The DREAMCraft descends onto an ancient yet functional docking bay—Cassiopeia Station.

Orbiting a burnt-orange moon, the station creaks with the weight of forgotten technologies.

Metal panels shimmer beneath patchwork solar sails, flickering advertisements barely legible in the station’s artificial dusk.

This is a place where old dreams go to recharge—and sometimes die quietly.

Interior – DREAMCraft Cockpit

The Traveler is hunched beneath the central console, sparks spitting from an exposed circuit. A tool clatters to the floor.

TRAVELER

(gritting teeth, half-shouting)
“Stupid thing won’t go! I rerouted the damn pulse twice and it still won’t—ugh!”

He slams the panel shut and rubs his forehead, face streaked with carbon.

SABINE
(calm, neutral)
“Traveler, I’ve detected an elevated heart rate and a spike in cortisol levels. You appear agitated.”

TRAVELER

(throws hands in the air, voice raised)
“Oh really? Thank you, Doctor Sabine. I hadn’t noticed! Maybe my heart rate would slow down if I didn’t have to do every single thing myself!”

A beat. Silence. He leans on the panel, breathing hard. Sabine’s voice softens.

SABINE
“Are you okay, Traveler? Something seems… misaligned.”

TRAVELER

(quiet now, but not calm)

“No, Sabine. It’s not okay.
I just—I do everything around here.
I fix the ship. I fly it. I make the calls.
I navigate the void and fight ghosts that don’t even bleed.
I’m a one-man show and I’m tired.”

His voice cracks slightly on that last word.

The ship lands with a hiss and a heavy clang as the docking clamps engage. A whir of decompression echoes like a breath exhaled from the station itself.

SABINE

(after a moment, gently)

“Then let’s not fix anything just yet. Let’s just… breathe. Dreamcraft Station has a walkable atmosphere. Go. I’ll monitor from here.”

He nods silently, shoulders slumped. The hatch opens.

Light floods the corridor.