, back when I still had the stock FSD. Longest I'd ever been alone. Thought that would be the hard part.

It wasn't.

The Princess of Ruin is riding on one of the expedition carriers. Official DW3 logistics fleet. She'll be waiting at Colonia. Riding in the belly of the Distant Suns while I take the long way in something held together by fuel scoop prayers and stubbornness.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere. I'm too tired to find it.

DW3 departed yesterday. Thousands of pilots. Biggest expedition since... well, since DW2, I suppose. Missed that one. Missed the first one too. Life happens. Or in my case, life un-happens, and then you have to figure out what to do with the space left behind.

I keep getting asked why I signed up. The real answer is: I don't know. The expeditions are landmarks. You hear about them years later. I was there, I made the journey. Seemed like something I should do. Might be the last one of this scale. Might not. Hard to predict these things.

But that's the practical answer. The honest answer is probably something else.

Five months ago I had a fleet carrier, a squadron of ships, a name in the registry that meant something. Now the Cradle of the Abyss is out there somewhere with a crew who decided they'd rather have her than have me. And the Pilots Federation database says I'm someone else. Clean record. No history. Like I never existed.

You'd think I'd want revenge. Or justice. Or at least answers.

Mostly I just want to see what's past the next star.

The Outlander challenge means no carrier support until Colonia. Just me, the Scout, and about twenty thousand lightyears of nothing. Then I pick up the Princess, and wherever the expedition goes from there... I'll be with them. I packed light. Scanner. SRV. Fuel scoop. The essentials. Everything else is weight, and weight is jumps, and jumps are time, and time is...

Time is what I have now. That's the thing about losing everything. Your schedule opens right up.

They wait for nobody out here. Week to reach Colonia or I miss the window. No second chances. No rescue. Just the black and whatever I can make of it. Should probably stop writing and start jumping.

End Log.