CX
Orientation wasn't a crowd—it was a migration. Hundreds of cadets from dozens of worlds funneled into the central plaza, bracelets glowing in every color imaginable, voices overlapping in a chaotic but strangely harmonious chorus. And your whole dorm—girls, boys, soldiers, plant‑giants, cat‑folk, lizard‑folk, every sentient being—moved together like a little caravan.
Port trotted ahead of you, tail swishing with purpose, her pad held high like a beacon.
"Special students coming through!" she called, weaving you through the crowd with terrifying efficiency.
Our squad was probably the specialist crew the Tribunal promised me — the people who would eventually stand on the deck of my ship. I felt it as we all trooped into orientation together, twenty of us moving like a mismatched parade of species and personalities. Port walked ahead, her orange tail flicking with purpose, already having submitted our group long before we arrived. We weren't random. We weren't thrown together by chance. We were chosen.
The imprinting hall was enormous, full of cadets from every corner of the galaxy, but our squad stayed close — my dormmates, Daryll's soldiers, the towering plant‑girl, the lizard‑folk, the cat‑folk, even the floating jellyfish student who drifted like a lantern. I could feel the weight of it settling in my chest. These weren't just classmates. They were the beginnings of a crew.
Port stopped us at a glowing dais and tapped her pad. "Squad Seventeen," she announced proudly. "Special‑track cadets."
I swallowed. Special‑track. That meant extra supervision, extra training, extra expectations. It meant someone had already decided we were going to be more than students.
The crystalline registration officer stepped forward, her voice ringing like chimes. "Cadets, you will now receive your Martial School designation. This includes your new name and number."
My bracelet warmed. My pad vibrated. I felt the imprinting process begin — a soft pulse against my skin, like the universe was stamping me with a new identity.
Daryll leaned close, whispering, "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt. Much."
I elbowed him, but my heart was pounding.
I looked around at the squad — twenty of us. Atta and her cousin. The fox‑soldier. The bear‑soldier. The plant‑girl brushing the ceiling. The emerald lizard‑girl. The jellyfish cadet. Several humanoids with tech implants. Daryll, dramatic and smug. And me.
Twenty people, souls to slot into new interstellar roles.
Twenty pieces of a future vessel's crew.
My vessel.
I felt it in my bones — this was the crew they promised me. The crew I'd captain once training was over. The crew that would follow me into dimensional storms and anomaly zones. The crew that would help me keep reality from collapsing.
Daryll's shadow curled around my ankle like a loyal pet. He murmured, "They're building your command, darling. Piece by piece."
And for the first time since arriving on Miridani, I felt something solid settle inside me.
Purpose.
My head suddenly spun the moment my boots touched the parade ground. It wasn't dramatic—no collapsing, no gasping—but the world tilted just enough to make my stomach flip. The ground vibrated under me, a low hum rising through the soles of my feet. For a heartbeat I thought it was my resonance acting up, but no… it was the gravity again. Miridani's heavier pull always caught me off guard when I wasn't paying attention.
I steadied myself, inhaled, and stepped forward with the rest of Squad Seventeen.
Orientation was a spectacle.
Rows upon rows of aliens—scaled, furred, feathered, crystalline, gaseous, bioluminescent—were squeezed together into neat formations. Holographic banners floated overhead, shifting colors depending on the species looking at them. The air buzzed with dozens of languages, all translated through our bracelets into a soft, comprehensible murmur.
Groups were called forward one at a time. Squad designations flashed above each cluster, badges materializing in midair before being magnetically attached to our uniforms. Most squads were led by two senior students—cadets from the next graduating class who had been assigned leadership roles as part of their final training.
But not us.
Instead of student officers, our squad's liaisons were already waiting at the front—two figures standing apart from the chaos, wearing sleek black uniforms with silver dimensional‑stabilizer insignias. They weren't students. They weren't trainees. They were fully graduated officers.
And they were here for us.
Port had mentioned it in passing, but seeing them in person made it real. They had volunteered specifically for our squad. For the Sol‑system anomalies. For the dimensional‑hopper track. For me.
I felt a strange pressure in my chest—part awe, part dread, part pride.
These officers had been curious about Sol‑type students long before we arrived.
They had always wanted to be assigned to a dimensional‑hopper ship.
And now they were standing there, waiting for us like we were the missing pieces of their future.
Daryll leaned close, his voice low and warm at my ear.
"They're here because of you, darling."
My head spun again—but this time, it wasn't the gravity.
It was the weight of destiny settling into place.
The second time the world spun, I knew it wasn't the gravity.
It hit me like a pulse from inside my skull—too deep, too loud, too wrong. A great thrum resonated through my mind, vibrating behind my eyes. My knees buckled. The parade ground tilted sideways. I felt the air slip out of my lungs as if someone had punched through my chest.
I didn't even have time to warn anyone.
Daryll caught me before I hit the ground.
His arms wrapped around me, shadow flaring in a protective ring, but even he couldn't fully shield me from whatever was happening inside my head. My vision fractured—light, color, sound—everything twisting like a dimensional ripple.
The officers reacted instantly.
They didn't hesitate, didn't panic, didn't even look surprised. They moved like they had trained for this exact moment—because they had. Both of them pulled out specialized equipment from their belts, sleek devices that unfolded into shimmering barriers. A dome of pale blue light snapped into place around the parade grounds, sealing off the area from the resonance spike radiating out of me.
I felt the shield catch the wave—my wave—like a net catching a falling star.
Cadets stumbled, startled, but none of them were harmed. The officers kept the barrier steady, their faces calm, focused, professional. They were here for anomalies like me. They had volunteered for this. They had expected this.
I tried to breathe, but my chest felt tight, my pulse too loud.
Yoyo reached me next, her uniform patch designated a trained medical technician.
She moved faster than I thought a plant‑being could—her fronds rustling, her glowing leaves shedding tiny sparks of bioluminescent pollen as she knelt beside me. Her voice was soft, soothing, like wind through branches.
"Stay still," she murmured. "I have you."
She pulled a vial from her satchel—pink liquid swirling inside like a tiny nebula—and loaded it into an injector. The officers nodded at her, giving her clearance. She pressed the device gently against my arm.
A cool rush spread through my veins, like liquid calm.
Then she slipped dark glasses over my eyes—heavy, opaque, humming faintly with stabilizing tech.
"Balance equipment," she explained. "It will dampen the resonance feedback."
The pounding in my skull eased. The spinning slowed. My breath returned in shaky waves.
Daryll held me close, his voice low and fierce.
"I've got you. I'm right here."
The officers kept the barrier up until the last tremor faded from my body. Only then did they lower it, exchanging a look that was equal parts relief and professional curiosity.
I lay there, breathing hard, the glasses dimming the world into something manageable.
And for the first time, I understood exactly why they had assigned us a special squad.
Why they had given us graduated officers.
Why they had prepared for me. My resonance wasn't just unstable.
It was dangerous, but they knew, and I wasn't alone.
I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead as the last of the dizziness ebbed. "Is this going to happen often?" My voice sounded thin, strained, like it was trying to escape my own skull.
One of the officers stepped closer—the tall, pale elfin‑looking man with moonlit skin and wide, steady eyes. Up close, he didn't look fragile at all. He radiated calm the way some people radiated heat. His presence alone made the air feel less chaotic.
He crouched beside me, careful not to crowd, his voice low and even.
"The attack is temporary," he said. "Until your resonance adjusts to the environment."
I blinked behind the heavy stabilizing glasses Yoyo had slipped over my eyes. "Temporary?"
He nodded once. "You aren't on Earth anymore. Your resonance was shaped by Earth's dimensional fabric. Miridani's fabric is stronger, denser, and it vibrates at a different frequency. Right now, your resonance is trying to match both at once."
He tapped the ground lightly with two fingers. The vibration under my feet pulsed in response, like the planet itself acknowledged him.
"When the vibrations interfere," he continued, "your resonance spikes. That's what you felt. The spinning. The pressure. The thrum in your mind."
I swallowed, throat tight. "It felt like my skull was going to split."
"That's normal," he said gently. "Unpleasant, but normal. It will calm. Your resonance will settle into Miridani's rhythm within a few days."
Daryll tightened his hold on me, his shadow curling protectively around my back. "A few days," he muttered. "She's not a tuning fork."
The officer's lips twitched in the faintest hint of amusement. "No. But she is a stabilizer. And stabilizers adapt quickly."
Yoyo pressed another cool frond against my arm, checking my pulse. "Your readings are already improving," she said softly. "The pink serum is helping. The glasses will dampen the feedback until your resonance finds equilibrium."
I exhaled shakily, the world finally settling into something that resembled normal.
The officer stood, offering me a hand. "You're not in danger," he said. "And you're not hurting anyone. That's why we're here—to help you adjust safely."
I took his hand, letting him pull me upright.
The parade ground was still buzzing with activity, but Squad Seventeen stood in a protective ring around me—soldiers alert, cat‑folk tense, plant‑girl shedding calming pollen, Daryll's shadow bristling like a guard dog.
I wasn't alone.
And even though my head still throbbed, the fear had faded.
I sat up slowly, shivering as the last tremors faded from my spine. The headache had passed, thank the stars, but my eyes still lagged behind reality, taking their time to focus. The parade ground around me wavered in soft double‑vision. I could hear other cadets muttering—concern, curiosity, annoyance—until a sharp whistle cut through the noise and snapped everyone back into formation.
The officers didn't waste time.
The elfin‑like male—moonlit skin, wide steady eyes—stepped forward with the plant‑woman beside him. She was humanoid but entirely green, her skin covered in thin, blunt thorn‑like protrusions that caught the light like tiny crystals. Together they called us up one by one, their voices carrying easily across the parade ground.
I stood when my name was called, still a little shaky, still wearing the stabilizing glasses Yoyo had given me. The officer handed me a badge—sleek metal, etched with my designation—and nodded with a kind of quiet approval that made my chest tighten.
Then he called the next name.
One of the beastman males stepped forward—a Felinid with tiger stripes, older than most of us, shoulders squared with the kind of confidence only years of military service could carve into a person. His badge glowed with a different color.
Squad Leader.
Of course it was him. He moved like someone who had already led squads into real danger, someone who understood formation, discipline, and responsibility. The rest of the soldiers from his planet straightened instinctively when he passed.
Then the officer called me again.
"Vice Leader."
My stomach dropped. I stepped forward, trying not to wobble, trying not to look like someone who had just nearly collapsed in front of half the university. The officer pinned the vice‑leader badge to my uniform with a firm, deliberate motion.
"This is part of your captain training," he said quietly. "You'll grow into it."
I swallowed hard. The badge felt heavy—symbolic, literal, terrifying.
The Felinid leader glanced at me, his amber eyes assessing but not unkind. He gave a small nod, acknowledging me as his second. It wasn't condescending. It wasn't skeptical. It was… respectful.
Behind me, Daryll's shadow curled proudly, like a creature puffing up its fur.
The rest of Squad Seventeen watched with a mix of excitement and awe—Atta bouncing on her toes, the lizard‑girl standing tall, Yoyo shedding a faint glow of approval, the jellyfish cadet drifting closer as if drawn by the energy.
I took my place beside the Felinid leader.
My head still throbbed. My legs still felt heavy. My resonance still hummed like a tuning fork trying to find the right frequency.
Rawl Darken stepped forward with the kind of posture that made everyone else straighten automatically—back straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted. His tiger‑striped fur caught the morning light, making him look carved from amber and shadow.
"My name is Rawl Darken," he announced, voice deep and resonant. "From the beast world Scarrash. I was a soldier for five years before becoming a special enrollee here. I am sixteen of our planet's years old."
I gasped. Sixteen.
He didn't look sixteen. He looked like someone who had already seen battlefields, already commanded squads, already carried responsibility heavier than Miridani's gravity.
Atta, the silver‑striped cat‑girl beside me, leaned in quickly, whispering with a little giggle.
"Beast‑people on our planet are adults at thirteen years. He's fully grown."
I blinked. "Thirteen?"
She nodded, tail flicking. "Our years are longer. Because of the orbital revolution and planetary spin, one Scarrash year is almost double an Earth year. So sixteen for him is… about thirty for you."
That made more sense. Rawl didn't feel like a teenager. He felt like someone who had already lived a life.
Atta continued, still whispering, "He's also available for mating."
I choked on air.
She blinked innocently. "It's just a fact."
Rawl didn't seem to hear her—thank the stars—because he was already accepting his leader badge from the officers. He pinned it to his uniform with practiced ease, then turned to face the squad with a calm, steady gaze.
Then the officer called my name again.
"Vice Leader."
I stepped forward, still a little shaky from the resonance episode, still wearing the stabilizing glasses. The officer pinned the badge to my uniform with a firm click.
Rawl looked at me—really looked—and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Not condescending. Not doubtful. Just… respectful. As if he understood exactly what it meant to stand beside him.
I swallowed hard. Vice leader. Captain‑in‑training.
My squad—my future crew—stood around me in a loose semicircle: cat‑folk, lizard‑folk, plant‑folk, soldiers, humanoids, even the floating jellyfish cadet. Daryll hovered at my shoulder, shadow curling protectively around my ankle.
The world had spun. My resonance had flared. I had nearly collapsed.
But I was still standing.
And Rawl Darken, soldier of Scarrash, had just accepted me as his second.