The Silent Verdict hummed, a vibration that felt less like a machine running and more like a predator purring in its sleep.

  Riven sat on the edge of the hangar bay containment field, legs dangling over an infinite drop of streaking stars. He held his baton.

  Flick. Hum. Snap.

  The metal grew warm, tried to expand, and was choked back into submission.

  Flick. Hum. Snap.

  You are going to break your lance, Astrix projected. She was a sprawling shadow on the deck behind him, chin resting on her paws. Or you will give me a migraine. One of the two.

  “I’m checking the mechanism,” Riven lied. He didn’t turn around. “That’s all.”

  You are lying. Her mental voice was dry, bored. You are replaying the simulation. You are thinking about the eye of the Green-Scale popping.

  Riven stopped. His thumb hovered over the activation stud. “It looked at me, Astrix. It wasn’t a bug. It had... it had a soul. And I put a lance through it.”

  It was code, Astrix countered. Ones and zeros wrapped in a texture pack.

  “But the next one won’t be.” Riven stared into the void. “I joined the Academy to be a Lancer. To be the guy on the poster. I didn’t think the ‘monsters’ I’d be killing were the things I grew up worshipping.”

  Do not mistake biology for morality. The thought was sharp, like a claw against stone. Wild Dragons would eat you, Riven. They would eat me for letting you ride me. If you hesitate because you think we are kin, you will die.

  “Easy for you to say.” Riven forced a grin, though it felt brittle. “You weigh four tons. I’m just a squishy human with a glow-stick.”

  You are deflecting with humor.

  “It’s not deflecting. It’s part of my charm.”

  “Hey! Dust Boy!”

  The shout bounced off the drop-ship hull. Riven winced. Vex was marching across the deck plates. She’d ditched the DAIR suit for a tank top that showed off the crimson scales crawling up her neck.

  Riven blinked. He usually only saw her in bulky armor or the flight suit. He hadn’t realized how defined her arms were. The scales on her shoulders shimmered under the hangar lights, looking less like a mutation and more like jewelry.

  She looked dangerous. But she also looked... striking.

  Stop staring, Astrix snapped in his head. It is rude. And your heart rate just jumped. Are you having a panic attack?

  “No,” Riven thought back quickly. “Startled. She’s loud.”

  Vex slammed a plastic crate filled with bottles onto a nearby ammo container. Behind her, Raze exhaled a cloud of steam that smelled like burning hickory.

  “Stop calling me that,” Riven said, standing up and clipping the baton to his belt. He tried to look casual, but he felt suddenly conscious of his messy hair. “I sound like a cleaning appliance.”

  “Then stop sitting in the dark like a gothic poet,” Vex shot back. She walked right up to him, invading his personal space with the ease of someone who didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She poked him hard in the chest. “Seriously. ‘Oh, the void, it beckons.’ You’re bumming Raze out.”

  I am not bummed, Raze rumbled in Riven’s head. I am merely hungry.

  “I was meditating,” Riven tried, stepping back slightly.

  “You were pouting.” Vex grabbed his arm. Her grip was iron, but her hand warm against his bicep. Riven felt a strange heat flush up his neck that had nothing to do with the humidity. “Come on. Halloway raided the Officer’s Mess. We’ve got the good stuff, and Tora found some ancient arcade emulator. We are legally obligated to have fun.”

  “I should prep for the full platoon drills—”

  “Regulations, Section 4, Paragraph 2,” Vex interrupted, dragging him toward the door. She was physically towing him, hip-checking him as they walked. “Thou shalt not be a buzzkill.”

  Go, Astrix nudged him mentally, standing up and stretching like a massive cat. If we stay here, your fluctuating hormones will annoy me further.

  The Rec Room was really just Cargo Hold 4 with better lighting.

  The squad had turned it into a living room. Brick was on a crate, stripping a heavy bolter with his eyes closed. Sylas was asleep on a couch, Halo floating above him like a nightlight. Tora was vibrating in front of a holo-table, manic energy pouring off her.

  “Fresh meat!” Tora cheered.

  “I brought the rookie,” Vex announced, kicking the crate of bottles onto the table. “And the booze. Raze, do not trigger the sprinklers.”

  It was a faulty sensor, the red dragon grumbled, curling up in the corner. Once.

  “What are we playing?” Riven asked, leaning against the wall.

  “Quick Draw,” Tora beamed, pointing at the pixelated cowboys on the display. “Tests reaction time. Winner stays on. Loser drinks.”

  “Since you’re the math wizard,” Vex smirked, popping a bottle cap off with her thumb in a terrifying display of strength, and handing the drink to him. Her fingers brushed his as she passed the bottle. “We figured you could calculate the pixels.”

  “I’m okay,” Riven said, taking the bottle. He caught a whiff of her scent over the ozone of the ship—something like gun oil and cinnamon. It wasn’t unpleasant. “I’m okay.”

  “Five credits says I smoke him,” Tora yelled.

  “Ten on the rookie,” Brick grunted, eyes still closed.

  “I’m not betting,” Riven said quickly.

  The room paused. The ambient hum of the ship seemed to get louder.

  “Why not?” Vex tilted her head, bottle halfway to her lips. A stray lock of red hair fell over her eyes, and she blew it away impatiently. “You didn’t blow your signing bonus already, did you? What did you buy, a platinum toothbrush?”

  Riven stiffened. He took a sip. It burned, grounding him. “No. I just... I don’t gamble.”

  “Don’t be stingy,” Vex nudged him with her shoulder. She stayed leaning there, a solid, warm weight against his side. “Inquisition pays top tier. Throw a chip in.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Riven looked at them. Tora, grinning. Brick, steady. Vex, pressing against him, smelling like trouble.

  “I don’t have a signing bonus,” Riven said.

  Vex pulled back, blinking. “What? Everyone gets a bonding bonus. It’s automatic.”

  “Not for me.” Riven kept his eyes on the holo-cowboys. “Halloway said since I applied via the Military Scholar Program, I don’t get the cash. And I owe five years service to pay back the Academy tuition.”

  “Bullshit,” Kaelo piped up from the corner. “The Scholar Program tracks you for Officer School. You should be a Lieutenant, not a Private.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Riven said dryly. “Astrix picked me, I got on the ship. That’s it.”

  “Hold on.” Vex set her bottle down. Her eyes narrowed, turning serious. “You’re telling me you came from a mining colony, with no sponsor, no money, and somehow got into the Imperial Academy? That’s... that’s impossible. Who paid for your ticket to Terra?”

  Riven swirled the amber liquid in his bottle. He could feel Astrix’s presence in his mind, a wall of cool obsidian trying to shield him.

  You do not have to tell them, she whispered. It hurts you.

  “I got a scholarship,” Riven said.

  “From who?” Tora asked. “The High Houses don’t give money to dust born.”

  “If he doesn’t want to say, drop it,” Brick rumbled.

  “No, I want to know,” Vex pressed. She stepped closer, her voice dropping the teasing edge. She put a hand on his shoulder, “Riven, where are you actually from?”

  The touch grounded him. Riven sighed. The alcohol made his tongue loose. “P-19. Paranthax.”

  Silence. Absolute, heavy silence.

  “Most people call it the Vinidean Mutation Incident,” Tora whispered.

  “Vinideans?” Vex frowned.

  “Imagine an apex predator that can hunt even dragons for sport,” Riven said, staring at the bottle in his hand. “Imagine it eats psychic energy and the only thing that stops it is the sun and one day it decides your sun isn’t bright enough to stop it.”

  The room temperature seemed to drop.

  “That... that would be a massacre,” Kaelo breathed.

  “It was,” Brick said softly. “Nothing came off the surface alive. Nothing.”

  “One thing did,” Riven corrected.

  Vex stared at him. Her hand was still on his shoulder. Her thumb traced a small, unconscious circle against his collarbone. Riven wasn’t sure if she realized she was doing it. He certainly noticed.

  “How?” she asked.

  “My brother. He drew it away.” Riven shrugged, a jerky motion. “I lived like a rat for a year until a Lancer patrol scanned the ruins. No bonus. No rank. Dorian Vane made sure I paid for every breath I took. I assume he’s the reason I’m broke.”

  The silence stretched out again. But it wasn’t awkward this time. It was the silence of soldiers realizing the person standing next to them had walked through hell before boot camp even started.

  “That is...” Vex picked up her bottle with her free hand. She looked at it, then at Riven. She squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting go. Riven immediately missed the contact. “That is absolute horseshit.”

  “The story?”

  “No. The Academy.” Vex raised the bottle. Her eyes were fierce. “To your brother. And to screwing the Highborns.”

  Brick raised his flask. “To screwing the Highborns.”

  “To screwing them!” Tora cheered.

  Riven clinked his bottle against Vex’s. Their fingers brushed again. She grinned at him, a crooked, dangerous thing that made his stomach flip.

  Your cortisol levels are dropping, Astrix noted dryly. But your dopamine is spiking. This is a distraction, Riven.

  “It’s camaraderie,” Riven thought back.

  It is biology, Astrix huffed. Gross.

  “Right.” Vex slammed her empty bottle down and pointed a finger at his chest. “Trauma dumping over. If you don’t beat Tora’s high score, I’m going to bully you relentlessly.”

  Riven smiled. A real, genuine crack in the armor.

  He stepped up to the console and cracked his knuckles.

  “Ready when you are,” Riven said.

  The holographic countdown flashed in the air between them. 3... 2... 1...

  DRAW.

  It was over before Tora’s finger even twitched.

  Bang.

  “Player Two Wins,” the computer chimed.

  Tora stared at the screen. “That… that glitched! You moved before the pixel changed!”

  “I didn’t think about it,” Riven said, taking a celebratory swig. The alcohol hit his head faster this time, a pleasant buzzing. “I just pulled the trigger. If you wait to see it, you’re already dead.”

  “Nerd!” Vex shouted, laughing. She shoved Tora out of the way and hip-checked Riven, nearly knocking him over. She grabbed his arm to steady him, laughing loudly right in his ear. “Move over, sparky. Let the big dogs eat.”

  Vex stepped up. Raze lifted his head. Do not lose, he rumbled. It would be embarrassing.

  “Shut up, lizard,” Vex muttered. She locked eyes with Riven. “Alright, Dust Boy. Just speed.”

  The game became a blur. They played ten rounds. Riven took the first three. Vex took the next four. She was a tactile player. When she lost, she punched his arm. When she won, she grabbed his shoulder and shook him. At one point, she laughed so hard she leaned her entire weight against him, her head resting on his chest for a fleeting second.

  Riven stood rigid, terrified to move, terrified she’d notice how fast his heart was beating.

  You are holding your breath, Astrix observed. You are going to pass out.

  “I’m fine,” Riven thought.

  You are infatuated, I can feel it. She is loud and aggressive and smells like combustion. I do not understand the appeal.

  By the time they collapsed onto the couches, the crate was half empty. Riven leaned back into the worn leather. The room tilted pleasantly to the left.

  “Here,” Brick grunted, handing him a fresh bottle.

  “Thanks, Brick.”

  Brick sat down heavily. “My village was near a fault line. We worshipped the mountain. Thought if we were quiet, it wouldn’t shake.”

  The room quieted.

  “It shook anyway,” Brick continued. “Bastion dug me out. Took him three days.” Brick clinked his bottle against Riven’s. “Silence doesn’t save you. Being strong enough to hold up the roof does. You held up the roof today, kid.”

  Riven stared at him, blinking slowly. “Thanks, Brick.”

  “He likes you,” Kaelo whispered, sliding onto the couch next to Riven. “I think... I think we all get it. In different ways.”

  Vex snorted from across the room. She was lying upside down on an armchair, her legs dangling over the back, her shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of scarred skin on her stomach. Riven quickly looked away, taking a long drink.

  “You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over, Holt,” Vex slurred slightly, waving a hand at him. “But you fight like a badger on stims.”

  “A badger?” Riven raised an eyebrow.

  “A sexy badger,” Tora giggled from the floor.

  Vex threw a cushion at Tora. “Shut up, Tora.” She looked back at Riven, her eyes half-lidded and hooded. “But yeah. You’re alright, Holt.”

  She reached out with her foot and poked his knee. She didn’t pull her foot back.

  Riven felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He closed his eyes for a second, letting the feeling wash over him.

  Do not fall asleep, Astrix warned. Someone is coming.

  The door to the cargo hold hissed open.

  The laughter died instantly. Tora scrambled up. Vex rolled off the chair, stumbling slightly before finding her footing.

  Sergeant Phillean stood in the doorway. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He scanned the room slowly. He looked at Riven, who was slouching with a bottle in his hand.

  “Well,” Phillean’s voice was low gravel. “This is cozy.”

  “Sergeant,” Vex stood up, snapping to a wobbly attention. She swayed, and instinctively reached out, grabbing Riven’s shoulder to steady herself. Riven steadied her, “We were just... team building.”

  “Historical simulation,” Phillean repeated, looking at the arcade machine. “Is that what we’re calling getting drunk on contraband?”

  He walked in, picked up a bottle, and read the label. “Old Earth Amber. High sugar. Twenty percent alcohol. Disgraceful.”

  He looked at them. “We jump for the Fringe in less than four hours. People die in the Fringe.”

  Riven felt the cold stone of sobriety drop into his stomach.

  “And I walk in here,” Phillean continued, “and find my strike team smelling like a brewery.”

  “Sergeant,” Riven started, stepping forward to shield Vex slightly. “This was my fault. I—”

  “Quiet, Holt,” Phillean snapped.

  He sighed. A long, weary sound.

  “You’re all idiots,” Phillean muttered.

  Then, he reached into the crate, pulled out a fresh bottle, and drained a third of it in one go.

  “But,” Phillean grunted, collapsing onto the empty armchair next to Sylas. “If you’re going to break regulations, at least invite your commanding officer.”

  The tension snapped.

  “You... you aren’t mad?” Kaelo squeaked.

  “I’m furious,” Phillean said, kicking his feet up. “But I hate paperwork.” He pointed the bottle at Vex. “Pass me the chips.”

  “I told you they’d be fine,” a smooth voice drifted in.

  Quartermaster Halloway strolled in, carrying a second crate. “I prefer the term ‘Morale Officer.’ And looking at them...” He glanced at Riven, who was sinking back onto the couch. Vex flopped down next to him, her thigh pressing against his. She didn’t move away. “I’d say mission accomplished.”

  Halloway walked over and offered Riven a flask. “Try this, kid. Pure star-grain.”

  Riven took a sip. It was smooth.

  “Thanks, Halloway.”

  Phillean clapped his hands. “Alright. Four hours before we jump. Finish your drinks. Get your laughs in. Because once we hit the Fringe, the party is over. Understood?”

  “Yes Sergeant,” the squad chorused.

  Riven raised his flask. He looked at Vex. She turned to him, her eyes bright and glassy. She nudged his knee with hers again.

  She is also inebriated, Astrix complained, though her tone was resigned. Both of you are foolish.

  “It’s nice,” Riven thought.

  You are hopeless.

  Riven leaned his head back. Astrix rested her chin gently on top of his head. He felt the warmth of the dragon above him, and the warmth of Vex beside him.

  For the first time in a very, very long time. Riven felt at home.

  “Yeah,” Riven whispered into the rim of his flask. “I think I am.”