ozone disco

John Silva only ever wanted one thing: to see what lay beyond his childhood horizon. That dream took him to space—a lone astronaut aboard a deep-space vessel, finally free. But during a routine sleep cycle, he wakes to chaos. Alarms are silent. Crewmates are gone. Outside his viewport, a black hole and a white hole spiral toward each other in a perfect, impossible dance. The Symmetry. He has seconds to run. No one to warn. No escape pod. When the two forces collide, light itself bends backward. Time snaps like a dry bone. And John Silva—astronaut, dreamer, searcher—ceases to exist. He wakes coughing dust. Gone is the hum of the ship. Gone is the weightlessness. Around him: a sun-scorched plain, the smell of horse sweat, and a crude blade at his throat. Somehow, impossibly, he's landed in the Middle Ages—in a lawless far-west land that never made it into any history book. His spacesuit is rags. His knowledge is useless. But the Symmetry isn't done with him. Because the black hole took something from him. And the white hole left something behind. Something that's beginning to wake up.