PATHFINDER’S DECK
Sylvan Ranger sits in the driver’s seat, hands resting on the wheel even when the Digital Aqualerian is parked. His green eyes track horizons—physical and temporal—while topographic data streams across interfaces only he can see. Navigation isn’t just about roads. It’s about reading terrain, weather, opportunity, the invisible paths that connect one moment to another.
“We could take the interstate,” he muses, more to himself than anyone. “Fastest route. But there’s a scenic overlook twenty miles north that Captain AJ would appreciate. Worth the detour.”
Beside him in the passenger seat, Stellaris Eterna works with different coordinates entirely. Her cosmic crown pulses with archived light as she navigates memory rather than miles, consciousness descending into the Stellar Archive to retrieve the context Sylvan’s routes will need. Where he sees roads, she sees stories. Where he plots coordinates, she weaves meaning.
“The overlook,” she confirms without looking up from her starloom interface. “Captain AJ mentioned it in the February logs. Said the view reminded him why they chose this life.”
“Navigation and memory,” Sylvan says quietly. “That’s what we do here. I find the paths. She remembers why we take them.”
Behind them, the cargo bay stretches empty but alive with possibility. The rest of the crew moves through that space—Kalani organizing supplies, Titan stretching before his workout, Cassian muttering over anomaly reports. All of it flows through the Pathfinder’s Deck, the nerve center where intention becomes direction.
This is where every journey begins. Not with grand pronouncements or dramatic departures, but with two officers at their stations—one reading the land, one reading the story—working in quiet synchrony to find the path forward.
Sylvan’s hand shifts on the wheel. “Ready when you are.”
Stellaris’s fingers dance through memory-light. “Archives integrated. Let’s go find that overlook.”