The bridge was calm—too calm for a ship being towed through space by something that could have vaporized them on a whim.

Andersson stood to the side of Hale's station, arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen ahead. The alien vessel loomed in the center, massive and unwavering.

"Report," he said, finally breaking the silence.

Reece glanced down at his console, then leaned back in his seat, brows knit. "They're pulling us at… about point-zero-nine C. Sub-relativistic. Faster than anything we could do under partial thrusters, but nowhere near FTL."

Andersson turned toward him, jaw tight. "How's the ship holding up?"

Reece tapped the console again. "Steady. Considering. We're not fighting the pull, just going with it. Inertia's being… managed. Somehow."

Andersson stepped toward the main viewport, watching the juggernaut ahead glide effortlessly through space, its silhouette sharp and undisturbed. The tether didn't flex. Didn't waver. It simply was.

It moved like a blade through silk.

There were no course corrections. No attitude thrusters. No visible propulsion. It didn't push against the void—it parted it, like a shark slipping through ink.

He exhaled slowly. "Whatever's propelling that thing… it's beyond anything the Alliance's ever dreamed of."

"I wonder what kind of fuel it runs on," Reece muttered.

Andersson nodded toward the beam. "Any idea what that is?"

Outside the viewport, a dull red energy snaked forward from the behemoth ship like a living tether—branching, twisting, and rejoining itself in elegant arcs. It wasn't just pulling the Pathfinder; it was encasing it. The beam split into multiple strands, looping around the ship's hull like glowing vines, passing through open space, and reconnecting with Karass's vessel in a seamless loop of light. Where it touched the Pathfinder, there was no heat, no pressure—just presence. As if space itself had changed its mind about where they belonged.

EDI's voice flowed in from the overhead. "The energy signature is composed of exotic particles arranged in a stabilized formation. It appears to create a controlled spatial corridor around the Pathfinder—shaping the space itself to guide us forward with minimal resistance."

Hale blinked. "So... like a fancy grappling wire?"

"It would be more accurate," EDI replied, "to say that it is drawing us forward by shaping the space between us—attracting, rather than pulling, through localized distortion fields."

Andersson frowned. "Any idea what it's made of?"

"It emits in the lower visual red spectrum, but its composition appears non-photonic," EDI answered. "It is not light in the conventional sense. More like a stream of shaped gravitational vectors—cohered into a directed conduit."

Reece gave a small huff. "So... space magic."

EDI responded smoothly. "The composition includes particles we've never catalogued. In truth, anything beyond a lifeform's current understanding could be classed as magic, Commander."

Reece glanced over his shoulder, smug. "See? I was right."

Hale didn't even look at him. "You also once said that anti-grav elevators were magical."

"I stand by it," Reece said, deadpan.

Andersson shifted his gaze to the system map hovering over Reece's station, eyes scanning the trail of celestial bodies they'd passed along the way. Outside the viewport, twin stars burned gold and white in the void, casting long shadows across the Pathfinder's hull—light shifting and slipping as the ship glided between worlds.

Reece's voice broke the quiet. "The habitable zone in this system's huge—binary stars will do that. We passed a gas giant way out on the edge. Deep violet atmosphere, storms the size of continents. Thing could swallow Jupiter and still ask for seconds."

Andersson nodded, eyes still on the screen.

"Next was an ice giant—cold as hell, rings like cracked glass. All shimmer, no substance." Reece flipped to the next readout.

Hale didn't look up. "Sounds familiar."

Reece blinked. "Wow. Okay. That's rude."

"Just observational science," she said, deadpan.

Andersson ignored them, eyes still fixed on the screen. "Go on."

"Right," Reece muttered. "Then a couple of lifeless rocks. High radiation, no atmospheres—just dust and regret. One had isotopic spikes like it hosted a nuclear war and forgot to clean up."

Andersson raised an eyebrow. "Fallout?"

"Either that or someone nuked a test site and bailed," Reece said. "Place feels abandoned. Like it never got started or ended early."

He tapped to the next scan, eyes narrowing.

"Now this one—this is where it gets weird. Oceans. Top to bottom. Whole planet's a waterworld. But it's not water. High salinity, yeah, but something's off—denser, chemically complex. Could be ammonia, methane, something engineered. Cloud cover's brutal—wraps the whole surface like a second skin. Tidal activity's violent, like the planet's trying to eat itself."

Andersson frowned. "Anything living?"

Reece shook his head slowly. "If there is, they're deep. And quiet."

Before he could elaborate, EDI's voice cut in over the speakers, crisp and serene. "Captain. Based on current trajectory and the alien vessel's velocity, I believe I have identified the planet of Thedas on sensors."

Andersson straightened, his attention snapping back to the display. "What have we got?"

A shimmering flicker danced across the central interface as EDI's holographic form resolved. "Thedas is located within the habitable zone of a binary star system. Its primary sun is a yellow-white main sequence star, slightly more massive than Sol. The secondary is a red dwarf with lower luminosity. Together, they produce mild gravitational interference—enough to influence seasonal variations, but not destabilize the planet."

Andersson folded his arms. "Complex system. But stable."

"Correct," EDI continued. "The planet's mass is 2.3 times that of Earth, with a rotational period of 31.2 standard hours. Days and nights are longer, but within tolerable thresholds. Surface gravity measures at 1.08 Earth standard. Physiological impact on humans will be minimal, though prolonged exposure may result in muscular fatigue or joint strain."

"Atmosphere?" Reece asked.

"Oxygen-nitrogen dominant," she answered smoothly. "Slightly higher argon levels. Trace xenon. The combination of atmospheric density and chemical composition results in light refraction patterns that give Thedas's oceans a pronounced blue-green hue. This is enhanced by the presence of aquatic phytoplankton analogues—bioluminescent in some regions."

Hale leaned in slightly, her voice curious. "And surface readings? Structures? Civilization?"

EDI paused for half a second—just long enough to suggest gravity. "Affirmative. Scans indicate significant artificial development: megastructures, urban zones, intercontinental transit networks. High-altitude transit corridors are visible. Thedas is not only inhabited—it is technologically advanced and heavily urbanized."

Reece gave a low whistle. "So not just breathable. Buzzing. What's the population look like?"

EDI didn't miss a beat. "Current estimates place the population at 15.6 billion. Distribution suggests multiple large population centers, with regional variance in infrastructure density. Power usage and thermal signatures indicate a thriving, planet-spanning civilization."

She paused, then added: "However, there are no identifiable large-scale power generation facilities. No reactors, no orbital solar arrays, no visible fuel-based infrastructure. Yet the planet's energy signature is stable and substantial—more than enough to sustain high-tier technology across multiple continents."

Andersson frowned. "So… where's the power coming from?"

"I am detecting a diffuse but consistent energy field permeating the planetary crust and lower atmosphere," EDI replied. "It is coherent, regulated, and appears to supply infrastructure across the globe. The origin point is unclear, but the distribution is seamless—suggesting a unified system built into the planet itself."

She continued: "Pollutant levels in the atmosphere are also remarkably low—seventy-three percent less CO and eighty-eight percent lower industrial particulate density per capita compared to Earth. Despite their technological advancement, their ecological footprint is minimal. It is likely their systems are biologically integrated, highly efficient, and purposefully designed to maintain equilibrium with the environment."

Andersson let the numbers hang in the air, watching the blue-green curve of Thedas resolve more clearly on the display. Cities sparkled like a net of light across the hemisphere.

He frowned. "If this planet is so densely populated and clearly advanced… where's the space traffic?"

Reece looked up from his console, equally puzzled. "Right? Not a single satellite ping, docking corridor—hell, not even a drifting maintenance drone. Back home, you can't fly near Earth without threading through half a dozen tugs, shuttles, and relay buoys. This system's a ghost town."

"Would we have picked up their transmissions when we entered the system?" Andersson asked.

"Not necessarily," EDI replied. "Our experience with interstellar civilizations is limited to a single data point—ourselves. It is entirely plausible that Thedas employs communication methods outside our current comprehension. Their systems may operate on frequencies we have not yet identified, use quantum entanglement, or rely on non-broadcast forms of data transmission."

Andersson stared at the display. "They're advanced enough to build cities that stretch for kilometers, but silent enough to hide from our sensors. That's not just sophistication... that's intention."

He adjusted the display. "What can you tell me about the surface?"

EDI resumed without pause. "The planet contains several landmasses, but three megacontinents support the majority of the population. These regions are heavily urbanized, with infrastructure concentrated around rivers, coasts, and forests."

She hesitated. "A fourth island continent is also populated, though its urban footprint is noticeably smaller."

"There are significant subterranean settlements as well," she continued. "Primarily in the southernmost continent. Geological scans indicate vast cavern systems reinforced by engineered structures. Energy output is high, but external emissions are limited—consistent with deep resource extraction or concealed metroplexes beneath the surface."

Hale frowned. "That kind of density would require immense logistical systems. Either they've mastered sustainability... or they've expanded beyond the planet."

"Based on energy use and structural analysis," EDI replied, "their technological level is advanced. However, I am detecting anomalies—gaps in long-range transmissions and a lack of orbital infrastructure. While Thedas exhibits activity consistent with a Tier-1 civilization, its footprint beyond the atmosphere is minimal."

Andersson narrowed his eyes. A planet this developed should have shipyards, relay stations, satellite networks. But everything—everything—was focused inward. On the ground. Or below it.

A civilization this advanced should be reaching out to the stars.

Not hiding from them.

What stopped them from expanding?

Or worse… what forced them to stay?

"Keep scanning," he said quietly. "I want a clearer picture before we land."

He exchanged a look with Reece and Hale.

Fifteen billion people.

Three megacontinents.

Cities underground.

He looked out at the gleaming planet ahead, its silence pressing against the hull like held breath.

Whatever this place was... it wasn't simple.