Everyone else felt it.
The hallways buzzed with tired energy. Cadets whispered about plans, packing, getting off-site. Even the instructors seemed a little less rigid, a little more human.
Kael tried to match it.
He sat at a table with Daniel and Annabelle during breakfast, half-listening as Daniel complained about train delays and rations.
Kael nodded when expected. Chewed his food without tasting it.
He was pretending.
He looked down at his tray.
The yolk on his plate shifted. For a moment, it spiraled. Not spun. Curled, like it had a center.
He blinked.
Gone.
StratSim training was brief. Most cadets were distracted, already checked out.
Kael stepped onto the sim platform.
He didn’t move.
But the simulation did.
The terrain shimmered. Walls shifted in anticipation. The system pulsed to the rhythm of his breath. As if waiting for him.
He looked up at the instructor.
The man was staring at the console. Watching the readings. Not speaking.
After a moment, he said, “System glitch. Move on.”
Kael walked off the platform.
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He didn’t look back.
After class, Kael went to Maintenance.
Elias’s hallway was dark.
The bay was open.
Empty.
No tools. No mug. No music. Just quiet. Too quiet.
Kael approached the internal access panel and typed in Elias’s ID.
Error: Technician Not Found.
He frowned.
Searched the roster. Searched again.
Nothing.
He found a janitor outside the north wing.
“Hey,” Kael said, “You seen Elias? The maintenance guy—older, scruffy, beard. Works late.”
The man paused. Looked confused.
“I don’t think we have anyone like that.”
Kael didn’t respond.
He went back to the lockers.
One unit at the end had its nameplate scratched out.
Inside was a rag. Faint burn marks. Smelled like oil and metal.
He stared into the dark locker.
The silence around it felt wrong.
He shut the door and walked away.
Later, in the main hall, everything felt off. Not broken. Not glitched. Just… layered.
He passed a security panel.
For one flicker of a second, it displayed his name:
KAEL VEYL – UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS – CODE ECHO-VY0L
Gone.
He stopped in front of a window. Saw his reflection.
Only it wasn’t his uniform.
It was the coat from the projection—Calderon’s coat.
The spiral emblem shimmered over his chest.
Then it was gone.
He didn’t react.
He just kept walking.
That afternoon, Kael sat alone in his room.
He opened his slate.
A folder sat open.
/.memory/cache/echo_vy0l/start_point.kael
He hadn’t opened it.
He didn’t remember creating it.
The timestamp was five days old.
He tapped it.
The slate glitched. Froze.
His vision tunneled.
Dark. Then light. Then nothing.
He came to a few seconds later.
Still in his room. Slate dark.
No file. Gone.
But the notes app was open.
Typed into the top line:
You were never meant to wake up empty.
Kael stared at the words.
He didn’t feel like himself.
He wasn’t sure what he felt like anymore.
In the evening, Kael walked into the atrium.
It was late. Quiet. The academy seemed asleep.
He liked it that way.
Students moved past, laughing about trip plans and pack lists.
Kael didn’t listen.
Until one girl stopped.
She was in his Systems class. Thin. Dark hair. Always kept to herself.
She looked at him.
Not at his face.
Through him.
She dropped her bag.
Then her knees.
Then she screamed.
“It’s in him—it’s in him—he wasn’t supposed to wake up!”
She collapsed.
Unconscious.
Instructors rushed in from the corridor.
The other students backed away in shock.
Kael didn’t move.
No one looked at him.
But her eyes—even closed—
Were still pointing at him.