despressio

A Love and Deepspace Fan-fiction.

Caleb Myth: Fallen Cosmos Rewritten.

***

Reality feels solid—unchanging, predictable. But sometimes, there’s a moment, a hesitation, when it all seems just a little too fragile. She can't shake the feeling that something is missing, as if a part of her story has been written in invisible ink. There’s nothing strange about her world, and yet, the thought lingers. Maybe it's just her imagination. Or maybe, there’s more to her reality than she’s ever known.

Myth Rewritten: Fallen Cosmos

The Sun of the wasteland bled across the horizon as the spacecraft shuddered to a halt, its thrusters sputtering from the strain of their escape. A rough landing-not a crash, but far from graceful. The impact rattled Mira's bones, sending a fresh wave of static through her vision.

She braced herself against the console, her fingers digging into the metal. The flashes were coming faster now, no longer just fragments but something sharper, more insistent.

-A younger Caleb, his face unmarked by time or war, his pinky curled around hers. His voice, softer than she had ever heard it: "We'll stay together every day. Never apart."

The recollection hit her like a blade between the ribs. She had seen this before, in fleeting bursts-but now, it lingered. The warmth of his hand, the weight of the vow. Why did it feel like it belonged to someone else?

-A city of glass and steel, towering under a violet sky. Herself, clad in armor she didn't recognize. Caleb, older, a scar cutting across his throat. His voice, rougher, desperate: "You shouldn't have followed me here."

Her breath caught. The image burned behind her eyelids, too vivid to dismiss. That wasn't this world. That wasn't them. And yet-

-Darkness. Herself, unraveling at the edges. A voice (his? Hers?): "Hold on to me. Just me."

A sharp gasp tore from her throat. The ship's interior blurred. She was here, in this wasteland, in this body-but the sensation of displacement clung to her like a second skin. She didn't belong. Or maybe she belonged too much, in too many places at once.

The desert stretched beyond the viewport, endless and indifferent. The weight of it all pressed down on her, a suffocating tide. Her systems flickered, exhaustion dragging at her limbs.

She barely registered the moment her body gave out, slipping into unconsciousness before she hit the floor.

The ship's diagnostics flared red in the dim light, but Caleb ignored them. Technical failures could be repaired. Other things couldn't.

He moved through the aftermath of their landing with mechanical precision, running system checks, stabilizing the engine's erratic pulse. All routine. All meaningless.

He hadn't told her about the injury-a plasma burn from the fight in the Central District, worsened during the landing. It wasn't severe. It didn't matter. He peeled back the torn fabric of his undersuit, the wound raw and angry. His hands worked methodically, cleaning, sealing, erasing the evidence.

Mira lay slumped against the cockpit chair, her breathing shallow. Unconscious. Not from injury-from overload.

His fingers twitched at his side. He should wake her. His hand hovered over her shoulder. Drew back.

The desert air was cold as he stepped outside, the sun now half-buried beneath the dunes. He built a fire, the motions automatic. The flames cast long shadows, flickering against the ship's battered hull.

She'd been distant since their escape. Hesitant in ways he couldn't predict. Like she knew things she shouldn't.

The fire popped, embers spiraling into the dark.

If she was remembering their previous attempt at escaping, it changed nothing.

26. Displaced