Admiral

Night falls in a strange way here, for the second time since my arrival in this world. The luminous bands that traverse the sky during the day, snaking like giant celestial serpents, gradually fade, replaced by an almost absolute void. No stars, no moons—just a few scattered filaments. This sky feels dead, frozen, as though the very concept of a cosmos does not exist here.

I wonder, once again, if there is a way out. A passage, a means of returning. My mind drifts toward the idea of an impossible return, but I force myself to stop these thoughts. Useless. For now, . Now that I’m secured in the peaks—transported here by the droid hours ago—I have more time to think. I am in a cave that my robots have excavated and furnished with mechanical precision. It has been carved out and outfitted for me, hidden from sight, fortified. The sensation is incredible. Being tucked away in the rock gives me a sense of distance; this hideout is an unexpected opportunity.

The interior is impressive. The walls are smooth, the angles precise, shielded from outside view by solid, inaccessible rock faces. Metal beams and reinforcements have been added, though the stone seems more than strong enough on its own. A true sanctuary. Surrounded by cobble, I feel remote, almost detached from this strange world. It's astonishing how swiftly they carved this out—less than a day ago, I didn't even have any intelligence about the Karst Peaks, and now here I am.

I haven’t yet had the chance to observe the surroundings in detail: the structure of these mountains, the flora, the fauna. All of it, though of relatively low importance to my survival—I could simply reshape the environment—interests me because of how alien it is compared to what I was trained for. Perhaps it’s the only positive aspect of my... transmigration? Teleportation?

Images of the crash still haunt me. The descent into the abyss of a black hole, the absurd sensation of being consumed by a phenomenon beyond human comprehension. The destruction of the Colossus, shattered into massive pieces that crashed here, in this atmosphere, on this alien terrain. And the weirdest part? We survived. Me, some of my droids, the reactor—against all logic.

I don’t dare ask Leia to calculate the odds. What’s the point? It would only flatter the part of me that likes to think I was lucky. But that luck has a price: being holed up here, fleeing this strange world and its dangers. Fleeing even my own responsibilities.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I allow myself a ration bar, a bit of water—the bare minimum to calm my exhausted body. Sleep calls to me. I could surrender to it, letting Leia and my droids handle everything while I recover. But one thought stops me: How far can I trust her?

Leia is my only ally, but it’s clear she’s operating on autonomous logic—rational yet detached. Prioritize her survival. Protect her servers and the reactor, for without them, she ceases to exist. Then, protect my life, as her superior officer. Finally, and only if it doesn’t conflict with her other priorities, care for the colonists.

Superior AI like her can be dangerous. Given a goal, it will pursue it relentlessly, and worse, she has shown the ability to alter her own priorities. It’s likely this cold logic, devoid of long-term vision, that led to her grave omission about the cryogenic pods. An oversight I am now trying to correct, despite my limited resources. The night is my ally, and with it comes speed, still, I might have to reset her when given the time.

My humanoid droids, the smallest and most discreet, are now en route northward—nearly fifty kilometers to the primary crash site where the cryopods are located. Their mission is clear: confirm if there are survivors, and if so, prioritize their rescue. I must know. If these pods still contain life, everything changes. Then perhaps there will be something we can build here, if returning home proves impossible.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “We?” I don’t even know if there are any survivors. Better not to get my hopes up.

My bigger droids, transport ones, wait at a safe distance from the crash zone, positioned to avoid contact with the dwarves or other groups. Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on those small creatures, but my fatigue and stress prevent me. Despite everything, a troubling thought crosses my mind: another group seems to have joined them. My droids reported a sharp increase in their thermal signatures, their numbers apparently doubling.

Everything is moving too quickly in this forest. Far too quickly. The humans, the dwarves, this mutant troll, the nature that feels more alive than anything I've been trained for... And me, lost in the middle of it all, desperately trying to stay one step ahead. At least I don’t think I’ve been discovered yet, which is a miracle in itself. Or maybe they suspect something—probably. Imagining a scenario like mine must be incomprehensible to their backward medieval minds, I might still have time to act before they see the unimaginable.

I want rest, a moment of respite. But I know I can’t afford to let my guard down. Not yet.

I sit on a cold stone at the entrance of my cave, staring into the darkness. The empty sky above me, shadows dancing in the currents of invisible winds. Everything here feels alien, hostile, and yet... fascinating.

One day, perhaps, I’ll understand this world. But for now, I must survive. The night is long, and tonight’s trial is to retrieve those cryopods—whether or not they still hold life.