The ancient Mass Relay loomed before them, its colossal ring structure suspended in the depths of space, rotating with an almost imperceptible grace. Its core pulsed with raw, untamed energy, swirling in shades of deep violet and electric blue.

Seated at the helm, Reece glanced up at the swirling core through the viewscreen. "Right on time. It's asking for our destination."

Andersson stood behind him, hands resting lightly on the back of Reece's headrest. "Well, don't keep it waiting."

Reece kept his hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the readings. "Transmitting our destination to the relay," he announced, voice calm but laced with the same anticipation thrumming through the bridge. A beat later, the console pinged in response. "Confirmation received. It's locked in."

As if answering his words, the relay shuddered to life.

A deep hum reverberated through the ship, rising in intensity as waves of mass effect energy began to radiate outward. Tendrils of purple light reached from the relay's core, expanding like ethereal hands grasping for the Pathfinder. The ship trembled as the energy wrapped around its hull, locking them into place.

The moment the relay fired, Andersson felt it.

A sudden, crushing force, like his body was being twisted inside out and snapped back together in an instant. His vision swam, the liquid on his tongue searing hot—like an electric current passing through his skull. A sharp pressure spiked behind his eyes, fleeting but unmistakable, leaving behind an eerie weightlessness that made his stomach lurch.

There was no time to react.

No time to think.

In a fraction of a second, they were gone.

Reality warped, space bending and collapsing around them as they were hurled across the stars at incomprehensible speed. The ship groaned under forces beyond understanding, but it was silent—eerily silent.

No sound, no motion—just the overwhelming sensation of being everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Then—just as abruptly as it began—it was over.

The energy dissipated.

The violet glow faded.

The weightlessness in Andersson's stomach vanished.

With a jarring finality, the stars realigned, snapping back into place around them. The Pathfinder stabilized, its systems recalibrating in real time as it drifted forward.

"Jump complete," EDI confirmed, her voice as steady as ever.

Hale flexed her fingers and glanced at her readouts before frowning. "Good. My organs are still in the right place." She paused, then made a face. "Did anyone else's tongue feel like it was on fire?"

Reece, ever dramatic, stuck his tongue out and squinted down at it, as if he could check. "I dunno. Does it look burnt?"

Hale rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's charred black. Tragic loss."

She turned back to her console, muttering something about electrostatic charge buildup in fluid membranes, but Andersson barely heard her. His body still felt out of sync, as if his bones had arrived half a second before the rest of him.

Reece smirked, giving his tongue one last thoughtful stretch before shaking his head. "Weirdest side effect yet." He flexed his fingers over the controls, testing his grip.

Then he let out a low whistle, reorienting himself. "Three seconds." He adjusted his hold, a grin tugging at his lips. "Hell of a ride."

He exhaled. "Do I even want to know how far we traveled?"

"Approximately 75,000 light-years," EDI's voice answered crisply over the comms.

Andersson exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against the armrest as if to steady himself. Seventy-five thousand light-years. Gone in three seconds.

He had spent years traveling between human colonies, measuring distance in weeks and months.

Now, entire star clusters had just fallen behind them in the time it took to blink.

Space itself had just become... smaller.

Hale let out a breath, staring at the displays. "Jeez, that's incredible. That would take—"

"—205.4 years using the Pathfinder's old FTL drive," EDI supplied seamlessly.

Andersson raised an eyebrow. "And with the new drive?"

"Approximately 17.1 years."

There was a beat of silence.

Reece blinked. "Well, fuck." He leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "Even without the relays, that's a pretty amazing difference. Imagine if they had this back on Earth."

Hale scoffed, folding her arms. "Yeah. Think of all the damage they could do with it."

Reece let out a low chuckle. "Fair point."

Andersson took another breath, staring at the vast expanse of stars ahead of them.

They were playing on a whole different scale now.

As soon as the Pathfinder emerged from the Mass Relay, the massive construct behind them powered down, its vibrant energy fading in an instant. The swirling tendrils of violet light retracted into the relay's core, leaving behind nothing but cold, silent metal.

It looked as if it had never been used at all—a dormant relic of some unknowable past, waiting for its next traveler.

Against the breathtaking expanse of the Serpent Nebula, something far grander loomed ahead.

It was not just a station.

It was the heart of the galaxy.

The Citadel.

Silence settled over the bridge as they took in the sight.

It was massive—an engineering marvel that dwarfed anything they had ever seen. Five colossal arms stretched outward for miles, each containing entire cities, their lights flickering like stars against the void. Suspended at the center was the Citadel Ring, a vast hub of interconnected platforms and structures.

And rising from its heart, the Citadel Tower—a beacon of authority and power.

It was pristine, impossibly ancient yet untouched by time, standing as a testament to the civilizations that had ruled here for millennia.

But what struck them first wasn't just the Citadel itself.

It was everything around it.

Space was alive.

The station's orbit was thick with ships of every conceivable design—some sleek and aerodynamic, others massive and industrial, and more than a few that seemed to defy any known laws of physics.

Some had flowing, organic curves; others looked like raw metal sculptures of impossible ingenuity.

Towering dreadnoughts, nimble corvettes, cargo haulers stacked with goods, and small, darting vessels barely large enough to fit a pilot—all maneuvering in a seamless ballet of interstellar traffic.

There were no familiar ship designs—nothing even resembling a human vessel.

And why would there be?

It felt as if they had crossed into a different galaxy entirely, the far side of the universe, distinct from the odd familiarity Thedas had offered.

Here, there were no comforting echoes of home. Only the unknown.

The Pathfinder—a lone traveler from a distant galaxy—drifted among hundreds of alien vessels, each belonging to a species they had yet to meet.

"Holy shit," Reece muttered, wide-eyed as he absorbed the scene. "I mean... I figured it would be busy, but this?" He shook his head. "This is something else."

Hale exhaled, watching the impossibly coordinated chaos of ships weaving around them. "How the hell does anyone keep track of all this?"

Reece let out a low whistle. "Yeah, no pressure. Just humanity's first parallel park in alien territory."

Andersson arched an eyebrow. "Maybe you let EDI handle the parking."

Reece shot him a look, hand over his chest in mock offense. "Wow. The lack of faith."

EDI's holographic form flickered to life beside them. "Given the density of traffic and the unfamiliar docking protocols, I estimate a 47% increase in efficiency if I assume control."

Reece flexed his fingers over the controls. "And I estimate a 100% increase in style if I do it myself."

Without waiting for further comment, EDI's form flickered once and vanished.

Andersson shook his head. "Let's not make first contact a docking accident."

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Hale, her voice softer than usual: "It's... beautiful."

Reece sat forward, tracing the Citadel's effortless symmetry with his eyes. There was no clutter, no excess—just clean, commanding geometry. "It's so simple, but dominates the entire system."

Andersson flexed his fingers against the armrest, grounding himself. His pulse was steady, but the significance of what they had just done was impossible to ignore. They had crossed seventy-five thousand light-years in an instant.

He studied the station with narrowed eyes, watching how the Citadel reflected the soft glow of the nebula around it, its surface shimmering as if made of liquid metal.

"It looks like it's made of glass."

EDI's voice came over the comms, her synthetic tone calm but laced with intrigue. "The outer surface material is unknown. However, scans indicate that beneath its polished exterior, the station simulates a full planetary cycle, including artificial day and night. If you were standing inside, you would not feel as if you were on a space station at all."

Andersson shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe they don't know who built it. It looks like it was made yesterday."

Reece huffed out a breath, shaking his head as he stared at the pristine, impossibly structured ring. "Right. Fresh off the assembly line."

Hale folded her arms, studying the Citadel with a skeptical expression. "So let me get this straight. Nobody knows who built it. Nobody knows what it's made of. Nobody knows why it's just floating here in deep space... and everyone just decided to move in anyway?"

She gestured at the sheer number of ships swarming the station. "I don't know—that seems like a pretty big thing to just... ignore."

Reece shrugged. "You find a mansion with infinite hot water and free groceries, you don't ask questions. You move in."

Hale shot him a sideways glance. "Weren't you the one convinced the ship's AI was going to murder us in our sleep? But this is fine?"

Reece leaned back in his seat, completely unbothered. "At least the Citadel doesn't have a voice whispering in my ear."

EDI's voice chimed in smoothly: "I can provide that service if it would make you feel more at home, Commander."

Hale grinned. "See? That's how it starts."

But there was no denying the awe of it.

This station had existed before them, before Thedas, before humanity had ever taken its first steps into space.

It had been here, waiting.

This place had seen the rise and fall of civilizations.

Now, it was time to see where they fit into it.

Whether the galaxy would make room for them... or not.