Chapter 1

Pain.

A deep, dull ache seeped through my body, reminiscent of the brutal first months of my EVA training—muscles stiff, joints sore, the kind of exhaustion that makes even breathing feel like a task. But pain meant I was alive.

I groaned, shifting slightly as my senses returned. My eyelids feel heavy, but I forced them open. The dim interior of the Vanguard’s cabin greeted me, flickering emergency lights barely illuminating the cramped space.

I survived.

I sucked in a breath, steadying my nerves before turning my head toward the only remaining operational monitor. It displayed a status report—an unsettling sea of red. Six out of eight emergency redundancy measures had activated while I was unconscious.

Not good. I reached for the communication panel, flipping the switch with a gloved hand.

"This is Vanguard to Mission Control. Operation Knocking Heaven’s Gate is a failure. Requesting immediate extraction at—"

The words died in my throat as a blinking ERROR message replaced the expected coordinates.

"No navigation satellites detected."

What?

I frowned and switched to the capsule’s Astro-Inertial Navigation System. A more primitive, but still highly reliable backup, meant to track my position based on the stars. But instead of pinpointing my location, another error flashed on the screen:

"Star map mismatch. Celestial alignment does not correspond to any known Earth hemisphere."

I sat there, gripping the edge of the console, staring at the screen. No satellites. No communications. The stars were wrong. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. My heart was already hammering in my chest, but panic wouldn't solve anything. Deep breaths. Stick to protocol. I ran a full system diagnostic. Five minutes later, the results confirmed what I already suspected.

The Vanguard had barely managed to deploy its parachutes before hitting the ground. The main thrusters burned through every drop of reserve fuel to slow my descent. Four out of four communication relay drones were offline. Six out of eight exterior cameras were destroyed. Environmental sensors were operational, but…

I hesitated as the readings came in.

External temperature: -15°C.

Humidity: 80%.

Wind: 5 km/h, eastward.

Anomalous Matter Concentration: Twenty times the Earth’s recorded maximum.

I exhaled slowly. That last reading was bad.

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Magic—Anomalous Matter, as scientists preferred to call it—had been steadily increasing on Earth since the first Wave in 1960. But even in the most concentrated laboratory environments, the levels never came close to this.

I pushed those thoughts aside and accessed the remaining two operational cameras. By sheer luck, they were the ones mounted on the extendable boom, giving me a better field of view. A snow-covered expanse filled the screen, stretching endlessly in every direction. Boreal forest. Tall, frost-coated pines. Deep snow. A distant mountain range.

I frowned. Siberia? Canada? The Urals?

But that didn't make sense. Even in the most remote parts of the world, some form of satellite coverage should be present—especially in the modern era, where the Waves made global surveillance an absolute necessity. The silence in my headset was suffocating. I clenched my fists and focused on my next move. I had to confirm my surroundings. First, I fired up one of the distress flares. A sharp whoosh filled the cabin as the flare ignited, streaking into the sky in a trail of red smoke. Two kilometers up, the parachute deployed, suspending a 60,000-candela light. It would burn as long as it remained airborne—an unmistakable beacon in this desolate wilderness.

I turned my attention to the Vanguard’s exterior. The capsule had seen better days. Its once-pristine white surface was scorched and peeling, the United Nations emblem barely recognizable. Most of the lettering on the "Vanguard Capsule" had been scraped away by the sheer violence of atmospheric reentry.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Yeah… I really don’t like where this is going."

Shaking off the unease creeping up my spine, I turned to my supplies. Food? Five years’ worth of flavored nutrient paste. Depressing, but nutritionally complete. At least they gave me flavors I liked—Shawarma, Chicken Curry, Bluefin Tuna Sushi. Water? Two weeks’ worth of bottled reserves, plus filtration systems capable of extracting and purifying water from moisture, streams, or even seawater. Medical supplies? Portable prosthetics printer. Weird. Enough materials to print twenty-six legs. Even weirder.

Then I noticed a handwritten note.

"In case you get lonely, you can print a di—"

I nearly choked. My best friend Yuri had written this. I wiped my eyes, snorting despite myself.

Another note underneath it read:

"You now owe me 7 million Yen. Pay me back with interest when you return."

I shook my head, exhaling a shaky breath. “Damn it, Yuri.”

I checked for equipment:

PIPS Mark IV Power Armor – self-repairing nanomachine-enhanced NBC suit. Can withstand extreme conditions (including direct exposure to a star’s surface).

SIG Sauer XM-16 ‘Aegis’ Plasma Rifle – integrated microfusion reactor, self-repairing via nanomachines. 60 shots per solar-charged magazine.

FN Five-seveN pistol – standard-issue. Nothing fancy.

Tactical shovel – because why not?

I took out my hiking pack and started methodically organizing everything. Unlike my past laziness in training, this time I made sure to do it right. An hour later, I was suited up. A notification appeared on my visor.

[ "Deep Space AI Companion, Claire: Successfully Rebooted." ]

I turned toward one of the operational drones and activated the proxy link.

“Claire, status check?”

[ "Proxy drone operational." ]

I nodded. "Alright. I'm heading out. Full power mode on the suit. Anomalous Matter levels are too high to risk unprotected exposure."

[ "Understood. I advise destroying the probe before moving forward." ]

“Yeah. Let’s just grab the distress beacon first.”

I pressed the button to equalize pressure. The hiss of depressurization filled the cabin. A warning flashed on my HUD:

"External Mana Radiation: EXTREME."

I ignored it.

With a slow creak, the hatch opened. Natural light spilled in, blinding after so long in the dim interior. Snowflakes drifted through the air, catching the sunlight, casting tiny rainbows across the landscape. I took my first step outside. The ground was firm. The snow crunched beneath my boots. I lifted my gaze to the sky, tracking the flare still burning above me, as bright as the sun. I exhaled, my breath fogging against my visor.

"Yeah," I muttered, scanning the endless, untouched wilderness.

"I don't have a fucking clue where I am."