Luke pressed his forehead against the viewport as the transport jet glided through Ashgrove's upper atmosphere. Beneath him, the academy unfolded like a city of luminescent glass and steel—soaring towers connected by transparent walkways, their surfaces alive with flowing data streams. Garden terraces hovered on multiple levels, and drones flitted through the air, mapping the arrival bay with methodical precision.
Around him, other travelers—some veteran officers in polished uniforms, others fresh-faced aspirants clutching portfolios—chattered in hushed excitement. From snippets of their conversations, Luke caught the name on every lip: The Magician, the viral celebrity whose illusions had become the talk of the quadrant.
"…did you see the recording? He vanished an entire battalion ship on Phobos, then transported it hundreds of light-years away—intact, no casualties."
"Most of the audience couldn't explain it. They discovered The Magician is mortal. There are rumors he was a god, but that was disproved by deities in attendance."
Luke's pulse quickened. He had endured void storms and led rescue sorties beneath ruined skies, but nothing had prepared him for this promise of wonder.
---
The jet settled into its docking clamps with a low thrum. The rear hatch slid open, and Luke joined Frank as they disembarked onto a gleaming platform. Cool air, scented faintly of ionized metal and ozone, washed over them. Luke glanced up at holographic banners fluttering overhead:
WELCOME, ASPIRANTS OF ASHGROVE
HONOR • VISION • EXCELLENCE
They walked down a corridor lined with crystalline panels that pulsed beneath each footstep, casting prismatic patterns on the walls. Other arrivals streamed past: dignitaries in ceremonial dress, instructors in subdued gray, and young hopefuls whose eyes widened at every new sight.
At the corridor's end, they entered a hexagonal chamber where six teleporter pads glowed like collected starlight. Luke's breath hitched as he realized these tiles would carry him anywhere in the sprawling complex.
"Orloine Residence," Frank instructed, stepping onto Pad Four. "Your suite is secure. Unpack and rest. Dinner's at the Grand Hall, 1900."
Luke nodded and followed. With a gentle hum, the teleporter's energy enveloped them, and in an instant they stood in the Orloine lobby: plush carpets, velvet drapes, and stained-glass windows that fractured morning light into rainbow hues. A silver-uniformed steward bowed.
"Commander Frank, Master Luke—welcome. Food and refreshments await in the lounge, or I can escort you to your suite."
Luke managed a grateful nod, eyes still wide. He inhaled deeply, marveling that such elegance thrived amid earnest study and discipline.
---
They rode a silent elevator to the twentieth floor, the shaft's walls transparent glass, revealing tiers of interior gardens wreathed in hanging planters. When the doors slid open, Luke stepped into his suite: broad windows overlooking terraced waterfalls, a modular couch and table, and a bed that promised real comfort for the first time in months.
"Explore freely until dinner," Frank said, setting his pack aside. "Meet me here at 1900."
With a final nod, Frank left. Luke crossed the room, fingers trailing along the smooth surfaces of the furniture. He unpacked his belongings carefully—the regulation uniform first, then small tokens he'd brought: a worn bolt from an old training drill, a scrap of fabric torn from his first pack. He placed them on the bedside table as anchor points to his past.
That evening, he wandered onto the balcony. Below, festival lanterns drifted through the courtyard, light dancing across bubbling fountains. Music drifted upward—flute notes woven through the hum of distant conversation. Luke filmed a brief holo-clip, intending to share it later with his old squad. For now, he let the scene soak into his senses.
---
Before sunrise, Luke was already awake. The suite's ambient lighting shifted to mimic dawn. He dressed in the regulation uniform—crisp jacket, pressed trousers, boots polished to a soft sheen—and lingered at the window. Beyond lay the academy's domed gardens, veiled in mist, waiting for him to discover their secrets.
He found Frank in the lounge, studying a holographic schematic of Ashgrove's layout.
"Morning," Frank greeted without looking up. "Ready to see Ashgrove in action?"
Luke nodded. "Yes, sir."
Frank tapped the schematic. "We reconvene here at 1800. First stop: the Eastern Gardens. Remember: pathways and teleporter hubs connect every sector. Stick to the marked routes."
"I understand."
Frank tucked the schematic away. "Good. I'll be observing nearby. If anything goes wrong, I'll be there."
Luke squared his shoulders. "Thank you."
---
Stepping into the corridor, Luke followed glowing arrows on the walls. Each arrow pulsed in time with his heartbeat, guiding him toward the atrium. There, under a vaulted ceiling streaked with fiber-optic veins, stood six teleporter pads.
His heart drummed as he selected the pad marked East Wing. The hum grew in volume, then dropped away—replaced by a soft click.
He materialized on a balcony overlooking a vast courtyard. Paths wound among sculpted hedges and water jets that rose in choreographed arcs. Luke stepped down the stone stairs, marveling at every detail: the way sunlight shifted through synthetic trees, the faint hum of embedded sensors in every pathway. He followed a paved walkway to a secondary teleporter hub near a reflecting pool, water lilies drifting on its surface.
He paused, reading the floating codes above each pad: Library Archives, Grand Hall, Meditation Gardens… his choice evaporated in wonder.
Before he could decide, a firm hand pushed him aside.
"Move it!"
Luke stumbled back and turned to see a tall boy in a white uniform stamped with a gold crest. His jaw was set, eyes cold.
"You're blocking the jump," the boy snapped. "Some of us have schedules."
Luke's face burned. "Sorry—I didn't realize."
The boy's lip curled as he noticed Luke's uniform. "Don't let it happen again, soldier."
With that, he stepped onto his pad and vanished in a shimmer of blue light.
Luke's stomach knotted. Soldier. He used to take pride in that title, but now it felt like an insult. He watched the pad's glow until it pulsed for his own turn. Gathering himself, he stepped on and teleported to the mess hall.
---
Inside the sunlit mess, tables were arranged beneath open skylights, and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with roasted root vegetables. Young aspirants clustered in animated groups, comparing schedules and discussing rumor and strategy.
Luke found an empty seat at a small table and ate in silence, replaying the shove and the boy's disdainful tone. He finished his meal, lingering over the last sip of tea. He realized that in his hurry, he'd forgotten to savor the simple pleasures of life—an irony not lost on him.
---
That afternoon, Luke returned to the lounge just as Frank stepped off Pad Three.
"How was your exploration?" Frank asked, folding his arms.
Luke exhaled. "I ran into a boy on a pad—he shoved me off and called me 'soldier.' Said I didn't belong in his way."
Frank's mouth quirked. "Well, you were in the way—and many here think this place is owed to them."
Luke frowned. "I know, but it still hurts."
Frank crossed to him and placed a steady hand on Luke's shoulder. "Their pride is their burden. Yours is opportunity—and you earned it. Don't trade one for the other."
Luke lifted his gaze. "What should I do?"
"Learn their names. Learn the rules—then show them why you're here. Actions speak louder than words," Frank said. "Tonight, the festival grounds. Tomorrow—the entrance exam."
Luke nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders. Side by side, they stepped onto a balcony overlooking a swirl of lantern-lit stalls. Flute music drifted upward as dancers practiced between food booths and technology pavilions. The air thrummed with life.
Frank inhaled deeply. "Remember, Luke—this spark of celebration is why soldiers fight: to preserve moments like these."
Luke pressed a hand to the railing, heart brightening. "I will remember."
---
That night, Luke lay awake as festival lights glowed below. He traced constellations projected on the ceiling above, feeling the academy's pulse sync with his own. His heart beat in anticipation of what was coming.
Tomorrow, he would step into Ashgrove's grand hall and face the entrance exam—his first true test beyond the warzone. He closed his eyes, ready for whatever the dawn would bring.