Captain’s Log Stardate 2402.10. The jouney to the Trialen Patch has beewn a fascinating experience. In the time it took to travel from Framhiem to her, we’ve seen countless wonders. Ship and crew stand at the ready to enter as we prepare to enter the Trialen Corridor and begin studying the Reach. From the data recieved from Everest it is roughly half a parsec long. Nevertheless I’m cautiously excited for what lies beyond.

The Typhoon surged forward, dead ahead waited the Trialen Patch, a churning sea of fire and clouds. The expanse seemed alive here. With vast rivers of plasma twisting and folding in on themselves, each current burning with silent fury. The central mass swirled with fiery orange and scarlet, like a slow-motion inferno suspended in the void. The outer tendrils were a mix of cool blues and whites, the glow shimmering like frozen breath caught against the black. Scattered throughout were threads of pale gold, casting a gentle illumination across the surrounding space. The light caught the Typhoon‘s hull, bathing the ship in an ethereal sheen, as though it were gliding through a cathedral built of storm and flame.

“It’s beautiful,” Lieutenant Commander Sheppard stated, his voice barely above a whisper. The chief helmsman had endured loss and had come out on top. He was beyond excited for their mission. Like the rest of the crew, they had joined Starfleet to explore, and now they were finally getting the chance to do just that.

“Indeed, Mr. Sheppard,” Captain D’Antonio started. Staring at the patch, he watched as it pulsed. A subtle but rhythmic scene. It was as if it were the heartbeat of something ancient and waiting. “T’Ren, get me a scan of the Patch. Let’s find that corridor.”

“Aye, sir.”

Commander T’Ren was like most Vulcan officers, crisp, unapologetic, and blunt, but one thing she struggled with, even as a full Vulcan, was logic. She had stayed on board the Xyston longer than anyone else. Having received three offers as an executive officer and one as a captain, each time, however, she declined. Her response when asked why she didn’t accept would be ‘it wasn’t a logical step’, but everyone, including D’Antonio, knew better than to believe that. Deep down, she knew it to be true as well.

“I’m detecting a Starfleet beacon,” she stated in her usual monotoned voice, as she continued, “bearing two-aix-eight point five mark six-seven.”

“Adjust course, Mr. Sheppard,” he ordered, “bring us to one-quarter impulse,  put us along the corridor’s vector.”

“Aye, Captain,” Sheppard replied, fingers poised over the helm console. “Adjusting course and entering approach vector in four.”

The Typhoon might be one of the fastest in the fleet, but she for sure wasn’t agile. Slowly, it’s large spaceframe angled, as her bow turned towards the breach in the chaos. The eye in the storm. Across the ship, lights dimmed as the ship’s internal system detected a rising radiation level. Blue-hued lights flooded the ship as the him from the deflector grid grew as a faint vibration ran through the deck plates.

T’Ren’s console pulsed faintly. “Captain, I’m detecting… resonance. Subspace frequencies at 2.1 hertz. The waveform is repeating a regular intervals.”

D’Antonio turned, “A patter?”

“Yes, sir,” the Vulcan responded. “A pulse. Continuous and rhythmic.”

Pressly looked at the readings on his armrest. “You’re saying the patch has a heartbeat?”

At his words, the bridge fell silent once again, the only sound emitting from the soft trill of instruments and distant rumble of the storm on their horizon.

D’Antonio straightened, the uncertainty he felt masked by his years of command. “T’Ren, record and monitor all subspace harmonics, let’s find out what’s making it beat.” The captain knew better than to show his crew his uncertainty. Although his head was swarming with the realization of what they could be facing, he kept it to himself.

“Aye, Captain.”

The glowing central mass of the Trialen Patch loomed larger on the viewscreen as the distance between them and the patch closed, and Trialen filled the viewscreen, its folds and eddies flaying like a living organism. The ship’s forward sensors flickered in protest, momentarily blinded by surges of radiation

“Deflectors are holding steady,” Lieutenant Commander Mirel announced, her voice tight. The chief operations officer could go on and no about her concerns for the ship’s systems, as could the chief engineer. “Entering the outer boundary in twenty seconds.”

D’Antonio stood from his chair as he approached the forward stations. Looking over their shoulders. “All stations, secure for entry.” They crossed the threshold.

The Trialen Corridor.

An unstable passage through an unpredictable storm. The moment they breached, the ship shuddered. A deep, resonant vibration that rippled through the hull. The viewscreen flared white, then slowly cleared to reveal a corridor of swirling light stretching ahead into infinity. On either side, the plasma walls roiled in silence, lightning arcing through them like flames of a fire beneath glass.

“Maintain course and speed, Mr. Sheppard,” D’Antonio ordered softly. “Let’s try to keep her together. She’s still new.”

As the Typhoon advanced, its nav lights blinked in the dark as it dove deeper into the fray. Somewhere, deep within the storm, something pulsed back slowly, deliberately, almost sentient.