The Rift was empty. Or it had been.

There was nothing but distortion, the usual shifting echoes of subspace turbulence. Then, without warning, a shadow slipped into being. No flare of arrival. It simply was—as though it had always been there, concealed behind the veil of reality, waiting to be noticed.

The vessel loomed across the Rift like a carcass hung in twilight. Three hundred and twenty meters of alien construction stretched in broken silence, its form fractured by time and physics alike. Where hull plating should have been smooth, whole sections bled into unreality, vanishing in stuttering pulses of light. Some parts were solid. Others… not.

It was as though the ship had been caught mid-breath—trapped halfway between dimensions. Thirty-seven percent of its body was lost to subspace, flickering in and out of existence, like a ghost struggling to recall the shape it once wore.

It was a vessel both dead and not, drifting and yet anchored. Its bones were metal, but its shadow was alive.

And in the silence of the Rift it was something that had not yet decided to let go

Nosferatu
Your Darkest Nightmare