Violet jolted awake, heart pounding as the emergency alert pulsed through her apartment walls. She threw off her camisole and began pressing the Trial Suit nodes onto her body, one by one. Each cold metallic disc clung to her warm skin, sending a shiver down her spine. As the final node locked in place, translucent membranes expanded and connected, forming a seamless second skin—sleek, reactive, and battle-ready.

  Outside, the night was tense and alive. Red and amber lights swept across the sky in rhythmic patterns, casting flickering shadows over the Academy citadel.

  The usual soft hum of the facility was now drowned out by the mechanical groans and hydraulic whines of orbital cannons and defense systems coming online. Massive turrets rotated into position, their silhouettes stark against the clouded sky, while automated platforms unfolded like steel flowers preparing to bloom.

  During a crisis, elevators in residential buildings are locked down—reserved strictly for medical evacuations. Recruits have to descend manually.

  The residential towers were equipped with vertical rails embedded into their outer surfaces, designed for rapid rappel deployment. Violet grabbed her descent gadget from the wall mount—a compact device that magnetically latched onto the rail and regulated speed.

  She climbed over the balcony railing, checked for descending recruits above, and jumped. Her movement resembled sliding down the wall with a blade pressed against it—using the descent gadget to guide and stabilize her fall with precision.

  Wind rushed past her as she dropped, the descent gadget humming softly to slow her fall. Around her, other recruits were doing the same—dark silhouettes gliding down the rails like synchronized shadows. The ground below was alive with motion.

  A personnel transport waited at the base of her building—a compact, roofless four-wheeled vehicle built for speed and maneuverability. Its design was utilitarian: two front seats for the driver and copilot, and two rear-facing rows of six seats each, allowing recruits to sit back-to-back with full visibility of their surroundings.

  Violet landed with a soft thud, disengaged her gadget, and scanned the crowd. She spotted Nina already seated, adjusting her gear. Without hesitation, Violet rushed forward and slid into the seat beside her, narrowly beating another recruit to it.

  “Hello again, Nina,” Violet said, fastening her harness.

  “Hey, long time no see,” Nina replied with a smirk.

  “Did you catch any sleep?” Violet asked, her voice still natural—until she slid her helmet on. The soft click of the seal activated her voice filter, giving her speech a faint electronic timbre.

  “Nope. Maybe a few minutes, but the alert snapped me out of it.”

  “I was just about to find my sweet spot in bed when it screamed,” Violet muttered, her tone half-annoyed, half-resigned.

  Nina glanced around, her own helmet now on. “You think it’s serious?”

  “They wouldn’t mobilize the entire Academy if it wasn’t,” Violet replied, eyes scanning the horizon.

  “Okay everyone, let’s get out of here!” the driver shouted, voice firm but tense. The vehicle lurched forward, tires screeching slightly as it turned and accelerated into the night.

  — ? —

  The ride was brief—five minutes at most. The transport sped past the towering residential blocks, their balconies and dim windows blurring into streaks of light. As they neared the RTS station, the scenery shifted—open platforms replaced courtyards, and the pavement took on a reinforced, utilitarian texture. The vehicle slowed to a halt amid a crowd of recruits, some clustered in quiet groups, others checking gear with practiced urgency.

  Low chatter filled the air, a mix of nervous energy and routine banter. But as the tension grew, voices began to fade into silence, replaced by encrypted transmissions. One by one, recruits switched to private comms.

  “Nina, let’s keep a private party until this is finished,” Violet said, her voice now filtered through the secure channel she initiated. “I want to be sure we’re both safe.”

  “Agreed,” Nina replied, double-checking her equipment with practiced precision.

  A commanding voice suddenly cut through the ambient noise, amplified by the station’s speakers. Both girls turned toward the source.

  “I am Star Force Soldier Giamant,” the man announced, standing tall near the boarding platform. “Each of you already knows which defense outpost you’re assigned to. Proceed to your designated cart. You’ll receive further instructions en route.”

  A recruit near the back raised his voice. “Why are you telling us this? The system already gives us enough info to go about.”

  “Because interference doesn’t ask permission,” Giamant replied calmly. “If your console goes blind, you follow the last audible order.”

  “Come on, even freshies can remember simple orders. Don’t patronize us,” another voice chimed in, laced with sarcasm.

  Giamant paused, then nodded. “Understood. Next voice I hear had better be a ‘Roger.’” He turned and walked toward the boarding platform, his boots echoing against the metal floor.

  Nina followed Violet closely as the crowd began to move, each recruit boarding their assigned cart with quiet urgency.

  “That was a little rude, don’t you think?” Nina asked, trying to break the silence. “Challenging the Star Force Soldier, I mean.”

  “Soldiers are just advanced recruits with more field time and a badge. Doesn’t make them untouchable,” Violet replied.

  “You’re probably right,” Nina added as she adjusted a loose strap. “And it is true that the console gives us everything in a nice interactive manner.”

  “Normally the console is enough… but when facing interference, redundancy matters,” Violet replied, her tone neutral.

  “Shouldn’t they apologize, then?” Nina asked naively.

  “If you’re not satisfied with the outcome, go ahead and give him a head pat. He might cheer up!” Violet teased, her voice lightening as she laughed quietly.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny,” Nina protested, playfully nudging her.

  “Hey, stop it. Our cart is here.”

  They stepped into the transport cart assigned to the southeast outpost. The interior was compact but efficient—rows of seats with harnesses, overhead compartments for gear, and a central console displaying route data and outpost status.

  “We’re lucky they assigned us to the same outpost,” Nina said as the gates closed behind them.

  “It has nothing to do with luck,” Violet replied. “We submitted a request last year, remember?”

  “What? You mean the one to participate in emergency drills together?” Nina asked, blinking in confusion.

  “It wasn’t just a drill request. We had to submit a transfer request to move your responsibilities into my sector. Recruits are assigned to sectors based on conscription timing, resource needs, and saturation levels. It’s all calculated.”

  “Oh… yeah. Sorry, I forgot about that,” Nina said, clearly more focused on the moment than the logistics. “I was just happy to do drills with my friend.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Violet smiled faintly. “Sometimes I think you’re just too gullible.”

  “Hey! Don’t say that. I know what matters, and I know how the Academy works. I just find it hard to remember all the boring stuff,” Nina pouted.

  “Right… boring stuff,” Violet sighed, her gaze drifting toward the cart’s window as the vehicle began to move.

  — ? —

  The cart shifted lines and passed several stations, its magnetic rails humming softly beneath them. Outside the reinforced windows, the Academy’s infrastructure blurred past—armored corridors, automated checkpoints, and distant silhouettes of defense towers coming online. After roughly five minutes, the cart slowed and docked at its destination with a hiss of pressurized air.

  As the doors slid open, Violet and Nina stepped out into a wide courtyard bathed in pale emergency lighting. The air was cool and still, but tension hung heavy. Recruits gathered in formation, their suits reflecting the white glow of tall slick lamps that surrounded the place.

  “Attention!” barked an officer standing near the atrium.

  From behind him, a tall figure emerged—his presence commanding silence. The General stepped onto the stage, his uniform crisp, his expression unreadable.

  He was a man in his mid-40s. A thin Trial Suit membrane showed beneath his uniform from the neck down—a quiet sign he was ready to suit up the moment necessity arose.

  Introductions were rare during announcements. Every Star Force soldier had access to real-time identification data through their suit’s HUD, making formalities unnecessary. But this time, the speaker chose to make himself known.

  “I am General Zhang Foi,” he began, his voice firm and resonant. “I’m in charge of the defense of the southeast region of the Academy grounds. At 2000 hours, an unidentified object appeared near the outer borders of our system. It’s enveloped in an energy field that renders it invisible to most conventional observation tools. Simultaneously, our Source Monitoring System detected a regional Source density anomaly—likely a correlated signal triggered by the object’s presence.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd.

  “The anomaly’s signature doesn’t match any known Source-density pattern. It’s as if the object is interacting with the Source plane in a way we haven’t seen before.”

  Violet’s eyes narrowed behind her visor. A Source density anomaly?

  “As per protocol, we launched probes to observe the object at close range. Each of them was neutralized instantly upon crossing a 10,000-kilometer boundary, their signals cut mid-transmission—suggesting a directed energy weapon or advanced shielding disruption.”

  The recruits stood still, absorbing every word.

  “We believe the object is a vessel—possibly carrying hostile forces. Its current trajectory intersects with Tharos-5’s natural orbit; it isn’t random—it’s calculated, as if testing our response time.”

  Gasps and whispers broke out, quickly silenced by the General’s next words.

  “The Academy possesses the means to intercept the threat using our orbital cannons. However, the vessel has demonstrated the ability to alter speed and direction with incredible precision, likely to avoid direct hits. It may decelerate and position itself for deployment.”

  He paused, letting the weight of the situation settle.

  “While the possibility remains small, a confrontation between our forces and theirs could occur. As stipulated in your Academy contracts, you are obligated to defend.”

  Violet’s pulse quickened. She clenched her fists, the weight of her training pressing against the uncertainty ahead.

  “All recruits assigned to this outpost will take defensive positions in designated sectors. Engage any entity that does not belong to our organization. You will receive specifics via your console, including squad assignments and deployment zones.”

  The General’s voice grew firmer.

  “Follow your orders. Execute them flawlessly. You’ve trained for this moment. The Star Force Academy will not fall.”

  “Dismissed.”

  The courtyard buzzed with quiet urgency. Recruits checked their consoles, confirmed assignments, and began moving toward their designated sectors.

  Who would be foolish enough to attack the Star Force? Violet thought, her mind racing.

  “Violet!” Nina’s voice broke through the private comms channel.

  “Ah? What is it, Nina?”

  “Which team are you on?”

  Violet scanned her console. “Team 9. You?”

  “Team 11,” Nina replied, her voice dipping slightly. “Where are you assigned?”

  “A park near some residential buildings in sector F4.”

  “I’m assigned to the Southeast T&C Material Transfer Hub…”

  Violet frowned. “We’ll be a bit far from each other. But if things go south, we could meet halfway.”

  “Don’t say that, Violet. I’m sure everything will be fine,” Nina said, trying to mask her unease.

  Violet softened her tone. “You’re probably right.”

  They exchanged a final glance before parting ways, each following their squad leader into the looming uncertainty. Around them, the other teams did the same—dispersing into the night, ready to defend the Academy.

  — ? —

  Before deployment, each recruit passed through the gear station—one final stop before stepping into the unknown.

  Violet scanned the rows of equipment, the General’s words still echoing in her mind. She didn’t know what form the threat would take, but she felt its weight pressing against her thoughts. Her fingers hovered over familiar weapons, guided by instinct and muscle memory.

  Recruits had access to a broad range of gear, tailored to their specialties. Violet, known for her precision and agility, favored close-range weapons—energy swords, pistols, and submachine guns. She didn’t hesitate. She knew what she wanted.

  There it is, she thought.

  Her hand closed around the hilt of a Fauna Energy Sword, a classic model prized for its reliability and balance. Its three-section telescopic blade housed a single energy channel along the edge, extending from 30 centimeters to a full 120.

  A blend of polymers and metallic alloys formed the core structure, while superconductive inserts and microelectronics regulated the plasma flow—burning stored gases in customizable hues.

  Dark grey and black tints kept the weapon discreet when inactive, ideal for stealth operations. But once activated, the blade’s glow betrayed its presence—a tradeoff Violet had long accepted.

  She clipped the Fauna to her belt, its familiar weight grounding her. It was her most mastered weapon. Alongside it, she took a standard carbine—issued by direct order to cover mid-to-long range engagements. It wasn’t her style, but protocol demanded versatility.

  Around her, the rest of the team moved through the gallery, selecting their preferred and mandatory gear. Each had a role to fulfill, and their choices reflected it—tools for breaching, suppression, support, or reconnaissance.

  Violet glanced toward the far end of the station, half expecting to see Nina’s silhouette among the crowd. Her friend would be gearing up too—probably hauling that oversized kinetic cannon she loved so much. They couldn’t be more different in combat, but that difference had saved them more than once.

  Nina was a flexible all-rounder. She had mastered most standard-issue weapons and could shift between roles as needed. Though she preferred distance, she never hesitated to close the gap when required.

  Her favorite gear included heavy weaponry—machine guns, sniper rifles, missile launchers, and even stationary cannons. She was often seen lugging a massive kinetic machine gun, her steps marked by the rhythmic clink of ammo boxes strapped to her gear.

  Specialized equipment—explosives, launchers, heavy weapons, and tactical systems—was reserved for certified operators who had passed rigorous qualifications. The Academy maintained a careful balance between specialization and adaptability to ensure operational flexibility.

  Violet was classified as a close-combat specialist. Her speed and precision made her ideal for assassinations, pursuits, ambushes, and tactical strikes. Though often deployed solo, she could integrate into small units when needed. While capable of standard ground operations, her true value lay in her adaptability and surgical execution.

  Violet secured the last strap on her gear and took a steady breath. Around her, the team was finishing up—checking weapons, syncing comms, and preparing for deployment.

  She glanced once more toward the exit, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of Nina before they were sent off, but her friend was nowhere to be found—probably long gone, already moving toward her own assignment.

  The call to move came through the comms, crisp and final.

  Violet climbed into the armored transport with her squad, the doors sealing shut behind them. As the vehicle hummed to life, she found herself wondering—Will Nina be waiting in the lounge again when this is over? She always did, legs swinging over the bench, gear half-unstrapped, teasing Violet for being the last one out.

  She hoped that moment would come again.

  — ? —

  After a brief ride in an armored transport, Violet’s team arrived at their assigned destination. The squad deployed across a sprawling, multi-level park nestled between residential towers—one of several social hubs designed to offer natural respite from the Academy’s structured intensity. These parks served as communal spaces where recruits and staff could unwind, reflect, or connect beyond duty.

  Benches lined winding stone paths shaded by tall, naturally grown trees—some native to Tharos-5, others artificially cultivated. Their leaves rustled softly in the breeze, casting dappled shadows across the ground. Kiosks stood idle, their holographic menus flickering faintly in standby mode.

  Fountains bubbled quietly, and recreational structures—climbing frames, training rings, and meditation alcoves—stood as silent witnesses to the sudden shift from peace to preparation. The calm was deceptive; beneath it, tension simmered. Orders came quickly.

  “All right! You have your assigned positions marked on your mini-map. Go and await further orders!” barked the team leader.

  He was a lean, sharp-eyed officer named Erick Thompson. A heavy-caliber revolver rested in a holster at his side, contrasting with the standard-issue carbine slung across his back. Tactical gear hung from reinforced belts and armor plates, each pouch and module placed with precision. Atop his helmet, a pair of long-range observation goggles sat ready—poised to deploy the moment reconnaissance was needed.

  Most of the company carried varied equipment, but the majority were outfitted for long-range support roles.

  “Violet, you will only engage when I give the order. Maintain radio silence,” Thompson instructed through the comms.

  “Roger,” Violet replied, her voice calm and filtered.

  “Hey… isn’t she the Violet Gleam?” someone whispered, forgetting that comms could still pick up faint transmissions.

  Violet stiffened. The comment echoed in her mind, stirring memories of similar whispers—moments when her name became a spotlight she never asked for.

  Again… they talk about me. Why? What do they expect?

  Her fingers tightened slightly around her weapon. The familiar unease crept in—not from battle, but from attention. She preferred the silence of action, not the noise of recognition.

  “Do not misuse communication channels,” Thompson snapped, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Use them only as a last resort. Rely on your Communication and Navigation Assistant—it ensures the transmission and display of useful data.”

  Violet exhaled slowly, centering herself. She wasn’t here to be admired. She was here to act—to move with purpose, not attention.

  — ? —

  Erick Thompson paced slowly around his position, scanning the team with sharp, calculating eyes. Each step landed heavier than the gear strapped to their armor.

  “I only want to hear ‘Roger’ after a command,” he said, voice firm and deliberate.

  “Roger!” the squad echoed in unison, their voices clipped and tense.

  Thompson paused, then spoke again—this time with a weight that shifted the air. “The hostile vessel will reach the orbital hit-zone in two minutes. Expect loud detonations.”

  The words hung in the air like a countdown to inevitability.

  Exactly two minutes later, the distant thunder of orbital cannons began. The ground trembled softly beneath their boots, a low, rhythmic rumble that resonated through the park’s stone paths and echoed off the residential towers. The sky lit up in bursts of brilliant blue as energized salvos pierced the clouds, streaking upward like spears of light.

  Violet’s breath caught in her throat. She watched the sky, her visor filtering the glare, her heart thudding in sync with each detonation.

  “Hits have been confirmed,” Thompson reported. “The vessel is decreasing speed and altering course.”

  A wave of anticipation rippled through the recruits. No one spoke, but the tension was palpable—like static before a lightning strike.

  “The vessel is expected to stop short at the boundaries of the exosphere,” Thompson continued. “Orbital cannons will no longer be effective at that distance. Aerial defenses will engage next. If anything manages to land… we take care of it.”

  He paused, then added with grim clarity, “I don’t want to suffer any losses. Do your best—and stay alive.”

  The company remained still; eyes locked on the night sky. The park around them—once a place of peace—now felt like a stage awaiting chaos. The trees rustled in the wind, fountains gurgled quietly, and the moons cast a pale glow over the Academy grounds.

  “There it is!” someone shouted, breaking the silence.

  Violet’s gaze snapped upward. The sky was partially clouded, the moons bright and indifferent. And then she saw it.

  A blurry, gray-and-black mass hovered above—its shape obscured by a shimmering energy field. Red lights blinked across its surface like warning signals. It resembled a hollowed meteor, repurposed into a stellar warship. Its presence was wrong—unnatural, like a wound in the sky.

  “Here they come!” another voice cried out.

  Bright flashes appeared—smaller objects piercing the atmosphere like falling stars. Their descent was rapid, deliberate, and unmistakably hostile.

  Violet and the rest tracked three of the falling objects, their descent paths converging toward the southeast city section like silent omens.

  Crimson arcs traced their descent across her visor, but her focus turned inward—to the pressure building in her chest, the quiet dread that settled beneath her armor like cold mist.

  She inhaled slowly, as if the breath itself could anchor her to the moment.

  Her fingers found the hilt of her retracted sword, curling around it with reverence. It wasn’t just a reflex—it was a ritual, a tether to clarity. The familiar grip steadied her pulse, even as the sky above whispered of violence.

  She didn’t know what they were. She only knew they were coming—and she would be there to meet them.

  — ? —