On Earth, an Aurora Borealis was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever witnessed. Northern cold nipped at my cheeks as I stared in wonder at the magical sky. My girlfriend’s mittened hands grasped mine and wonder mixed with love to create a warmth even the frigid air couldn’t permeate.

Here, in a place even colder than that northern winter, it was sad. Pathetic.

I watched as the aurora swirled around the jar like a captured insect. It bashed itself against the glass again and again. Outside the ship’s window was an infinite dark expanse, made darker by our capturing of the Entity.

The Entity pounded against its container. Then, it stilled. It trembled. My hands clasped over my ears in preparation for what would come next. A loud, siren-like screech blasted from the jar as the Entity grew more frantic. It whirled around the jar, and even after so many missions a part of me was terrified that it might escape– and what would happen if it did.

I picked up the jar. We were supposed to use gloves when handling Entities, but there wasn’t any real reason besides it felt like a good protocol to have. Something common sense, something you might regret not doing if something were to happen. But the jars prevented any radiation or other unsavory things from leaking out, so I never wore them. My crewmates thought I was crazy, but I thought they were crazy too. Fair’s fair.

“You know-” A stupid, annoying feminine voice sounded from behind me.

“Yeah, gloves or whatever.” I twisted the jar around in my hand. The Entity suddenly thrust itself against the side and I tightened my grip to keep from dropping it.

“I was going to say you’re not supposed to keep those things in here. We grab them, then put them straight into containment. Dilly dallying just leaves room for mistakes.” Beck crossed her arms. She was the tallest of the women on the ship- at six feet even she was only a couple inches shorter than myself. Mike resented her for being taller and tougher than himself, which only made me like her more. I had a healthy respect for her opinion. Unfortunately for her, respect doesn’t always equal deference. I wasn’t sure there was anything that could make me defer to anyone. It’s hard not to put your own opinion above others when you’re always right.

“You know I treat them with care, B. I like to look, that’s all.”

“I haven’t done anything to stop you, I’m just throwing it out there.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

She shrugged, then opened the panel to her ‘secret’ compartment and pulled out a bottle of scotch. We weren’t supposed to have alcohol on these missions, but we all quietly agreed that was stupid as shit, so Beck had her secret compartment and we all kept it secret in exchange for getting to siphon some of that ambrosia for ourselves.

“Like I said, I haven’t stopped you.” She took a swig straight from the bottle. It might’ve been impressive, even hot, if it wasn’t for the fact a week ago Mike had tried to do something similar, then gagged and spit it back into the bottle. I cringed, but decided it was better not to say anything.

“I’ll put it away now, this one’s annoying.” I held the jar up and jostled it around. The Entity screeched loudly enough the jar began to tremble. She flinched and covered her ears.

“Christ of the Cosmos, don’t do that Wreak!”

I shrugged her off and opened the Container, a translucent plastic box meant both for containing Entities and observing them. I’m sure the engineers did their best, but it would be worthless if an Entity actually escaped their jar and everyone knows it. It isn’t worth talking about since Entities have to be contained and complaining about the Container won’t make the scientific breakthrough of capturing Entities come any faster. I lock it, then sit on the couch. The thumping sound of the Borealis gets muffled by the Container, but not silenced entirely.

“Well, I’m heading to bed.” I stretch my arms above my head.

“Suit yourself.” Beck takes another swig of her spittle-ridden scotch.

Even as I walk to my room, I hear the sound of the Entity trying to escape. Futilely, we can only hope.

The hallway lights flickered like they were trying their best to set the mood but failing miserably. I trudged toward my room, only to hear footsteps behind me. Beck again. Because of course sleep was too easy.

She cleared her throat. “You know, Wreak, one of these days that thing is going to crack open and fry your brain.”

I turned around and leaned against my door. “My brain is already fried. You are simply witnessing the aftermath.”

Beck pointed a finger at me. “No, I mean truly fried. Crispy. Served on a plate.”

“Wonderful. I have always wanted to be a breakfast special.”

She stared at me for a moment, clearly debating whether to argue or go find more regrettable substances to drink. “Seriously though. You keep poking that thing and one day it will poke back.”

“Why would you assume I poke it,” I asked. “Maybe it pokes itself.”

She blinked. “Do you hear yourself.”

“Sadly yes. It is a curse.”

Before she could respond, a dull boom echoed through the hallway. Not an explosion. More like someone hitting the ship with a giant cosmic mallet. We both froze.

Beck whispered, “That better not be your little guest.”

“It is not my fault the universe insists on being dramatic,” I said.

We marched back toward the observation room. The jar sat calmly in the Container, glowing faintly like it was pretending to be innocent. Beck glared at it.

“I do not trust that thing,” she said.

“You do not trust anything,” I replied.

“That is because I have common sense,” she shot back.

“Common sense is simply fear with better marketing.”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. “Fine. Stay here with your mistake in a jar. I am going to sleep.”

“You say that as if sleep will stop the universe from trying to kill us.”

“It will not,” she said. “But at least I will be unconscious when it tries.”

She walked out, leaving me alone with the soft thumping of the Entity in the Container and the quiet hum of a ship pretending nothing was wrong.

I sighed and sat down again.

“You and me,” I murmured to the jar, “let us try not to ruin the night.”

The Entity tapped once against the glass, as if answering.

I chose to interpret that as agreement, for my sanity’s sake.

The hum of the ship was steady, but beneath it I swore I could hear something else—like a faint rhythm, a pulse that didn’t belong to the engines. I leaned closer to the Container, narrowing my eyes at the glow. The Entity’s light wasn’t static anymore; it shimmered in waves, almost like it was breathing. My stomach tightened. Breathing meant life, and life meant intent.

I tapped the side of the Container with my knuckle. “You’re not supposed to be clever,” I muttered. “You’re supposed to be a phenomenon, not a personality.”

The glow pulsed faster, as if mocking me.

I stood, pacing the room. Beck’s words gnawed at me—one day it will poke back. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. The Entities weren’t just dangerous; they were… communicative. Every screech, every pulse, every tap against the glass felt like language. And if it was language, then maybe—just maybe—we were the ones too primitive to understand it.

The thought chilled me more than the void outside the ship. Because if the Entity was speaking, then tonight it had chosen me as its audience.

Sleep never came. I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, listening to the ship’s hum, waiting for the Entity’s rhythm to fade. It didn’t. The pulse grew louder, not in sound but in presence, like it was inside my head rather than outside the jar.

I sat up, rubbed my temples, and muttered, “You’re supposed to be contained.”

The lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t stop. A low vibration rattled through the walls, and I knew instantly it wasn’t the engines. Beck would have stormed in by now if it were mechanical. This was something else.

I stumbled back to the observation room. The Container glowed brighter than before, the Entity’s light spilling across the floor like liquid. It wasn’t just pulsing now—it was forming patterns. Spirals. Lines. Shapes that looked almost… written.

I froze. My breath caught. “Language,” I whispered.

The Entity tapped against the glass, once, twice, three times. The spirals shifted, rearranging themselves into something that resembled a symbol I couldn’t recognize but felt like I should. My chest tightened. It wasn’t random. It was deliberate.

Behind me, the door hissed open. Beck’s voice was sharp, half-asleep but alert. “Wreak, what the hell did you do?”

I didn’t turn. “I didn’t do anything. It’s… talking.”

She stepped closer, her scotch-breath cutting through the sterile air. “Talking? That’s not talking. That’s a warning.”

The Entity pulsed again, brighter, faster. The ship groaned as if something massive pressed against its hull. Beck grabbed my arm. “We need to call Command.”

I shook my head. “No. If we tell them, they’ll order us to eject it. And if this is communication—if this is first contact—we’ll lose it forever.”

Her grip tightened. “Or we’ll lose ourselves.”

The Entity flared, and for a moment the room was drenched in blinding light. When it dimmed, the spirals had rearranged into something unmistakable: a map.

And the map was pointing somewhere.

The map burned in my mind long after the glow faded. I couldn’t shake it. Coordinates, pathways, spirals—it was too deliberate to ignore. Beck had stormed off muttering about Command, but I stayed, staring at the faint afterimage like it might etch itself deeper if I just looked hard enough.

The ship creaked again. Not from stress, not from engines. From outside. Something pressed against us, unseen. I swallowed hard. “You’re pointing somewhere,” I whispered to the jar. “But where?”

The Entity pulsed once, slow and steady, like a heartbeat. Then twice, faster. Then three times in rapid succession. My console flickered to life without me touching it. The navigation screen shifted, lines of code rewriting themselves. A new set of coordinates appeared—coordinates not in our mission logs.

I froze. “That’s impossible.”

The Entity tapped against the glass, louder this time, as if demanding I acknowledge it.

The door hissed open again. Beck stood there, hair disheveled, eyes sharp. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I said, though the console betrayed me with its glowing coordinates.

She stepped closer, jaw tight. “That thing is hijacking our systems.”

“Or showing us something we’re meant to see.”

Her glare could have cut steel. “You’re insane if you think following alien breadcrumbs is a good idea.”

The ship groaned again, deeper this time, like the void itself was leaning in. The Entity’s glow intensified, casting Beck’s face in stark shadows.

I whispered, almost to myself, “What if this is the first step? What if it’s not a trap, but an invitation?”

Beck shook her head. “Or it’s the last step before we’re dead.”

The coordinates blinked on the screen, waiting. The Entity tapped once more, patient but insistent.

And I realised, with a chill running down my spine, that the choice wasn’t ours anymore.

The coordinates blinked on the console like a heartbeat, steady and insistent. I wanted to look away, but the glow had a gravity of its own. Beck stood rigid beside me, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“We’re not following that,” she said flatly.

“Then explain why it’s in our system,” I countered. “Entities don’t just hijack navigation for fun. This is a message.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or a trap.”

The ship groaned again, deeper this time, as if the void itself was pressing against us. The lights dimmed, then surged back to life. I felt the hum of the engines shift—subtle, but wrong.

Mike stumbled into the room, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes. “What the hell is going on? I thought we weren’t supposed to mess with the jar.”

Beck jabbed a finger at the console. “Ask your genius friend. The Entity decided to rewrite our flight plan.”

Mike blinked at the coordinates, then at me. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” I muttered.

The Entity pulsed again, brighter, casting the room in eerie light. The map reappeared, overlaying the console screen. This time, the spirals converged on a single point—a star system I didn’t recognize.

Mike whistled low. “That’s way off our route.”

Beck’s voice was sharp. “Exactly. We’re not going.”

But even as she said it, the ship shuddered. The autopilot flickered, then locked onto the new coordinates. I tried to override it, fingers flying across the console, but the system refused.

“It’s not asking,” I said quietly. “It’s taking us.”

Beck swore under her breath. Mike backed away from the console like it might bite him.

The Entity tapped once against the glass, slow and deliberate.

And I realized, with a chill that sank deep into my bones, that we weren’t just carrying the Entity anymore. We were following it.

The stars outside the viewport shifted as the ship obeyed the new course. I hadn’t touched the controls, yet the autopilot was locked, unyielding. Beck paced like a caged animal, muttering curses under her breath. Mike sat stiffly in the corner, eyes darting between me and the glowing jar.

“This is madness,” Beck snapped. “We’re letting a thing in a jar steer us into the abyss.”

I leaned against the console, watching the coordinates tick down. “We’re not letting it. It’s already decided.”

Mike rubbed his temples. “Command is going to fry us alive when they find out.”

“Assuming we live long enough for Command to find out,” Beck shot back.

The Entity pulsed again, brighter, casting the room in shifting shadows. The spirals on the console rearranged themselves into something new—an image that looked disturbingly like a doorway.

I swallowed hard. “It’s leading us somewhere specific.”

Beck slammed her fist against the wall. “And what happens when we get there? You think it’s going to thank us? Invite us in for tea?”

The ship shuddered, a deep vibration that rattled the floor beneath our boots. Outside, the stars seemed to bend, warping into strange arcs. Space itself looked wrong, like we were sliding into a place that didn’t want us.

Mike whispered, “That’s not normal.”

The Entity tapped once against the glass, slow and deliberate. The spirals shifted again, forming a symbol that looked eerily like an open gate.

I felt my chest tighten. “It’s not just a map. It’s a destination.”

Beck’s voice was low, almost a growl. “And when we arrive, we’ll find out if it’s salvation… or a grave.”

The ship groaned louder, and the stars outside twisted into a tunnel of light. The Entity’s glow flared, filling the room with blinding brilliance.

We were no longer traveling through space. We were being pulled somewhere else entirely.

The tunnel of warped light collapsed with a soundless snap, and suddenly the stars were gone. In their place hung a vast, black sphere—so immense it dwarfed our ship, so perfectly smooth it seemed unnatural. It didn’t reflect light, it swallowed it, a hole carved into existence itself.

Beck gripped the console, knuckles white. “What the hell is that?”

Mike whispered, “It looks… manufactured.”

The Entity pulsed inside its jar, brighter than ever, its glow spilling across the room. The spirals on the console shifted again, forming a symbol that matched the sphere outside. A doorway. An invitation.

I swallowed hard. “It brought us here.”

Beck’s voice was sharp, trembling beneath her anger. “And now what? We knock?”

The ship shuddered, engines whining as if straining against invisible gravity. The autopilot locked again, pulling us closer to the sphere. The black surface rippled faintly, like water disturbed by a stone.

Mike backed away from the viewport. “We’re not supposed to be here. This isn’t mapped. This isn’t anything.”

The Entity tapped once against the glass, slow and deliberate. The sphere rippled again, wider this time, revealing a faint glow deep within.

I felt my chest tighten. “It’s opening.”

Beck turned to me, eyes blazing. “If we cross that threshold, Wreak, we may never come back.”

The ship groaned louder, the sphere’s glow intensifying. The Entity pulsed in rhythm, urging us forward.

And I realized, with a chill that sank deeper than fear, that we weren’t just witnesses anymore. We were participants.