(Part 1 - The Shuttle)
The shuttle door sealed behind them with a soft hiss that felt far too final.
Runar stood just inside the entrance, one hand still reaching back toward where the door had been, as if he could somehow reopen it and see his parents one more time. His chest felt tight—not pain, exactly, but a weight that made breathing require conscious effort.
They're gone. We're gone. This is real.
Beside him, Celestia hadn't moved either. She stared at the sealed door, her silver hair falling forward to hide her expression. But Runar could see her shoulders trembling slightly, could hear her breath catching in small, irregular intervals.
He reached for her hand. Found it already reaching for his.
Their fingers interlocked, gripping tighter than necessary. Neither spoke. What was there to say? That they'd made the right choice? That everything would be fine? Empty words that would ring hollow against the ache of leaving home.
"First time leaving home is always the hardest."
The voice came from deeper in the shuttle—male, professional, but not unkind. Runar turned to find the Supernova realm soldier from earlier, the one who'd stood at attention beside Vice-Captain Meridian during the arrival ceremony.
He was younger than Runar had initially thought—maybe thirty years old in appearance, though chronological age was meaningless for cultivators. His uniform was impeccable, military-crisp, with a name tag that read "Lieutenant Korvan." Dark hair cut short, brown eyes that had seen combat, and a slight scar across his left cheekbone that he'd chosen not to heal completely.
"I'm Lieutenant Korvan," he continued, gesturing toward the shuttle's interior. "I'll be piloting you to the main ship. It's about a fifteen-minute flight. You're welcome to sit anywhere—the whole shuttle is yours."
Runar glanced around properly for the first time. The shuttle's interior was... unexpected.
He'd anticipated something military, utilitarian. Rows of hard seats bolted to the floor, perhaps, with safety harnesses and emergency equipment visible everywhere. Instead, the space resembled a luxury apartment more than a transport vehicle.
The main cabin was spacious—easily twenty meters long and ten wide, with a ceiling high enough that even someone two meters tall wouldn't need to duck. Soft lighting emanated from formations embedded in the ceiling, creating an warm glow that somehow felt like natural sunlight rather than artificial illumination.
Comfortable seating lined both walls—not hard military benches but actual chairs upholstered in some material that looked like leather but shimmered faintly with protective formations. Each seat had a small table that folded down, and holographic displays that appeared to show entertainment options.
Large windows ran along both sides of the cabin, currently showing the hangar platform where they'd landed and, beyond it, Telstra shrinking in the distance as the shuttle began its ascent.
The floor was carpeted—actually carpeted, in deep blue that reminded Runar of deep space. It absorbed sound, making their footsteps quiet. The walls were paneled in what looked like wood grain but was clearly some advanced composite material, warm and inviting rather than cold and metallic.
Near the front of the cabin, a small kitchenette area held what appeared to be food storage and a preparation surface. Beyond that, Korvan sat in the pilot's chair, visible through an open doorway, hands moving across holographic controls.
"This isn't what I expected," Celestia said softly, her voice still thick from holding back tears.
"Most people say that," Korvan replied without turning from his controls. "The military brass designed these VIP shuttles to help candidates transition more comfortably. Leaving home is traumatic enough without being stuffed into a cramped transport for the journey. So they made these. Comfortable. Private. A space to... process."
He tapped a final sequence, and the shuttle lifted smoothly from the platform. No vibration, no sense of movement except through the windows, where Telstra began to recede.
"Take your time settling in," Korvan added. "We've got fifteen minutes before docking with the Absolute Infinity. I'll let you know when we're about to enter the main ship."
Then he tapped something else, and a privacy screen materialized between the cockpit and the passenger cabin—not solid, but translucent enough to give them space while still allowing him to monitor if needed.
Runar and Celestia stood there for a long moment, still holding hands, still processing.
Finally, Celestia moved first. She walked to the nearest window seat and sank into it, her movements slow and deliberate, like someone much older. Runar followed, sitting beside her, their hands still clasped between them.
Through the window, Telstra continued to shrink. The double suns reflected off its oceans, creating brilliant points of light. The continents were visible now—green and brown patches against blue. White clouds swirled in atmospheric patterns. The four moons hung in various positions around the planet, smaller celestial bodies keeping watch over their parent world.
"It's beautiful," Celestia whispered.
"It is," Runar agreed.
They watched in silence as their home became smaller and smaller. Details disappeared first—individual cities becoming dots of light, mountain ranges becoming texture. Then the dots merged into general illumination patterns. Then even those faded until Telstra was just a blue-green sphere suspended against the black of space.
"I can see why they give us this time," Celestia said eventually. "If we'd gone straight to the main ship, straight into meeting other candidates... I don't think I could have handled it. Not right away."
Runar nodded. He understood. This transition space—this quiet, private moment—was a gift. A chance to say goodbye, even if only internally. A chance to acknowledge what they were leaving behind before facing what lay ahead.
"Do you think they're still watching?" Celestia asked. "Our parents?"
"Probably," Runar said. "Mom was crying. Dad was trying not to. I don't think they'll leave the plaza until we're completely out of sight."
"Mine too. Papa put on his brave face, but his hands were shaking when he hugged me goodbye. And Mama..." Celestia's voice caught. "Mama kept saying 'my baby, my baby' like she'd forgotten I'm twenty-one now."
"You're still her baby," Runar pointed out gently. "Just like I'm still Mom's baby. Age doesn't change that."
"I know. It just..." Celestia trailed off, watching Telstra recede. "It hurts more than I expected. Leaving them. Even though I know we'll see them again in six months. Even though we have communication crystals and can call anytime. It still feels like... like I'm losing something."
"Not losing," Runar corrected softly. "Transforming. We're not losing our family. We're just... expanding our world. They're still there. Still ours. We're just adding new experiences, new places, new people."
"When did you become so wise?" Celestia asked, a weak smile touching her lips.
"I had sixteen years of contemplation," Runar reminded her. "Lots of time to think about change and growth and what matters."
They fell silent again, but it was a comfortable silence now. The initial shock of separation was fading, replaced by something else. Not acceptance, exactly. More like... readiness.
Runar let his awareness expand slightly, examining the shuttle with his Runic Omniscient Eyes. Not a deep scan—that felt disrespectful in someone else's space—just a surface observation.
The formations woven into every surface were remarkable. Defensive shields strong enough to survive a direct hit from a Red Giant cultivator. Spatial stabilization that prevented turbulence or gravity fluctuations from affecting passengers. Temperature control. Air purification. Even a subtle emotional regulation formation that helped prevent panic or anxiety spiraling out of control.
They really did design this for comfort, Runar thought. Every detail considered.
The seats they sat in were more than just comfortable—the material adapted to body shape, providing perfect support without pressure points. The ambient qi density was elevated slightly above Telstra's standard, enough to be refreshing without being overwhelming. Even the lighting adjusted automatically based on their mood and eye positions, always comfortable, never harsh.
"I can feel the qi here," Celestia said, echoing his thoughts. "It's denser than home. Not dramatically, but... present. Like the air has substance."
"About ten times Telstra's normal atmospheric density," Runar confirmed. "Probably to help us start acclimating gradually. The main ship will be even denser."
"How much denser?"
Runar thought back to Lieutenant Korvan's earlier comments before boarding. "If I understood correctly? Multiple times denser. The ship's interior uses spatial expansion based on Rule-level comprehension. Everything inside exists in a partially separate dimension where natural laws can be adjusted."
Celestia absorbed that information silently. "We're really going somewhere incredible, aren't we?"
"We really are."
Telstra was smaller now—no bigger than a large marble held at arm's length. Still visible, still beautiful, but distant. Already feeling like something from their past rather than their present.
Runar felt something twist in his chest. Not pain, but a bittersweet ache. The kind that came with closing one chapter of life and beginning another.
Goodbye, home, he thought. Thank you for everything you gave us. We'll make you proud.
Beside him, Celestia squeezed his hand once, hard. He glanced over and saw tears running silently down her cheeks.
"I'm okay," she said before he could ask. "Just... saying goodbye."
"Take your time," Runar said softly. "We have time."
So they sat together in the quiet shuttle, hands clasped, watching their home world recede into the distance, allowing themselves this moment of grief and transition before facing what came next.
Minutes passed. The planet continued shrinking. Soon, even the moons were barely visible, just points of light around a distant sphere.
Runar became aware of his own breathing. Steady. Calm. His cultivation automatically regulating his body's stress responses. He could override that if he wanted—could let himself feel the full weight of emotion without his enhanced physiology dampening it. But he chose not to. The slight distance his cultivation provided was helpful right now, keeping him functional while still allowing feeling.
Celestia's breathing was similar—cultivator-steady, but with small catches that betrayed emotion underneath. Her ice affinity was reacting to her mood, making the air around them slightly colder. Not uncomfortably so, but noticeable. Frost was forming on the window near where her forehead rested against the glass.
"Sorry," she murmured, noticing the frost and pulling back slightly. "Can't quite control it right now."
"Don't worry about it," Runar said. "I doubt the shuttle will mind."
As if in response, the temperature regulation formation pulsed gently, warming the area slightly without being obtrusive. The frost melted away slowly, leaving the window clear again.
They sat together, processing, grieving, accepting.
And gradually, very gradually, the pain began transforming into something else. Not disappearing—the ache of leaving home didn't simply vanish. But mixing with something new. Anticipation. Excitement. The dawning realization that while they were leaving something precious behind, they were also moving toward something extraordinary.
"Are you scared?" Celestia asked suddenly.
"Yes," Runar admitted. "And excited. And nervous. And eager. All at once."
"Me too." Celestia laughed slightly, a sound caught between tears and genuine mirth. "It's exhausting, feeling everything simultaneously."
"Welcome to being human," Runar said wryly.
"I thought cultivation was supposed to help with emotional control?"
"It helps with not being overwhelmed. Doesn't stop you from feeling. Sometimes I think it makes things more intense, actually. Because we're more aware of everything happening inside us."
Celestia considered that. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just at a really emotional moment and anyone would feel this much."
"Probably that too."
Another comfortable silence fell. Telstra was almost gone now—just a bright point of light among many stars. Without knowing exactly where to look, someone might not be able to identify which light was their home world.
"I should check on something," Runar said abruptly. He reached into his spatial storage and withdrew the ancient jade pendant his father had given him.
The moment it touched his hand, warmth spread through his palm. Not heat—something else. Recognition? Acknowledgment? The pendant seemed almost alive in some indefinable way.
Celestia leaned closer, interested. "Your family heirloom. Have you had time to study it yet?"
"Not really. There hasn't been time." Runar activated his Runic Omniscient Eyes, focusing fully on the pendant.
Immediately, he was overwhelmed by complexity.
Layers upon layers of runic arrays covered every surface—some visible, most hidden within the jade's structure. The runes themselves were written in at least three different ancient scripts, each more archaic than the last. Some he recognized from his extensive studies. Others were completely foreign, predating any runic language he'd encountered.
But it was what lay inside the jade that truly captured his attention.
Something was sealed there. Not malevolent—he would have sensed that immediately. But powerful. Dormant. Waiting.
It felt like... potential? Like unactivated capability? As if the pendant was a key waiting for the right lock, or a program waiting for execution command, or...
Runar frowned, struggling to find the right metaphor.
"What do you see?" Celestia asked, watching his expression.
"I'm not sure," Runar admitted. "There's something inside, but I can't identify what. The sealing formations are incredibly sophisticated—multiple layers, each reinforcing the others. Some are definitely Primordial-grade. A few might be Chaos-grade, though I can't be certain without more analysis."
"Can you break the seals?"
"Probably. But that would take a long time and I don't think I should. Not yet." Runar continued examining the pendant, turning it slowly in his hand. "These seals aren't meant to contain something dangerous. They're more like... protection? Or time-delay activation? As if the pendant is waiting for specific conditions before revealing its contents."
"What conditions?"
"I don't know. Cultivation level, maybe? Or specific Law comprehension? Or just the right moment?" Runar shook his head. "My father said it's been passed down for ten thousand years, each generation trying to understand it. Maybe I'm meant to be the one who figures it out. Or maybe..." He paused. "Maybe I'll pass it to my own children someday, still mysterious."
"That's frustrating," Celestia observed.
"It is," Runar agreed. "But also intriguing. It's clearly important. Dad's intuition about giving it to me feels right. I just need to be patient."
He stored the pendant carefully back in his spatial storage. Whatever secrets it held could wait. Right now, he had more immediate concerns.
A soft chime sounded through the cabin. Lieutenant Korvan's voice followed, the privacy screen between cockpit and cabin becoming fully transparent again.
"We're approaching the spatial transition point," he announced. "In about thirty seconds, we'll pass through the dimensional rift and enter the Absolute Infinity's internal space. The transition can be... disorienting for first-timers. I'd recommend staying seated and maybe closing your eyes if you're sensitive to spatial distortion."
Runar and Celestia were already seated, but they both straightened slightly, instinctively preparing themselves.
"What exactly will we feel?" Celestia asked.
"Hard to describe," Korvan said. "Reality sort of... bends? You might see colors that don't exist. Feel movement in directions that aren't real. Some people get nauseous. Most just feel strange for a few seconds. It passes quickly."
"Reassuring," Runar muttered.
"I try." There was amusement in Korvan's voice.
Through the windows, something was changing. Space itself looked different ahead of them—not empty black dotted with stars, but something else. A shimmer. A distortion. Like looking at the world through heat waves, except there was no heat source.
The rift.
It grew larger as they approached, or perhaps they were just getting closer. Runar couldn't tell. Distance felt strange here, perception skewed by whatever forces were at work.
"Ten seconds," Korvan announced. "Here we go."
The shuttle accelerated smoothly. The rift filled the forward windows completely. Then—
Reality broke.
That was the only way Runar could describe it. For just an instant, everything that was solid became fluid. Everything linear became curved. Every direction became all directions simultaneously.
He saw colors that had no names—hues that existed between known wavelengths, shades that shouldn't be visible to human eyes but were anyway. The cabin walls seemed to simultaneously be there and not there, solid and transparent, close and infinitely distant.
His inner ear insisted he was falling, spinning, ascending, and standing still all at once. His cultivation automatically stabilized his body, preventing the sensory contradictions from causing actual harm, but the experience was still profoundly disorienting.
Beside him, Celestia gasped. Her hand gripped his so tightly he felt his bones compress slightly. Her ice affinity flared involuntarily, frost spreading across every surface within a meter of her body.
Then—
Snap.
Reality reasserted itself. Solid was solid again. Direction made sense. Colors returned to normal wavelengths.
Runar blinked, his vision clearing. His head felt slightly fuzzy, like waking from strange dreams. His balance was off for a moment, then corrected itself.
"What," Celestia said slowly, "was that?"
"Dimensional transition," Korvan called back, his voice slightly strained—even a Supernova cultivator wasn't entirely immune to spatial distortion effects. "Welcome to the Absolute Infinity's interior space. We're inside the ship now."
"That was inside?" Runar managed. "We crossed through space barrier?"
"We crossed from normal space-time into a pocket dimension that exists partially outside normal reality," Korvan corrected. "The ship's interior exists in a separate dimensional layer that's been expanded using Rule-level Space manipulation. What you just felt was crossing the boundary between those two states of existence."
Runar processed that while his head cleared. A pocket dimension. Like his Pocket Universe, but vastly larger and more sophisticated. Not surprising, given the resources the Federation could devote to construction, but still impressive.
"Look out the windows," Korvan suggested.
Runar and Celestia both turned to look.
And froze.
Outside the shuttle, everything had changed.
They weren't in space anymore..