Masks and Movements
POV: Kale Drayen
The simulator for the war room in the Academy reeked of recirculated air and sweat-fear. Twenty cadets stood around a glowing holographic map that etched unit locations, lines of artillery, and moving red blips labeled "Enemy Recon." Not real, but realistically so. The adrenaline in the simulator choked.
Kale leaned forward with hands on the table, eyes scrunched. His fingers drew the landscape—trenches, mountain passes, areas of fallback. There was no movement too small. This wasn't a sim. This was a war of reputation.
The exercise: a planetary assault coordination drill. Factions under command were to work in coordination with Cipher Corps, Vanguard units, and Ironborn to take over an alien-occupied outpost. But the political twist this time around was that all cadets had been reattached into mixed units, some under rivals' command intentionally.
Kale's unit had been under Cassian Dorne's command.
A strategic maneuver. He knew that. Everyone knew that. The instructors were watching how he'd react.
Cassian stood tall on the other end of the room, projecting confidence like a monarch crowned too early. "We'll take Hillpoint Ridge with a two-pronged assault. Kale, you'll handle the decoy operation in the basin. Try not to make it look too obvious."
A few snickers followed. The jab was subtle, but meant to sting.
Kale didn't flinch. "Copy that, commander," he replied, inserting just a hint of sarcasm on the title to earn a sidelong glare from Cassian. Then he turned to his squad: Ox, a sturdy Ironborn; Juno, a Cipher cadet from Europa with eyes like knives and a tongue sharper; and two unknowns from the Dynast side—scions of Earth's ruling families who seemed to have never even touched a rifle without an aide.
Pay attention," Kale instructed. "This is no cover op. We're going to make them believe we are the primary push."
Ox nodded, setting his face into a broad smile. "Noisy and loud. My style of fight."
"No," Kale said calmly. "Noisy, loud, and calculated. We need to get them committed. Once they change their armor, Cassian's flank group has a pretty good shot of getting through."
He watched Juno's stare—calculating, measuring. "You with giving him the win?
Kale's smirk was cold. "I'm not giving him anything. I'm giving us leverage."
The simulation began.
---
The alien force on the holo-map was modeled after the Aethari—tall, psychically-attuned humanoids with enhanced reflexes and hive-linked commanders. Their tech wasn't superior to humanity's, but their coordination was flawless.
Kale's team moved fast.
They deployed a pulse jammer drone to disrupt Aethari comms, and then they used plundered signal mimics—gracias a la astucia de Cipher—to mimic five platoons marching on the basin instead of one.
The Aethari AI responded as anticipated—dispatching their best-of-the-line defenders to the basin.
Kale's team lit up the battlefield. They blew up sensor nodes, knocked out the defense turrets, and even took over one of the sim's precious control points.
Cassian's team advanced toward the ridge—but slowed.
Too cautious. Too slow.
Kale clenched his teeth. "He's going to miss the window."
Juno snapped her wrist-console. "Want me to jam his comms? Make the flank units move?"
"No," Kale replied, moving fast. "Let's handle it on our own."
He gave new orders—redeployed his unit to breach the ridge on the exposed flank.
The instructors watched. Every override of tactics, every shift in initiative—it was all being recorded.
By the time Cassian caught on that the basin was not the decoy and Kale had circumvented his command, the exercise was over.
Victory: Kale's unit. Minimal casualties. Objective secured.
---
Later, in the locker halls, Cassian ambushed Kale. Alone.
"You stole that victory," he growled.
Kale leaned against the wall, looking relaxed. "No. I salvaged your plan before it turned into a disaster."
Cassian's jaw worked. "You're not invincible, Drayen."
"No," Kale said with a smirk. "But I'm not the one with a report full of hesitation and blown timing. The instructors saw it. So did your father, if he's still paying someone to watch your scores."
Cassian's face turned to stone. A beat passed before he turned and walked away.
Kale let out a slow breath and turned the other way.
He did not notice Lie Cadence on the second-floor balcony, observing him. Her gaze was on him, unreadable.
---
That night, Kale was outside the dormitories, his gaze pointed toward the stars.
There was still so much unknown. The Jaru-Ka, the Aethari, the other peoples insidiously at the edge of the known systems. He knew Earth's war was not just about surviving—it was about who would control what came after.
And he'd be damned if it wasn't him.
---
The lecture hall was dimly lit, cavernous, and tiered in levels like some ancient colosseum. All the Command, Cipher, and Vanguard house cadets sat listening in rapt attention—or at least, pretended to. The Ironborn and Dynasts were scattered evenly, a smoldering power struggle just beneath the surface.
Standing in the middle of the room was Instructor Voss, a retired Admiral who wore a cybernetic jaw and an eye concealed behind a cracked data lens. It was rumor that he lost both to a Jaru-Ka berserker in the First Border Push.
Behind him, the holoscreen rotated slowly through a cycle of five alien symbols.
"The Five Vassal Races," Voss began, voice harsh but commanding. "All swore to the Va'kyr Dominion—each one a nightmare for our scattered fleets."
Kale moved closer.
"This—" Voss swept his hand broad, and an image of six-limbed, armored monstrosity came to mind"—are the Jaru-Ka. Born inside the Crucible Abyss. No strategy as you understand it. They swarm. Picture ants but with plasma claws and hive-style command hierarchies. No retreat plan. If you ever see them waver, it's because you're being led into an ambush."
The sound of whispers rustled through the room.
Voss continued, changing among visuals.
"The Aethari—psionic aristocrats. They link minds in combat. Squad cohesion so tight that they're a chorus. Elegance, speed, precision. Their Emissaries speak your language with perfect clarity before melting your brain with a thought. We've confirmed them along the Coreward Eastern Line. Mars Command calls them our deadliest intellectual match."
A Dynast cadet near Kale scoffed, clearly unimpressed. Typical.
Voss ignored him and tapped to the next alien.
"The Varnok—bone and biomass engineers. Each weapon is grown, not hammered out. Their soldiers aren't born, they're raised. And worse, they adapt. You shoot once, they adapt twice."
Kale blinked. He had not previously heard so much about the Zheltar. The dossier said that they occupied on the Southern Reach—the least explored region of the frontier.
And then there were the Jaru-kar—massive reptilian brutes with gravity guns and siege armor. "Western Warfront. They worship power most of all. Their initiations are a matter of riding out black hole tides. Don't trivialize it. One of them tore a Mars Battlecruiser in two last year."
The final sigil glowed red.
And this." Voss paused. "This is the Kethari Enclave. We know the least about them. No survivors of Kethari attacks. No pilfered tech. No successful infiltrations. All we know is, their incursions are surgical. Psychic warfare, viral AIs, silence. They're ghosts. They patrol the northern rim, nearest Proxima and the lost colonies."
The room fell silent.
Kale's mind raced. Five enemies. Five completely different philosophies of war. Each one a potential extinction-level threat.
Voss narrowed his gaze. "Each of these species has one thing in common. They don't treat us like a sovereign species. They treat us like… an infestation."
A beat.
"That's why you're here. To make sure humanity survives long enough to be more than just a footnote in alien history."
He let the weight hang in the air before barking, "Dismissed!"
---
In the hallway, Kale walked alongside Kora and Ox.
Kora muttered, "We've barely fought one species and already we're playing catch-up with five."
Ox grunted. "The Draak'Nar sound fun."
Kale didn't respond immediately. His mind was still back on the Sylari. The silence. The surgical strikes. It didn't feel like war—it felt like erasure.
"They're not the real problem," he said finally.
Kora cocked her head. "Then who is?"
"Us," Kale whispered. "We're too splintered. Command fights Cipher. Dynasts oppress Ironborn. By the time we unite, one of them might already be carving up Earth."
Ox grumbled, "Well, you're converting people, Kale. One simulation at a time."
Kale gave a dry smile. "Let's hope that's enough."
---
Meanwhile…
Border Outpost Argus-9 | Varnok Frontline | 14 hours later
Lieutenant Calver screamed in his helmet comlink. "We need evac, now! They're not dying—they're growing!"
Varnok biomass slithered across the outpost floor, twisting steel into pounding flesh. Already, re-militarized once-human fighters had been assimilated, minds hijacked, bodies rebuilt with clawed forms.
The last thing the black box of the outpost recorded was the crunch of bone and metal mingling together.
Transmission: Lost.