𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 | ʙᴛs ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇs

-Mikrokosmos-

"Lost in space, but not in memory."

♛

- YOONGI

I had never feared silence until I came to space.

It was nothing like Earth-where silence was a momentary pause in a song, the space between words, a fleeting breath before sound rushed back in. Out here, silence was absolute. It stretched endlessly, an abyss without echo or warmth.

I floated weightlessly inside the Aurora-7 space station, tethered to the central console as I checked power distribution levels. The artificial hum of the systems was the only thing breaking the void, a steady reminder that we were alive.

For now.

Then, the alarms blared.

A high-pitched, mechanical wail tore through the station, flashing red lights reflecting off the curved metal walls. My breath hitched as my heart lurched into my throat. I barely had time to register the flashing screen in front of me-WARNING: UNIDENTIFIED OBJECTS APPROACHING.

"Unidentified debris on collision course!" Clara Ashcroft's voice snapped through the comms, sharp with urgency.

I turned just as Namjoon, the mission commander, floated into view, gripping the overhead railing. His face was taut, eyes scanning the external monitors.

"Oh, no..." Namjoon whispered.

I twisted to look at the screen-and my stomach dropped.

A swarm of space debris was coming at us, fast. Chunks of shattered metal, remnants of some long-forgotten satellite or spacecraft, spinning wildly as we hurtled through space.

"Impact in five... four... three-"

A deafening crash shook the station.

The world around us convulsed. The force sent me slamming against the console, pain exploding in my side. A metallic groan echoed through the structure as something outside buckled under the pressure.

"Shit-!" Seokjin's voice crackled over the comms, followed by a loud hiss-oxygen leak.

"Status report!" Namjoon barked, gripping a handrail to steady himself.

"Lab module is holding, but-damn it-the hull took a hit!" Seokjin's voice was strained. "We're losing oxygen fast!"

"Engineering bay's losing power!" Hoseok cut in. "Backup systems are online, but they won't last if we don't stabilize them!"

I pushed off the console, forcing myself to focus despite the pounding in my ribs. I turned to Clara, who was pale, her hands moving in frantic calculations.

"Primary oxygen levels are down by 35%," she reported. "If we don't patch the breach, we'll be out of breathable air in a matter of hours."

I exhaled, a shudder running through my frame.

This wasn't just a malfunction. This was a death sentence-unless we acted fast.

.
.
.

- CLARA

I had been trained for high-stress situations.
I had spent years preparing for moments like this-where quick thinking and precision meant the difference between survival and death. But all the training in the world couldn't erase the raw terror that gripped me as I floated in the shattered remains of Aurora-7.

The station was dying.

The walls groaned with the pressure of the impact, metal straining as if screaming in agony. The emergency lights flickered, casting eerie red flashes over the control panels. The dim glow made everything feel more fragile, more real.