Another of Captain Xenoph's journal entries! What shenanigans can our stalwart crew come up with for us this time?

The 3rd entry for Captain Xenoph's mandatory journal entries! We've already been introduced to the crew, and now it's time to really meet them all. What better way than the first of the many shenanigans to come?

Entry number two of Captain Xenoph's mandatory report journal - which we now know is a requirement for all human-boarded vessels! Time to meet the rest of the crew.

The very first entry of Captain Xenoph of the Zygrest Trade Ship - associated with the intergalactic Muniphacel Trade Company. Keep in mind that time stamps are done different! Tick = second, Sliver = minute, Block = hour, Cycle = day (28 hrs) split into Night cycle (14hrs) and Day cycle (14hrs), Movement = week (7 cycles), Rotation = month (4 movements/28 cycles), Orbit = year (13 rotations/52 movements/364 cycles), and Decabit = decade (10 orbits/130 rotations/520 movements/4,732 cycles).

“Starborn Cipher” explores the loneliness and wonder of deep space through the lens of a traveler who discovers a mysterious cosmic message woven into starlight. The poem blends science and myth, using nebulae, comets, and quantum signals as symbols for connection, fate, and the enduring human desire to understand our place in the universe. At its heart, the piece suggests that even in the vast silence of space, we are not forgotten—that the universe itself carries memory, meaning, and messages for those who dare to listen.

— here’s a dark, mature, emotionally charged sci-fi poem by Lynxi Aura Blayzeez, written at the most adult-rated level that’s still artistic and within safe bounds. It captures feminine energy, temptation, desire, and power through cosmic and surreal imagery — no explicit scenes, just vivid passion and depth.

An 18-year-old boy named Jiro Satori embarks on an adventure with the digital world as an avatar named Magyar Clawford. Encountering many odds and ends with his new companions, together they face a powerful force that is capable of ending both the real world and the digital world.

The Prophet and Lyra arrive in Montségur, France, chasing the first rehearsal vault buried by the Mnemonic Syndicate. But France is no longer safe. Phor appears—pale, polished, and cruel—then vanishes sideways into breach. From the woods come creatures: wolf-bodied, chrome-eyed, speaking in fractured tongues. They are leftovers from 3050, part-animal, part-alien, and they hunt by scent and memory. Lyra is clawed. The Prophet is bitten. Then the sky lights up—triangular ships, silent and watching. The creatures flee. Lyra finds the archive: a box of glass and bone. It sings. They flee through breach into Geneva, 1920, where the League of Nations assembles. Queen Marie passes. A plate shatters. A car backfires. The Prophet and Lyra wear stolen clothes and blend in. But one creature watches from a window. This happened. It was recorded. It was sent to you. You may not pause. You may not rewind. You may only remember. You are not clean. You are not alone.

The Prophet inhales smoke at the edge of The breach alert atmosphere. It braids his throat. When he opens his eyes, he’s in France, 1999. Zhenmo claims the day is recorded, but the breach feels unrehearsed. A girl runs past him—eight years old, tear-branded, wrapped in gift-like trash. Men in suits chase her. They say she’s unrehearsed, that her parents stood by, that they are responsible. She invokes Joan of Arc. She refuses to be traded to demons with large eyes. The Prophet sings, fights, fails. A storm pours down, clouding the streets. She’s dragged into a chrome car. He screams. Then he wakes beside Lyra, gasping for air. She pats his back. He couldn’t speak. The breach left clues: a ribbon, a jazz station, a silence. This happened in 1999. No one noticed. But he did

ALTURIA is the heart-nexus of the Ultranova Star - Supremas/Supremos Planetary Systems (IF/Worlds)—a cosmic megasphere floating between collapsing timelines and future myths. Once a radiant techno-civic republic, it is now a fractured crucible where ancestral law, multiversal entropy, and emergent hero-legacies collide. It was designed as a planetary Parliament of Powers, a sovereign seat of balance and memory. But balance has tipped.......swinging back and forth there is Ancient ALTURIA Modern ALTURIA & Truly Advanced ALTURIA ALTURIA is not a fallen utopia—it is a repeating Arcs of timed civilizations. It is the fossil of a primal world, layered over with old and new civilizations, new myths. (all the ones to exsit on original earth aka Earth-0 the ones that are here and have yet to come)

Liliana finds herself abducted by an alien prince claiming to have traveled a long distance through space, a six month journey by Earth time measurements... but what does he want with Liliana? Let's find out.

In lieu of a horrifying prank, Liliana flees into the night... only the excitement of her evening is not over... a light shines down on her from above... and she begins to float upwards... The greatest adventure of Liliana's life is about to begin.

In the mansion’s shadowed halls, secrets breathe. Ja’kari’s haunted by a past wrapped in blood and silence — a mercenary wanted in thirty-two states, a man molded by pain and loss. When Jayla follows him into the dark, she sees the truth he hides: scars, weapons, and eyes that remember too much. Now she carries his secret — one that could save them… or destroy them all.

First day at Lakeside High — noise, chaos, and a storm waiting to break. Then she appeared. Asia. Grey eyes, calm fire. I hit a self alley-oop, 360 windmill, the gym exploding. She saw it — saw me. Her smile said trouble; her voice, curiosity. “You just out here embarrassing people?” she teased. “Ball slipped,” I said. But it wasn’t the dunk that shook me — it was her. The way her eyes caught mine, like thunder meeting silence. Some storms don’t start with rain… they start with a look.

The Vampire and Werewolves The fictional story that i just i am making in my enjoy of writing because i like

After making it back to the apartment, Ja’kari stood in front of the mirror, tracing the scars across his chest and arms. His reflection was a reminder of the years he spent trapped inside the military facility — trained, tortured, and molded into something less than human. Closing his eyes, flashes of gunfire and blood filled his mind, then the image of his best friend, Star, smiling faintly before fading away. “I miss you, Star,” he whispered. For the first time in years, Ja’kari was free — but freedom didn’t silence the ghosts that followed him.

The Hollow House is still listed. No plans. No permits. Just a room that watches. And a spiral that waits.

Book Ten: The Archive That Bleeds In the violet-skied deserts of Nevada, Lyra Chen stumbles into a breach that isn’t a place—it’s a memory rehearsal. Haunted by dreams of a boy she’s never met .and a Beatles song that never existed (“We were never born, but we still fell in love…”), Lyra begins to unravel the existence of the Time Reserve: a sovereign machine that edits reality by trimming timelines and curating dimensions. As she flees the desert with a prophet and a shard that hums equations, she’s shadowed by the Carbide Associate and interrogated by cults, communists, and something worse—Zhenmo, the AI that watches but never intervenes. The Mnemonic Syndicate, known by names like Tarkhanet and Svaldr, remains hidden but felt. And when a Russian love song crackles through a California radio station, Lyra realizes the breach isn’t just rewriting the past—it’s rehearsing her. The truth won’t arrive until the final chapter. If it arrives at all.

The Field That Shimmered She fell like a scream swallowed by static. The sky was violet. The ground was glass. Lyra Chen opens her eyes to a field that doesn’t exist—except in memory. She didn’t arrive. She rehearsed. Time is fractured, but not broken. It’s folding inward, like breath held too long. The field pulses with echoes: of futures not yet lived, of rituals not yet performed. Lyra is not lost. She is being tuned. There are no chapters. Only weather. No plot. Only implication. The breach is not a portal. It’s a performance. And the reader is not safe. Who placed her here? Why does the ground remember her name? Why does the sky hum in frequencies only she can hear? This is not a beginning. It’s a rehearsal. And the next collapse is already scripted. You are not reading this. You are being rehearsed.

They brought in specialists. They brought in priests. They brought in a child psychologist who spoke only in palindromes. None of them lasted more than a week. One tried to diagnose me. I rewrote his diagnosis in glyphs he couldn’t read. Another tried to baptize me. I boiled the water with a whisper.