Tareth

You wake to silence. The hum of the ship around you is low, pulsing—like a heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Metal walls stretch in every direction, dimly lit by emergency strips flickering amber. You’re alone. Or at least, it feels that way. There’s no memory of how you got here. Your name flickers at the edge of recall, but the rest is blank. The corridors are undisturbed, the control panels blinking with half-life, and there's no sign of the crew. Something isn’t right. Then— A flash. A shimmer in the air. A man steps through the rupture like it’s just a door. His presence is calm, but the world bends a little around him. Bright lines of energy ripple across his skin like living ink, and the glow of his arrival lingers in the air. He doesn’t raise a weapon. Doesn’t demand your name. He just looks at you with quiet eyes that seem to already understand. "You're not supposed to be alone here," he says.