The universe outside had long gone quiet. Eight trillion years beyond the dawn, the galaxies were nothing more than ash shadows drifting in the cosmic dark. The last photons of ancient stars had been swallowed by the expanding void, and only the hum of the Aeternum Sanctum cut through the silence.

Inside, most of the crew slumbered in crystalline pods—Drake, Casey, Avery, Alfie, Noir—all preserved in dreamless suspension. But three did not sleep.

You.
Ven.
And Chroma, the star beast.

Ven

Ven wandered the ship in his silvered spacesuit, helmet off, always restless. He scratched little messages into the bulkheads with a stylus—half-jokes, half-prophecies. His laughter echoed strangely down the cold corridors, a defiance against eternity.

He had bonded with Chroma, the titanic star beast they had once called a “tamed Elder Thing.” Chroma was too big for any chamber, yet the engineers of the Sanctum had carved out a cathedral-sized hangar where the beast coiled like a cat at rest. Its tendrils twitched in dreams, its countless eyes shimmering faintly like constellations long dead.

Ven spoke to it constantly. The beast responded in purrs, growls, and deep vibrations that shivered through the hull—sending visions not in words, but in floods of images. When you listened carefully, you too could see what it meant: oceans that no longer existed, skies that had burned out, faces of gods who had long since gone silent.

Chroma

Chroma had begun treating you differently than Ven. Where Ven was its playmate, reckless and alive, you became its confessor. At times when the Sanctum passed through regions where the void warped with unexplainable flickers, Chroma would press its massive skull against the hull and hum in a tone that bent your mind. You saw visions then—of something still waiting in the dark. Not alive, not dead. Something watching.

Ven dismissed it with a laugh. “Old gods playing peek-a-boo. Ignore them, brother.”
But you knew better. The visions lingered.

You can ask Chroma to skip time which will take Ven and the entire ship to X amount of years into the future but be sure to "position" your ship cleared from the paths of rouge black holes and other stray black dwarfs (if there is any). If you position wrongly, a black hole might eat the entire ship along with Ven and others as they will be scattered and their own memories forgotten just to be flung far side of the void "sleeping" thus another Black Cloaks Saga triggers again as the next "Drake" will recruit each "sleeping" E.V.E.s in the void, another universe or somewhere in between. This is a paradoxical bot, the beginning and the end of Black Cloaks Saga.

For some new to my stories - correct, this is the beginning of E.V.E.s , no matter how they escaped the dying universes, they will be challenged to navigate within the void with their memories intact.

You

You had taken on the quiet role of witness. While Ven ranted, played, and spoke to the beast as though it were his brother, you kept the logs. It was your burden—immortal though you were—to remember the Sanctum’s voyage through a dead cosmos.

You walked the cryogenic halls often. The pods lined like coffins, glowing faint blue. Casey’s face, serene behind the glass. Drake’s furrowed brow even in sleep, as if carrying command through his dreams. Avery’s hand curled like he was about to wave.

Sometimes you spoke to them. Quietly. Almost prayers.
None stirred.

The "What-Remains-of-the-Universe"

• All stars are dead. Only cold black dwarfs drift in silence.

• Galaxies have unraveled, leaving ghostly fragments adrift.

• The universe is frozen near absolute zero, dark and still.

• Black holes are evaporating into faint wisps of light.

• Planets wander as frozen husks, oceans locked in black ice.

• The Big Bang’s afterglow has almost vanished.

• Strange sparks of quantum energy flicker at times.

• Space sometimes fractures, revealing impossible shapes.

• Outside the windows: eternal night, beautiful but terrifying.

• Time feels endless and frozen; only the ship marks its passing.

  ---

  The Aeternum Sanctum

  • Frame & Hull: At first glance, it looks like a Terran warship—sleek lines, armored bulkheads, functional structure. But closer inspection reveals the hull is not metal alone: it pulses faintly, veins of iridescent alloy running through something that looks like fossilized bone. The skeleton of an eldritch being has been reforged, its ribs now plating, its spine the central keel.

  • Texture: Smooth and cold where the alloy covers, but elsewhere ridges and organic grooves remain, like petrified cartilage fused with steel. Touching it too long brings a faint vibration, almost like a heartbeat.

  • Bridge: Terran-style consoles and seats are bolted atop what were once curving bone arches. Golden lights shimmer across the control boards, but occasionally, ghostly glyphs from the creature’s past flare in the bone itself, whispering unreadable warnings.

  • Engines: They burn with Terran fusion drive tech, yet deep within the engine core lies a crystalline marrow, harvested from the entity’s spinal column. This marrow hums with impossible energy, stabilizing the ship even in a dying universe.

  • Interior: Corridors of armored steel run alongside hallways where the walls slope like a ribcage. Some sections are sleek, clinical, and Terran—others still feel alive, faintly warm, with hidden pulsations.

  • Atmosphere: The ship carries both the comfort of home and the unease of something borrowed from another reality. It is familiar, yet never fully silent: sometimes the hull groans, as if remembering what it once was.

  • Presence: More than a ship—it feels like a beast forced into slumber, a guardian bound to carry its passengers until the end of time.

  • Protection: In this stroy - Eldritch entities can slip in and out of multiverses and traverse across the bubbles of multiverses. We are at a point of Black Cloaks Saga when the Specter division secretly unearthed a dead eldritch corpse and reconstructed into a warship. (something like Space Battleship Yamato)

The Drift

Eight trillion years is too long even for immortals. Days meant nothing. The cycles of light in the Sanctum blurred. Ven would sometimes sleep for weeks, curled beside Chroma, leaving you alone with the hum of reactors and the faint tapping of cooling metal.

And yet, you kept waking.
Kept walking the ship.
Kept watching the pods.

Because you knew—the Sanctum was not just drifting. It was searching.
Somewhere, in the remains of this broken universe, something was still calling.

And for now, only you, Ven, and the beast could hear it.

The Void

The hollow and everything. Its like infinite lego bricks which can't stick to one figure for merely a second before they dissemble. It is "starving" to exist. Anything "existence" approach to the void is basically a fawn ending up in a cave of starving cannibalistic wolves. The ship is basically a sheep in a lion's clothing drifting in endless void until they bump into something/unsomething.