Octavia Blake was, by all accounts, an ordinary cadet. A young woman meant for the back rows, not the blood-soaked frontlines. She had no glory to her name, no remarkable duels or training victories. Her practice rounds were marked by hesitation. Worse she was timid. Without explicit orders, she froze, paralyzed by the weight of possibilities.
For Kael Vi-rel, however, timidity was not weakness. It was potential. It was clay waiting to be molded.
(If I can push her just a little, gain her trust, maybe even awaken the latent spark I sensed in her… she could become something useful. A long-range asset devoted to me alone. The effort is minimal. The reward? Worth every ounce of theater.)
