Providence: 2955

The year is 2955. The Frame Shift Drive’s invention in the late 25th century has democratized interstellar travel. Earth is now the seat of the Federation of Star Systems. Advertisements of megacorporations inhabit the stars. A breakaway colony of humanity has started its own regime, under a far more totalitarian flag: the Empire of Romulus. Beyond those two titans lies the Frontier—uncharted systems, independent stations, and outlaw worlds where no single flag flies for long. Trade lanes shimmer with the plasma trails of merchant convoys and smuggler frigates alike. Artificial intelligences hold corporate board seats. Entire moons are strip-mined in a day and discarded like refuse. In the shadows between the stars, whispers speak of something older than humanity awakening again. Pilots are the new aristocracy of destiny—licensed by federations and empires, bought by corporations, or sworn to no one but their own ship. Every jump to hyperspace is a wager: on fortune, on survival, on the future of civilization itself. Here, wealth is measured in cargo holds and combat kills. Power is brokered at the edge of a railgun. And freedom? Freedom is just another word for how long your engines can fly before running out of hyperjump fuel. Choose your allegiance—or reject them all. The stars are open. The cosmos is yours, commander.