WASCANA STATION DOCKING IN THREE MINUTES.

The ship’s artificial voice echoed through the empty hallways, through my hollow chest. I shivered, squinting at the blazing white planet as it filled the viewing window. Space was cold, but it couldn’t compare to the frozen wasteland I was raised in.

“Are you ready?”

Blinking, I faced Mila, the captain of the Fjorn, who had crossed her arms and leaned against the window with her easy confidence. But there was a slight sadness in her posture. A sadness I felt in my bones.

I’d spent three years on the ship with some of the most remarkable people I had ever known. We started as strangers hailing from different systems, but it hadn’t taken long to know that our hearts all beat to the same rhythm. Who else would answer the unhinged call of this voyage?

The Fjorn was unlike any other spacecraft. Sentient and wild at heart, it had hurtled us through countless galaxies, dropped us in the maw of monsters, and caused its own fair share of havoc. Our crew experienced loss, laughed till our insides cramped. Cried together and prayed for strength and safety and endurance. We could never predict where the ship would take us, but it was guaranteed to be new. It wasn’t always easy, but it was good.

Then, for reasons unknown, the Fjorn set a different course. The horizons had seemed strange to me, but to others they were home.

One by one, my crew mates chose to disembark at their own planetary stations. And the Fjorn had grown quieter and quieter.

Now it was my turn.

Was I ready to leave it all behind?

I turned my back on the painful view and answered my captain honestly. “No, I’m not. Everyone seemed to have no trouble moving on, but to me it feels like losing a part of myself.”

“I don’t think it was easy for anyone.” She fell silent for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I always appreciated that about her. “I prefer to think of it as moving outward.” Mila blew a wild curl out of her face.

“What does—”

WASCANA STATION DOCKING IN TWO MINUTES.

I clamped my mouth shut, and Mila threw an irritated glance toward the voice. “Tell me this, Ren,” she said, pushing off the window. “Why did you join this voyage in the first place?”

“Boredom.”

Mila raised an eyebrow. I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

“Maybe I was looking for adventure, to do something that would frighten the mittens off of me.” I gulped, my gaze falling to the floor as the truth rose from my tight throat. “I was looking for community. And for the courage to witness worlds coming to life that I had only ever dreamed existed.”

Nodding, Mila dug in her pocket then held out her fist, waiting for me to open my hand beneath.

Blinking away the bite of tears, I obliged, and the captain dropped a small, corked vial into my palm. I stared at it in amazement. It was filled with a black, ink-like substance, and now and then tiny shards of light burst through, casting shimmering dots on my skin, on the walls, on the gunmetal ceiling.

Stardust.

WASCANA STATION DOCKING IN ONE MINUTE.

“Not many choose to do what you’ve done. What we all have done.”

Mila’s voice seemed to excite the stardust into a dazzling whirlpool, reminding me of when the Fjorn had taken us to watch the distant Rintan System’s dawn.

“People love to gaze at what they can’t reach, then dream and theorize their lives away. But very few are willing to step into that wild beyond and capture what they seek. And even fewer are selfless enough to return home and share what they’ve found.”

My mouth felt drier than the Nauxultian desert. “What have I found?”

“Adventure. Courage. Community. And a world of dreams.” Gently, Mila closed my fingers around the vial. “Keep this small piece of that wild beyond for yourself, and go share the rest of those things with those who need hope.”

I sought my captain’s green eyes and found them clustered with tears as bright as stars.

“I believe that’s the true voyage the Fjorn took us on,” Mila said. “It’s also why, I think, the others stepped off with confidence.”

“Because it’s just the next stop in the voyage,” I whispered.

The Fjorn shuddered around us.

WASCANA STATION DOCKING, COMPLETE.

I would miss that voice.

“The next stop in the voyage,” Mila echoed. She sniffed, then wrapped an arm tightly around my shoulders before pushing me gently toward Wascana and away from the Fjorn.

I held the vial closer. I might have been leaving that place, but I was going to carry it with me wherever I went.

At the end of the tunnel, a rush of people hurried by, encased in furs, woolen hats, and sealskin boots.

My steps faltered, and I couldn’t help but grimace. I turned back and called to Mila, “Do you think the Fjorn would take me back to Bea’s planet? I hear it’s warmer.”

Mila laughed, the sound light and comforting. “That climate would suffocate you before your heels hit the turf.”

A small smile spread my lips as I took the first step of my next voyage, with courage, adventure, and dreams to share clutched tightly in my hand.

This story is my love letter to Flash Fiction Magic, which was started by Emily Barnett around five years ago.

I would not be the writer I am today if I had never joined this group, if I had never done the scary thing, if I had never found a whole community of likeminded souls and the courage to bring new stories (worlds) into existence—and actually share them.

The end of Flash Fiction Magic isn’t actually the end. It’s just stepping into the next adventure.