The Milano — Xandar Orbit
Morning — or what passed for morning in orbit — drifted slowly through the ship.
Golden light filtered through the cockpit windows, catching the dust motes that Rocket swore weren't his fault.
For once, the Milano wasn't screaming.
Rocket sat cross-legged on the counter, prying apart one of Drax's knives with a screwdriver.
"That weapon was a symbol of my vengeance," Drax rumbled.
"Yeah? Now it's a symbol of bad metallurgy," Rocket muttered without looking up.
Groot swayed in his planter, humming as soft lamplight fed his leaves.
Gamora leaned near the viewport, eyes half-closed, her reflection caught between stars and silence.
Peter wandered in last, hair a mess, clutching two mugs of questionable coffee.
He paused when he saw Max already awake, leaning against the corridor bulkhead, watching the planet turn below.
"You're up early," Peter said, passing him a mug.
Max smiled faintly. "Not used to sleeping through the quiet."
"Yeah, none of us are," Peter said. "Rocket snores, Drax recites death poetry, Groot photosynthesizes too loud. It's like living with a choir of broken engines."
"I do not snore," Rocket protested.
"You whimper like a dying jet thruster," Gamora shot back.
Drax nodded gravely. "He does."
Laughter rippled through the room — a strange, fragile music after so much noise.
For the first time since Xandar's fires went out, the ship felt alive.
Max drifted toward the viewport again. The glass caught his reflection — faint threads of silver-blue light pulsing under his skin, keeping time with the Milano's engines.
Peter leaned beside him. "You holding up okay?"
Max's gaze stayed on the stars. "Better, I think. It feels like… pieces of me are waking up. One at a time. It's loud, and empty, all at once."
Peter nodded. "Been there. It's weird, learning who you were when you finally get good people around you."
"You speaking from experience?"
Peter grinned. "Still don't remember who my dad is."
They laughed, but the sound faded as Max's eyes unfocused — pupils widening, light blooming behind them.
And then the ship vanished.
Dream Sequence — Fragment #3: The Astral Road
The stars stretched into golden ribbons — a highway threading through the void.
Vessels glided along it like phantoms, sleek and regal, bearing the twin-spiral crest of a forgotten empire.
Max stood on one of them. Younger. Steadier. Armor gleaming with the sigil of a stylized sun.
He knew the emblem; it was a gift — from a friend whose face the static refused to show.
"Still counting stars, Ja'em?"
The voice was calm, melodic, the kind that carried entire worlds in its gravity.
Max turned.
Before him stood a tall figure clad in light, not metal — robes that shimmered with every hue of dawn. His eyes were molten gold, and when he spoke again, the sound resonated like a bell struck through the soul.
"I am the Master of the Sun. You have walked this road before, child of Takion. Do you remember why?"
Max blinked. "You… know me?"
The being smiled. "I know all who have carried the spark. You were a bridge once — between flesh and flame, steel and soul. You are waking, but not whole. Beware what memories return first."
The dream wavered. The golden road flickered into battlefields, then into shattered glass cages.
The Master's voice persisted, a thread of calm in the chaos.
"When the crown returns, the stars will burn again. Seek balance, not vengeance."
Then his form fractured, replaced by another shape — a man in crimson-silver armor, eyes the color of dying suns, smiling as if he knew every secret of the galaxy.
"You," Max whispered. "I know you."
The man laughed. "Of course you do. You saved my son's life once… though you don't remember that, do you?"
Static roared. The ship around them cracked apart. The Collector's grin replaced the man's, sharp and mocking.
"Memories are currency, little prince," he hissed. "And yours are priceless."
The world folded into hexagons. Steel's voice cut through the noise:
^Wake up, Max. None of this is real. Wake up.^
A flare of blue-white light devoured everything.
The Milano — Reality
Max jerked upright, nearly spilling his drink.
Only Groot remained, softly humming in the planter.
His pulse thundered, energy sparking faintly along his arms.
Peter's voice came from the hatch. "Hey, man, you okay? You were out for like ten minutes. You mumbled something about a crown. And somebody's kid."
Max rubbed his face, trying to steady his breath. "Just fragments."
"Fragments of what?"
He stared out at the stars — the ones still real.
"Of someone I used to be. And someone I might've known."
Peter nodded slowly. "Well, if you figure it out before it starts blowing holes in my ship, let me know."
Max managed a ghost of a smile. "Deal."
Deadpool Meta-Cut
"Oh boy, dream dad AND cosmic mentor in the same chapter? Somebody call the Space Writers Guild, because we're officially in Act Two Identity Crisis territory. Next up: glowing swords, emotional breakthroughs, and at least one prophecy no one actually understands!"
Closing Beat
The Milano drifted from orbit, engines low and steady.
Xandar's light shrank behind them until it was just another star.
Max lingered by the viewport, eyes distant.
In the far dark, something pulsed — faint, rhythmic — a call buried beneath the static of space.
He touched the glass lightly, whispering the old name like a promise.
"Ma'ex Ja'em Mk'rah."
The hum of the ship answered — low, resonant, alive.