Steph had trained for real space, with real silence and real stars, but the day their helmet clicked shut and the launch lights blinked green, the sky outside the window looked… pixelated.
Not the comforting kind of pixelated, like an old photo. This was the sharp, bright, unmistakable blockiness of a screen that had forgotten it was supposed to be reality.
“Um,” Steph said into the comms, trying to keep their voice steady and professional, “Mission Control, is the atmosphere supposed to have an edge-aliasing problem?”
Static crackled, then a voice answered—too cheerful, too close.
“Welcome, player!” it chirped.
Steph’s stomach dipped. “I’m not a player,” they muttered. “I’m an astronaut.”
The capsule shuddered once, like a controller had been bumped, and then the world snapped.
One moment Steph was strapped into a seat with checklists and gauges. The next, their boots hit ground that looked like polished obsidian—but when they knelt to touch it, it felt like warm rubber. Above them, the sky was a shifting gradient of neon blues and purples, with floating icons that pulsed as if waiting to be selected.
A sign hovered in midair, letters made of light:
GAME WORLD: START ZONE
Steph stood up slowly, taking stock the way they’d been trained: oxygen? fine. Heart rate? not fine, but manageable. Suit integrity? the suit looked normal, but the edges of the fabric shimmered as if it were being rendered in real time.
“Okay,” Steph said to themselves. “New environment. Unknown hazards. First goal: find context.”
A rustle came from behind a stack of blocky boulders. Steph turned, palms open.
Out stepped a wolf.
Not a scary, teeth-bared, storybook wolf. This one had silver-gray fur with a faint starry pattern that moved like a living night sky. Its eyes were sharp, golden, and—most unsettling—intelligent in the way a person’s might be. Around its neck hung a small pendant shaped like a tiny compass.
The wolf studied Steph for a long moment, then spoke in a calm, slightly amused voice.
“You’re not from here.”
Steph’s eyebrows rose inside the helmet. “You can talk.”
“So can you,” the wolf replied. “I’m Wolf. That’s my name, not my species. Don’t make it weird.”
Steph almost laughed, which surprised them. “I’m Steph. And I’m… an astronaut.”
Wolf’s ears flicked. “Astronaut. Right. Space person. You look like a walking refrigerator.”
“It’s life support,” Steph said, then added, “and it’s kind of rude to critique someone’s outfit when you’re wearing a compass necklace.”
Wolf glanced down at the pendant, then back up. “It’s stylish. Also, it’s important.”
Steph took a slow breath. Talking animals were not on the official NASA hazard list. But neither were floating menus, and yet here they were.
“Do you know where I am?” Steph asked.
Wolf’s tail swished. “Game World. It changes depending on what it needs. Today it needs… you.”
Steph did not like the sound of that. “What does it need me for?”
Wolf’s gaze slid toward the horizon, where a faint, jagged line cut across the glowing sky like a crack in glass. Along it, colors drained into gray.
“It’s losing its colors,” Wolf said quietly. “And when Game World loses its colors, it loses its rules. When it loses its rules, it breaks.”
Steph followed the wolf’s stare. The crack seemed to pulse, spreading slowly, like ink in water.
“What causes it?” Steph asked.
Wolf hesitated. “Someone. Something. We call her Mummy.”
Steph blinked. “Mummy like… ancient bandages?”
Wolf’s mouth twisted. “Yes. But don’t picture dusty museum stuff. Picture a boss level who learned how to cheat.”
Steph’s mind tried to fit this into rational boxes. Simulation? Hallucination? A training module gone wrong? None of it explained the fear prickling at the back of their neck.
“Okay,” Steph said, forcing a steadier tone. “If the world is breaking, there must be a fix. What’s the objective?”
Wolf’s eyes brightened as if the word objective made sense in the only language this place truly respected.
“There’s a Color Core,” Wolf said. “A crystal engine that keeps everything vivid. Mummy stole its Prism Key and locked it in her vault. Without the key, the Color Core can’t seal the crack.”
Steph nodded slowly. “So we retrieve the Prism Key.”
Wolf grinned, showing sharp teeth—not threatening, just delighted. “You do know how to play.”
“I don’t play,” Steph said automatically.
Wolf trotted a circle around Steph. “You breathe oxygen. You make plans. You get scared but you move anyway. That’s playing.”
Steph’s throat felt tight. They had been brave on paper all their life, brave in training, brave in speeches. But bravery in a world that might be nothing more than code felt different. It was like trying to be courageous inside a dream.
Still, the crack in the sky looked real enough.
“Lead the way,” Steph said.
Wolf’s compass pendant glowed, and a thin beam of light stretched forward, drawing a path across the obsidian ground.
They walked.
The Start Zone gave way to a landscape that looked like a patchwork quilt sewn from different games. One moment they crossed a field of tall, swaying grass that chimed like wind chimes when brushed. The next, they stepped onto a path made of giant tiles that lit up with each footfall, playing little notes.
Steph’s boots triggered a deep “boop.” Wolf’s paws made lighter “bip” sounds.
“Try not to step on the red ones,” Wolf warned.
Steph looked down. “Why?”
Wolf’s eyes sparkled. “They’re dramatic.”
Steph, who had a practical relationship with gravity and fire and other serious things, carefully avoided the red tiles.
At the edge of the tile-path, a river flowed—except it wasn’t water. It was liquid paint, thick and glossy, moving in slow swirls. Colors—true colors, the kind that seemed to have weight—rolled past.
A wooden bridge arched over it, and on the far side stood a gate made of translucent panels like stained glass.
As they approached, the gate flickered.
A voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere: “ACCESS DENIED. KEY REQUIRED.”
Wolf lifted his chin. “We’re here for the key.”
“NOT YOU,” the voice said. “THE ASTRONAUT.”
Steph froze. “Me?”
“YOUR SUIT CONTAINS A VOID SEAL,” the voice continued. “ONLY A VOID SEAL MAY CROSS THE PAINT RIVER SAFELY. THE REST WILL BE RECOLORED.”
Steph glanced at Wolf. “Recolored?”
Wolf’s ears flattened. “Last time someone got recolored, they came back… wrong. Personality scrambled. Memories shifted. They started insisting they were a mailbox.”
Steph imagined Wolf as a mailbox and almost snorted. “So I cross. You… don’t.”
Wolf’s tail drooped. “I can’t. Not without turning into something else.”
Steph stared at the paint river. The bridge looked stable enough, but the air above the paint shimmered with a faint haze.
“I don’t like leaving teammates behind,” Steph said.
Wolf’s expression softened, just a fraction. “I don’t like it either. But I can help from here.” He nudged his compass pendant with his nose. “This can project hints. Sometimes. If the world isn’t too grumpy.”
Steph’s stomach knotted. They had trained for spacewalks where every move had a tether, a checklist, a safety line. Here there was only a bridge over paint and a gate that talked like a vending machine.
Steph stepped onto the bridge.
Halfway across, the paint river below surged, as if it had noticed them. It rose in a wave, colors twisting together—scarlet, emerald, electric blue—trying to splash.
Steph’s suit hummed. A thin, dark sheen spread over the boots and lower legs, like shadow sealing the fabric.
The paint hit the invisible barrier and slid away, dripping back into the river in slow, disappointed streaks.
“Void seal works!” Steph called.
Wolf barked once in relief. “Don’t get cocky! The world hates cocky.”
Steph made it to the other side. The gate panels warmed, glowing brighter, and opened with a sigh.
Inside was a corridor that felt like walking into a console menu: walls made of floating rectangles, symbols drifting by—swords, hearts, question marks. The air smelled faintly like new plastic and storm clouds.
Steph turned back. The gate had already closed, the bridge now shimmering as if it might vanish.
Wolf’s voice crackled in Steph’s earpiece—somehow the comm still worked. “I’m still here.”
Steph swallowed. “Good. Don’t wander off and become furniture.”
“I make no promises,” Wolf said, but his tone was steadier now.
The corridor led to a chamber with three doors, each marked by a different icon: a closed eye, a keyhole, and a spiral.
A pedestal in the center held a cube that rotated slowly. On each face were scrambled letters.
Steph leaned in. Their helmet visor reflected the cube’s glow.
Wolf’s voice: “Puzzle room. Classic.”
Steph circled the pedestal. The letters shifted as they watched, rearranging themselves.
On one face, the letters settled into: REMEMBER.
On another: CHOOSE.
On the third: TRUST.
Steph frowned. “Doors are eye, keyhole, spiral. Cube says remember, choose, trust. Which goes where?”
Wolf was silent for a beat. “I hate these rooms,” he admitted. “They always pretend there’s one right answer, but sometimes they punish you for guessing.”
Steph’s hands hovered over the cube. They felt the urge to be quick, to just pick a door and move, the way people clicked through game tutorials. But their training had taught them something else: slow is smooth; smooth is fast.
Steph studied the icons. A closed eye could mean sleep, forgetting, or refusing to see. A keyhole meant access, unlocking. A spiral meant confusion, a maze, or a path inward.
“Remember,” Steph said quietly, thinking aloud, “could match the spiral—memories loop. Choose could match the keyhole—choice opens things. Trust… closed eye? Like trusting without seeing?”
Wolf’s voice softened. “That… actually makes sense.”
Steph placed their gloved hand on the cube and turned it until REMEMBER faced the spiral door.
A chime sounded.
They turned CHOOSE toward the keyhole.
Another chime.
Finally TRUST faced the closed eye.
The room vibrated. All three doors clicked.
Steph exhaled. “Okay. Which one do we take?”
Wolf laughed once, a little wild. “The spiral. We need Mummy’s vault. Vaults love mazes.”
Steph approached the spiral door. It opened into darkness that glittered like tiny pixels.
The moment Steph stepped through, the world tilted.
They were in a maze made of towering blocks, like giant building bricks stacked too high. The walls shifted slowly, grinding like distant thunder. Above, the neon sky was thinner, and the crack in it looked closer.
“Wolf,” Steph whispered. “I can’t see you.”
“I know,” Wolf’s voice came back faintly. “But I can see you. Kind of. The compass is… glowing. It’s pointing deeper.”
Steph followed the compass beam as it appeared on the ground in front of them—projected light from Wolf’s pendant, somehow reaching across the gate.
They walked, turning corners. The maze hummed as if it were alive.
Then the humming shifted, becoming a low chant.
“Lost… lost… lost…”
Steph stopped.
From the shadowed intersection ahead, a figure shuffled into view.
Bandages wrapped its body, but not like clean strips. These were frayed and scribbled with symbols that looked like corrupted code. Its eyes were dark hollows with tiny, bright cursors blinking inside.
Mummy.
She moved with jerky confidence, as if each step was a command being executed.
“Well,” Mummy rasped, voice like paper dragged across stone. “A new avatar.”
Steph’s heart hammered, but their voice came out controlled. “I’m not your avatar.”
Mummy tilted her head, bandages creaking. “Everything here is someone’s. Usually mine.”
Steph’s hands tightened. “Why are you draining the colors?”
Mummy’s hollow eyes flickered. “Colors distract. Colors inspire. Colors make players think they have choices.” She glided closer. “Gray is simple. Gray is obedient.”
Steph’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t just a villain with a dramatic laugh. This was a force trying to erase complexity.
Wolf’s voice hissed in the comm: “Steph. Don’t argue philosophy with a boss. Move.”
Steph took one careful step back. “I’m here for the Prism Key.”
Mummy’s bandages rippled like a smile. “Of course you are.”
With a snap of her arm, the maze walls shifted. The corridor behind Steph sealed, blocks sliding into place.
Mummy raised her other hand, and a swirl of gray mist poured from her palm, spilling across the floor toward Steph like fog with intentions.
Steph’s brain flipped to emergency mode. In space, a leak meant patching. Here, the leak was… color.
They remembered the paint river and the void seal in the suit.
Steph slammed a button on their wrist console—normally for suit diagnostics. The screen flashed, then displayed a new option, as if Game World had rewritten the menu:
VOID PULSE: UNLOCKED
Steph didn’t hesitate. They tapped it.
A ring of dark energy pulsed outward from the suit, not evil-dark, but quiet-dark—like the silence between stars. It met the gray mist and pushed it back, clearing a circle around Steph.
Mummy recoiled, bandages fluttering. “Interesting.”
Wolf whooped in the comm. “Yes! Astronaut hacks the boss level!”
Steph’s hands shook, but they forced their voice calm. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“You will,” Mummy said. “Everyone does. That’s the script.”
“Scripts can change,” Steph replied.
Mummy’s eyes flickered faster. “Not mine.”
The maze walls shifted again, opening a side passage.
Mummy floated backward into it. “If you want the key, come earn it. If you can.”
The passage sealed behind her.
Steph stared at the blocks, then at the compass beam pointing after her.
“I hate it when villains are dramatic,” Steph muttered.
Wolf sounded oddly proud. “Welcome to Game World.”
Steph followed.
The maze grew stranger. Some corridors were lined with floating question marks that popped into showers of sparks when touched. Others had floors that bounced slightly, like trampolines trying to be polite.
Steph stayed focused, counting steps, marking turns with tiny scratches on the wall using a suit tool. It felt silly, carving a mark into something that might rewrite itself, but it calmed their mind.
At last, they reached a chamber with a single object in the center: a pedestal holding a small, prism-shaped key. It shone with layered colors, brighter than the paint river, as if it contained sunrise and ocean and wildfire all at once.
Steph’s breath caught. “The Prism Key.”
Wolf’s voice trembled with relief. “Grab it!”
Steph approached cautiously.
The moment their glove touched the key, the chamber lights dimmed. The key’s colors flickered.
A whisper slid through the room: “Mine.”
The floor cracked open, and a ring of bandages shot up like snakes, wrapping around Steph’s wrist.
Steph yelped, stumbling. The Prism Key fell from their grip, clattering onto the floor, still glowing.
Mummy rose from the cracked floor like she’d been waiting beneath the map.
“You thought it would be that easy?” she rasped.
Steph struggled as the bandages tightened, pulling their arm downward. The suit’s servos whined.
Wolf’s voice sharpened. “Steph. Void pulse!”
Steph tried, but the bandages pressed against the wrist console, blocking the screen.
Mummy leaned close. The smell of old dust and cold static seeped through the helmet filters.
“Your world loves rules,” Mummy murmured. “My world loves loopholes.”
Steph’s fear spiked—then steadied into something else.
They couldn’t reach the console. Fine.
They had other tools.
Steph’s glove had a magnetic clamp used for gripping metal surfaces in zero gravity. They activated it and slammed their hand onto the pedestal’s metal base.
The magnet locked.
Then Steph twisted, using their whole body as leverage. The bandages pulled, but the magnet held firm. The tension shifted.
Mummy’s eyes narrowed. “Stop that.”
Steph gritted their teeth. “No.”
With a sharp yank, Steph pulled their trapped wrist sideways, rubbing the bandages hard against the edge of the pedestal. The rough corner caught the fabric.
Threads snapped.
The bandages frayed.
Mummy hissed, jerking her arm as if Steph had pulled a nerve.
Steph ripped free, stumbling back. The moment their wrist was clear, they slapped the void pulse button.
Dark silence burst outward.
The bandage-snakes froze midair, then crumbled into gray dust.
Mummy staggered, her form flickering, like her model was losing frames.
Steph lunged, snatched up the Prism Key, and held it tight.
A new prompt appeared on their visor, glowing:
ITEM ACQUIRED: PRISM KEY
Steph stared at it in disbelief. “I… actually got it.”
Wolf’s laughter exploded through the comm. “You did! You did!”
Mummy recovered, rage making her bandages whip. “Thief!”
Steph backed toward the corridor. “You stole it first.”
Mummy surged forward.
Steph ran.
The maze shifted violently now, trying to trap them. Walls slid, corridors narrowed. The compass beam flickered.
“Wolf!” Steph gasped. “I’m losing the path!”
Wolf’s voice came fast. “Turn left at the floating sword icon. Then straight until you hear the tiles singing.”
“How can you see that?” Steph panted.
Wolf snorted. “I’m a guide. It’s what I do. Also I’m extremely handsome and the world rewards that.”
Steph almost laughed even as they sprinted.
Behind them, Mummy’s whisper chased through the corridors.
“Gray… gray… gray…”
Steph focused on their breathing, on the weight of the key in their hand. They weren’t just running from something; they were running toward a fix.
At last the maze spat them out into the corridor of floating rectangles.
The stained-glass gate was ahead.
Steph slammed into it. It flickered, reading the key.
“ACCESS GRANTED,” it boomed, and opened.
Steph burst onto the bridge over the paint river.
On the far side, Wolf stood rigid, eyes wide. “Hurry!”
The paint river surged again, but this time it didn’t try to splash Steph. It rose like a wall between Steph and the maze entrance, as if it were defending them.
Mummy’s silhouette appeared at the gate. She reached forward, but the paint river’s colors whipped up, striking her hand.
Mummy recoiled, shrieking.
“NO!”
The gate slammed shut.
Steph stumbled across the last planks of the bridge and collapsed onto the obsidian ground beside Wolf.
Wolf pressed his head briefly against Steph’s knee—an awkward, quick gesture, like he didn’t want anyone to see him be soft.
“You got it,” he said, voice low.
Steph held up the Prism Key. It glowed against the suit’s white fabric, throwing rainbow reflections.
“What now?” Steph asked.
Wolf’s compass pendant pulsed. “Now we go to the Color Core.”
The world around them seemed to listen. The crack in the sky pulsed again, and a few pixels of gray drifted down like ash.
They moved fast.
The path led them across changing terrain: a canyon where the walls were made of stacked game cartridges, labels faded; a field of floating platforms that bobbed like lily pads, except each pad displayed a different symbol when stepped on. Steph’s suit recorded everything automatically, but Steph found themself noticing the small details anyway—the way the air tasted sweeter near bright colors, the way shadows looked thicker near the crack.
As they climbed a hill of shimmering blocks, the Color Core came into view.
It was a tower in the center of a circular plaza, built from transparent panels that held swirling light inside. The light was dimmer than it should have been, flickering like a lamp about to die.
At the base of the tower was a console with a key slot shaped exactly like the Prism Key.
Steph approached, awe prickling through the fear. “This is… beautiful.”
Wolf’s voice was quiet now. “It used to be brighter. The plaza used to sing. Now it barely whispers.”
Steph knelt at the console.
Their hands hovered.
“What if it’s a trap?” Steph asked.
Wolf’s ears tilted back. “It might be. Mummy likes traps.”
Steph nodded. They looked up at the crack in the sky and the drifting gray. This wasn’t just about winning. If this world broke, what happened to Wolf? To everything here?
Steph took a steadying breath.
“I’m doing it,” they said.
They slid the Prism Key into the slot.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the tower inhaled light.
A wave of color rushed upward through the transparent panels, spiraling like a galaxy being born. The plaza floor lit in patterns, and a deep, resonant hum filled the air—music without instruments.
The crack in the sky shuddered.
For a moment, it began to close.
Steph’s shoulders sagged in relief.
Then Mummy appeared.
Not from a doorway, but from the shadow cast by the Color Core itself. She rose, larger than before, bandages stretched wide like wings.
“You think a key fixes everything?” she roared.
The Color Core’s light flickered, struggling.
Wolf stepped forward, hackles raised. “Back off!”
Mummy’s gaze snapped to Wolf. “You. Loyal little guide. Always leading players to hope.”
Wolf bared his teeth. “Someone has to.”
Mummy’s laugh was dry and endless. “Hope makes them disobey.”
She thrust her hands toward the tower. Gray mist poured out, wrapping around the Color Core like chains.
The tower’s light dimmed.
Steph’s visor flashed a warning:
CORE STABILITY: 38%
Wolf’s voice turned urgent. “Steph! The key is in, but it needs a catalyst. A spark. Something from you.”
Steph stared. “From me? I’m not magic.”
Wolf snapped, “Neither am I. But the world… reacts to what you do, not what you are.”
Mummy’s mist tightened.
CORE STABILITY: 22%
Steph’s mind raced. What could they do? In real missions, when systems failed, you didn’t scream at them. You rerouted power, changed configurations, used backups.
Steph glanced at their suit console.
Void pulse.
They had used it like a shield. But maybe it could do more.
Void was not just darkness—it was space between things, room for something new.
Steph stepped closer to the tower, right into the edge of Mummy’s gray mist.
Wolf yelled, “Careful!”
Steph raised their wrist. “If void can push back your gray,” they said to Mummy, voice shaking but firm, “then maybe it can make space for color to return.”
Mummy sneered. “Try.”
Steph activated void pulse—again and again, but this time not as a blast.
They adjusted the output, narrowing it, focusing it into a thin ring around the Prism Key slot, like creating a clean seal.
The suit hummed, working harder.
The gray chains hesitated, as if confused.
Steph held the pulse steady, hands trembling.
Wolf, understanding, pressed his compass pendant against the console. The pendant flared, projecting a beam that aligned with Steph’s void ring.
“What are you doing?” Steph gasped.
Wolf’s voice was strained. “Giving you direction. That’s what I do. Hold it!”
The void ring stabilized, a perfect dark circle around the key slot.
Inside that circle, the Prism Key’s colors brightened, no longer leaking away.
The Color Core responded, sending a spiral of light down into the console, feeding into the key.
The tower’s hum grew louder.
CORE STABILITY: 47%… 61%… 78%
Mummy shrieked and surged forward, trying to tear Wolf away.
Steph, without thinking, stepped between them.
Mummy’s bandaged hand struck Steph’s chest.
The impact felt like being hit by a freezing wind. Steph’s suit frosted over for a second, and for a terrifying moment, their vision grayed at the edges.
Mummy hissed, “Be still. Be simple. Be gray.”
Steph’s mind flashed with loneliness—the kind that creeps in during long training nights, when you wonder if you’re brave or just stubborn.
Then Steph heard Wolf’s voice, softer, cutting through the fog.
“Steph. Remember who you are.”
Remember.
Steph clenched their jaw. “I’m the person who fixes things,” they said, voice cracking. “Even when the manual doesn’t exist.”
They slammed the void pulse to maximum.
A deep silence erupted.
Mummy’s gray mist recoiled like it had touched fire.
The Color Core blazed.
The crack in the sky shuddered and began to seal, the jagged edges melting back into glowing blue.
Mummy staggered, her form flickering wildly.
“No,” she rasped, smaller now, bandages unraveling. “No, no, no—”
The Color Core’s light wrapped around her, not like a weapon, but like a net.
Mummy’s voice turned thin. “I only wanted it quiet.”
Steph, breathing hard, lowered their wrist. “Quiet isn’t the same as peace,” they said. “Peace can have colors.”
Mummy’s hollow eyes flickered once, and for a split second, Steph saw something else inside them—exhaustion, maybe. A loneliness that had turned into control.
Then the net of light tightened.
Mummy collapsed into a bundle of bandages that fell harmlessly to the ground.
The gray mist evaporated.
Silence settled—then the plaza began to sing.
Not with words, but with a layered harmony that made Steph’s chest ache. The sky above was whole again, vivid and endless.
Wolf sank onto his haunches, panting. “We did it.”
Steph’s knees felt weak. “We did.”
The console chimed.
A compartment opened at the base of the Color Core tower.
Inside was a chest.
Steph stared. “Please tell me that’s not a trap.”
Wolf sniffed the air dramatically. “That smells like reward.”
Steph opened it.
Inside were three items nestled in soft, glowing padding:
First, a patch shaped like a starburst, stitched with shifting thread that changed color when viewed from different angles. The words read:
GAME WORLD ASTRONAUT: HONORARY CREATOR
Second, a small device like a wristband, made of clear material with a tiny swirling galaxy inside. A label on Steph’s visor translated it automatically:
PORTAL BAND: ONE SAFE RETURN + ONE OPTIONAL VISIT
Third, a handful of crystal coins that looked like tiny prisms. When Steph picked one up, it chimed like a bell.
Wolf’s eyes went wide. “Prism coins! You can trade those for upgrades. Real upgrades.”
Steph laughed, the sound surprising and bright. “Of course there are coins.”
Wolf’s tail thumped. “Game World loves fanfare.”
Steph ran a finger over the honorary patch. It felt warm.
“What does ‘Creator’ mean?” Steph asked.
Wolf looked up at the tower. “It means you didn’t just follow the path. You made one.”
Steph looked around the restored plaza. Colors had returned everywhere: the obsidian ground now shimmered with subtle patterns; the air itself seemed more alive.
“What happens to Mummy?” Steph asked.
Wolf nudged the bundle of bandages with one paw. “She’s contained. The Core will keep her from draining things again.” His ears drooped slightly. “Maybe she’ll rest. Maybe she’ll remember she can be more than a villain.”
Steph nodded, feeling the complexity settle in their chest like a new kind of gravity.
The Portal Band pulsed gently in Steph’s palm.
Wolf watched Steph carefully. “You can go home.”
Steph swallowed. “And you?”
Wolf’s voice was casual, but his eyes weren’t. “I’ll be here. Guiding. Keeping the world from breaking again. Hopefully.”
Steph hesitated, then pulled off the honorary patch and pressed it against Wolf’s compass pendant.
The patch merged with it, threads weaving into the metal. The pendant flared, and for a moment Wolf’s starry fur pattern brightened.
Wolf blinked. “What did you do?”
Steph smiled behind the visor. “Shared the credit. Team mission.”
Wolf looked away quickly, pretending to inspect the plaza. “Hmph. Sentimental astronaut.”
Steph strapped the Portal Band onto their wrist. It tightened gently, fitting over the suit.
A circular doorway of light opened nearby, showing a glimpse of Steph’s capsule interior, the familiar panels and straps.
Steph’s throat tightened. “I’ll use the safe return.”
Wolf stepped closer. “And the optional visit?”
Steph met Wolf’s gaze. “I’m keeping it.”
Wolf’s grin returned, bright and sharp. “Good. Because Game World will want to show you what it can be when it’s not busy falling apart.”
Steph looked at the restored sky one last time, at the place where the crack had been.
They thought of fear, and how it had almost made them freeze. They thought of how Wolf had been brave in a different way—by trusting someone new.
Steph nodded once. “Take care of it,” they said softly.
Wolf bowed his head. “Take care of you.”
Steph stepped through the portal.
The capsule seat caught them, solid and real. The gauges blinked normally. The sky outside the small window was deep black, filled with stars that were not pixels.
Steph’s heart pounded.
On their wrist, under the suit cuff, the Portal Band was still there, cool and steady.
And in their glove compartment—where there had definitely not been anything before—sat three prism coins, chiming quietly with every vibration of the ship.
Steph laughed, alone in the capsule, the sound echoing in their helmet.
“Mission Control,” Steph said into the comms, voice calm but bright, “you’re not going to believe my mission report.”
Somewhere far away, in a world made of bright impossible rules, a wolf’s compass pendant glowed with a starburst patch woven into it, and the plaza sang on.