The departure from the solar system was not the violent, fire-trailing launch of ancient rockets. It was a Phasing. Under the guidance of the Lycian Nautilus ships, the Unified Fleet—led by the emerald Weaver and the obsidian Respiration—did not move through space so much as they slid between the folds of it.As they crossed the heliopause, the sun shrank into a brilliant, solitary spark. For the first time in the history of the Davis line, the umbilical cord was severed. The "Planetary Pulse" of Earth was now a distant, rhythmic memory, replaced by the vast, cold "Pressure" of the interstellar medium."The Slipstream is... lonely," Nora whispered. She was standing in the Weaver’s Resonance Chamber, her bare feet pressing against the floor which had grown a thick, protective layer of "Deep-Space Lichen." "It’s like the universe is holding its breath, waiting for us to fail.""It’s not waiting," Elia said from the tactical station, her eyes scanning the impossible geometry of the A
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