The halls the students had entered now released them again — no longer as students, but as personnel. Among them were those who would pursue peace, and those who would fight simply to survive.

  Orin stepped down from the stands of the ceremonial hall, the hybrid seal on his document catching the light as he made his way toward the assignment wing he had been directed to report to — a place that, from this day forward, would become his second home.

  He slowed as he approached the designated hall, his gaze settling on the insignia mounted above the entrance — the mark of the unit he now belonged to.

  “You’re staring again.”

  Orin started and turned to find Ronan at his shoulder.

  Relief crossed his face before he could suppress it. Seeing his friend assigned to the same team meant he would not be stepping into the unknown alone.

  Beyond Ronan, two other familiar figures stood near the doorway — Jarek Thorne and Tavian Ward — both bearing the same unit insignia.

  So they had been placed together.

  A quiet satisfaction settled in his chest.

  “Looks like this is us,” Ronan said.

  Orin gave a small nod, then stepped forward with them toward the entrance.

  Together, they crossed the threshold to meet their leader.

  “If you’re done assembling outside my doorway,” a calm voice said from within, “you may enter.”

  The words came from their soon-to-be leader.

  They straightened instinctively and filed inside in a single line, coming to a halt before the central desk.

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  “Commander Mira Hall,” Ronan said, voice steady as they offered their greeting.

  Mira did not respond immediately.

  She was already reviewing their assignment files.

  One by one, her gaze moved across the documents — measured, efficient, unhurried. When she reached Orin’s file, her eyes paused briefly on the hybrid designation before continuing.

  Only after finishing did she set the slate aside and look up.

  Her expression did not change.

  “Over-excitement,” she said evenly, “is the most common cause of early death in exploration personnel.”

  The room stilled.

  “I have watched colleagues die because they were eager to see what lay beyond the threshold. Because they forgot that curiosity does not make you invulnerable.”

  Her gaze passed across each of them — then settled, for a fraction longer, on Orin.

  “You are no longer students,” she continued. “You are soldiers of this platoon and personnel under my command. Your life carries the same operational value as any other. That means you do not waste it attempting heroics.”

  A pause.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Commander,” they answered in unison.

  Mira held their gaze a moment longer, as if weighing the truth of their response rather than the sound of it. Satisfied — or at least unconcerned — she inclined her head once.

  “Good,” she said. “Then we will proceed under the assumption that you intend to survive.”

  She reached for the assignment slate again, activating the display between them. Rift coordinates, stabilization markers, and deployment vectors unfolded in cold blue light.

  “Exploration does not reward enthusiasm,” she continued. “It rewards discipline, patience, and the refusal to die when reality attempts to correct your presence.”

  Her eyes lifted once more — steady, unreadable.

  “You belong to that reality now.”

  Silence settled over the room, heavier than before.

  Orin felt the last trace of ceremony-day exhilaration fade from his chest, replaced by something quieter — steadier.

  Acceptance.

  This was no longer preparation.

  It was the beginning.

  Acceptance.

  This was no longer preparation.

  It was the beginning.