Excavation Camp
The Council fleet broke the clouds in silence. Orbit filled with hard lines of metal, the ships moving into a wide defensive pattern. Below, the first wave of drop-ships pierced the atmosphere. Their descent lit the sky in streaks of fire, trails cutting through the thin clouds until the thunder rolled across the valley.
From the edge of camp, Niri tilted her head back. Through the haze, she caught glimpses of their vertical descent—massive hulls slowing with bursts of white heat, angling down toward the designated landing zone. The clouds glowed red above them, the light spilling across the battered camp.
Cadets and personnel broke into cheers. Voices rose, weak at first, then louder, carrying across the smoke and ruins. Shoulders straightened, faces turned upward, relief carving deep into lines that had been locked in silence since the blackout. The sound spread in waves, nervous laughter cutting through the fear.
Only Niri's group stayed quiet. They stood together, still as stone, the tension winding tighter between them. None of them moved to cheer. None lifted their faces to the sky with the same hope.
The remnants of the Grounx legion moved ahead, forming up in hard lines. What was left of their armor still gleamed under smoke, battered but serviceable. They shifted into position at the landing zone, weapons drawn, vectors secured with disciplined efficiency.
"Looks like our ride's here," Ronan muttered at Niri's side. His voice carried the edge of a grin, but his eyes stayed hard. He flicked his broken stick away into the dirt. "Wonder if they'll bother asking for tickets."
Niri glanced at him, searching his expression. She wasn't sure if he was joking or warning. He didn't explain.
Professor Lu'Ka approached, stride firm, cloak heavy with dust. His eyes swept across them once before he spoke.
"The time has come. All cadets must form into rows as evacuation protocol dictates."
He stopped in front of Niri, holding out a folded packet. Papers—thin, stiff, sealed with Council markings.
"Take these. Hand them to the verification officer. They'll process you for transfer. Wait for the Chancellor's ship over there." He pointed past the landing zone, to a strip of cleared ground marked with signal beacons. "The Kaleid One will land there."
Niri took the papers without a word. The seal felt heavy in her hand.
"Let's move," Lu'Ka ordered.
Across the camp, cadets fell into lines. Dust shifted under boots, chatter fading into the sharp bark of commands. The first drop-ships touched down in clouds of heat and smoke. Their massive hatches groaned open, lowering into ramps that struck the ground with a deep clang.
The Council's army poured out. Rows of soldiers—Grounx, Vari, Ascari, and others—marched in full armor. Plating gleamed in the smoke, crest symbols stamped across chest and pauldron. Each held plasma rifles at the ready, movements sharp, precise. They spread fast, perimeter snapping into place with the practiced rhythm of a machine.
Then came the officers. No armor, no rifles. They wore tailored uniforms marked with insignia, designs shifting by species—broad-shouldered Grounx in black and gold, insectile Trass with chitin worked into their sleeves, scaled Khary in dark green with high collars. Each carried a verification pad.
They moved down the rows, slow, methodical, scanning bands, reading files, checking every face against the records. One by one, cadets were cleared and directed into the ships. One by one, the lines moved forward.
The cheers had faded now. What remained was order. Cold, grinding orderr.
Niri held her spot in the line. The row stretched in both directions, cadets shifting nervously, shoulders brushing against hers. Most whispered under their breath, murmurs of relief or shaky laughter when the soldiers passed. She stayed silent. Eyes down. Waiting.
The rows crawled forward, the officers moving methodically with their verification pads. Bands beeped, records lit across screens, cadets saluted and were waved toward the drop-ships. The rhythm repeated again and again—clean, efficient, impersonal.
When the officer finally reached her, Niri looked up. Ascari—long limbs, plated skin that shimmered faintly under the haze. His narrow eyes scanned for her wristband. She didn't lift her arm. Instead, she held out the folded packet Lu'Ka had given her.
The movement broke the rhythm.
The officer froze for half a breath, thrown by the paper in her hand. Around them, the line shuffled, a few cadets staring before snapping their eyes forward again.
The Ascari took the packet. His claws clicked faintly against the seal as he opened it. He read quickly, expression flat but with the faintest crease tugging at his brow. His gaze flicked from the text to her face, lingered, then dropped back to the paper.
The pause stretched long enough that she felt her heartbeat in her throat.
Finally, he exhaled and straightened. His voice came clipped, formal.
"Verification completed. You are assigned to the designated area. Wait for the Council ship."
He handed the papers back.
Niri took them without a word. She stepped out of the line, boots scuffing the dirt. The others kept moving forward, cadets peeled off one by one into the drop-ships, swallowed by the waiting Council soldiers.
She walked away alone, toward the strip of cleared ground marked with signal beacons—the place where the Kaleid One was supposed to land.
The air felt thinner there, apart from the lines and the noise. Just the smoke, the red glow of engines overhead, and the heavy silence that followed her steps.Niri didn't wait long. The familiar outline cut through the haze before the sound reached her—the Kaleid One.
Elegant even under the ash sky, its hull slid down in controlled silence, engines bending the air until dust kicked in spirals across the marked zone. The ship settled with a low, steady hum, landing struts sinking into the churned ground.
The forward hatch split open with a hydraulic hiss. First came the Grounx personnel, armored Council guards bearing the Academy crest across their chest plates. They formed a rigid path down the ramp, rifles angled low but ready, helmets locking their faces in steel silence.
And then—behind them—a figure stepped into view. Not armored. Not military.
He was tall, his build long and spare, movements precise without wasted motion. His skin was a mottled gray, pale green veins running faintly under the surface, branching up his neck like roots pressing against the skin. Gloves of black synthcloth covered his hands, the fabric gleaming faintly under the floodlights.
Niri's chest tightened. She knew him.
Mr. Rout. Her doctor.
He moved down the ramp without hesitation, eyes sweeping across the waiting cadets, but they locked on her the moment he spotted her apart from the rows.
"Good evening, Miss Niri," he said, voice level, calm as ever.
Niri swallowed and nodded. "Good evening, Mr. Rout."
He stopped a step in front of her, gaze flicking over her from head to toe. His eyes were trained, professional, searching for injuries she hadn't bothered to hide.
"I see you've been working," he said quietly. "Are you injured?"
"I'm fine," she answered, sharper than she meant to.
He inclined his head slightly, accepting the words without argument. "Very well." His gloved hand gestured toward the open ramp. "Come inside. We leave immediately. The Chancellor is waiting for you."
Her stomach cramped, sharp and twisting. The words pressed heavier than the gravity around her. She understood, clear as iron—the moment she stepped inside that ship, her path was sealed. What came next would decide everything.
For a heartbeat, she stayed still. Then she shifted the papers tighter in her grip and walked toward the Kaleid One.
Niri stepped inside the Kaleid One, the familiar hum of its systems curling through the air. The scent hit her first—sterile metal and recycled air, sharper than the smoke and dust outside. Her boots thudded against the deck plating, each sound steady, but her stomach cramped tighter with every step.
She knew this ship. Every corridor, every hatch, every storage bay. When Lu'Ka had first pulled her from Dakun, this was the vessel that carried her away. She had walked its halls restless, memorizing every corner and exit until it felt etched into her bones. Now, walking back inside felt like stepping into a memory that hadn't let her go.
"Councillor Yvith is on the bridge," Mr. Rout said softly at her side, his hands folded behind his back. His pale-veined skin caught the glow of the corridor lights, his expression unreadable.
Niri gave no answer. Her breath stayed slow, measured, as if too much sound might betray her. She followed him, one hand brushing the wall as she moved, as though reassuring herself it was real.
The lift opened with a hiss, carrying them upward. The air grew cooler, quieter.
When the doors slid apart, Niri stepped onto the bridge.
She saw her immediately.
Councillor Yvith stood at the center platform, framed by the wide arc of holo-screens and starfield beyond. Her feathers were sharp in the glow, colors muted to ash-blue under the bridge lights. She didn't turn at once, but Niri felt the weight of her presence settle over the room like a command..
"Set course for Meridi Axis," Yvith ordered, her voice cutting through the low hum of the bridge. The two navigation officers bowed their heads, hands moving across the holo-keys. The Kaleid One shuddered faintly as thrusters shifted, lifting the ship clear of the landing zone.
Yvith's gaze broke from the stars and locked onto Niri. Her eyes were unreadable, cool as stone.
"Follow me, Miss Niri," she said. "We have matters to discuss."
Niri's throat tightened, but she gave a short nod. Her hands pressed against her sides to still the tremor that threatened her fingers. She waited—waited for the Chancellor to turn first, her instinct telling her that walking ahead would be a mistake.
Yvith moved toward the side corridor without another word. Her cloak swept across the polished deck, the sound of her talons faint against the floor. Niri followed a pace behind, steps measured, careful, her eyes fixed on the path instead of the officers who glanced after her.
The corridor bent into a smaller office tucked just off the bridge. The door hissed open at Yvith's command, revealing a narrow space—walls lined with dim holo-shelves, a single desk of black alloy at the center, the air colder than the rest of the ship.
Yvith entered first. She didn't sit. She stood by the desk, feathers shifting once as she turned.
Niri stepped inside and stopped.
The door sealed behind them with a hiss, and the silence of the office pressed in. Niri's chest tightened. She couldn't stop her stomach from twisting, the weight of everything she had held in now clawing at her throat.
Her voice broke out before she could stop it—fast, sharp, almost too loud for the small space.
"I warned you!"
Yvith's feathers lifted slightly, her gaze steady but unreadable.
Niri's breath came rough. She stepped forward, words tumbling out faster, louder, the pitch edged with panic.
"I warned you not to come here! Didn't I? I told you, I told you what would happen—"
"Enough."
Yvith's hand lifted, palm angled toward her. The single motion was calm, deliberate, but it cut through Niri's voice like a blade.
The sound died in her throat. She stood there, chest rising too fast, her hands trembling at her sides.
The Chancellor's voice softened, low but firm.
"You said you warned us. I heard you."
The words landed heavy, quiet enough to leave no room for more shouting.
Niri's lips moved, her breath unsteady. She forced the words out again, but this time they were small, almost breaking.
"I warned you…".
Councillor Yvith shifted behind the desk. Her feathers stilled, but her gaze cut sharp, piercing straight through Niri.
"We have to discuss everything," she said, voice even, steady as steel.
Her clawed hand slid across the desk panel. A muted tone pulsed, and the wall behind her came alive with a single feed. Not the open holos from the bridge—this was sealed, private. The emblem of the Council flashed once before dissolving into static.
"You may sit, Miss Niri."
Niri obeyed, lowering herself into the chair opposite the Chancellor. The seat felt colder than the room, the silence heavier than the hum of the ship outside.
Then the recording began..