Content Warning:
This chapter contains a scene involving sexual harassment, power-based abuse, and violence. While not graphic, the themes may be distressing to some readers. Please proceed with care and prioritize your emotional well-being.
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Arra was running through a white landscape.
Snow? No—just endless brightness.
The vastness made her dizzy. Cold ground pressed against her bare feet, and the sound of rushing water echoed through the trees—real trees, towering and wild, not like the scrubby oxygen trees back at base.
Laughter spilled from her mouth. Joy bloomed, unfamiliar and light. She slowed, leaning against a massive trunk, breathing in the crisp air.
Then she felt it. Eyes on her.
She looked up—and there he was again.
A man. Near a far tree.
Dark hair. Dark eyes.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Grief radiated from him like heat.
And then she woke.
---
Arra jolted upright, heart pounding, skin damp with sweat.
The man again. The same one—always blurred behind the ice. But now clearer. Closer. Sadder.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, trying to slow the breath that felt like a choke. Why did he look at her like that? Why did she feel like she'd lost something she never had?
The heaviness sat with her.
Sleep was gone.
Might as well get up.
She dressed in silence and slipped out into the halls.
The cafeteria was empty. Her footsteps echoed off the curved dome, the sound bouncing like it wanted out too. She drifted to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass. Outside, red dust whispered across the dome. But in her mind, the snow still clung to her skin. The silence in her ears was the hush of trees, not machines.
"I wish I was there," she murmured. "I wish I knew who you were."
---
"Who are you talking to?"
Arra flinched. Sora had appeared behind her like a shadow.
"Myself," she said with a dry laugh. "Like a proper crazy person."
Sora raised an eyebrow. Arra turned back to the glass.
"I had one of those dreams again," she said softly. "I always do. But this one... it was so vivid. I could feel the wind. Smell the trees. It felt more real than this." She hesitated. "I sound insane, but... sometimes I don't want to wake up. Sometimes I feel free in my dreams. But here—" she gestured around them "—here I feel caged."
Sora's expression softened, but she didn't speak.
"I don't know why," Arra went on. "But I feel this pull. Like I'm being called to something. To Earth maybe. But there's nothing left, right? They say it's just stories. That Earth was never really habitable. That it's myth." Her voice cracked. "But I feel it in my bones, and it hurts—like something missing."
Sora finally spoke, her voice low. "I know what you mean." Her eyes searched Arra's face, something unreadable flickering there. "Sometimes I wish we could just... disappear from this place. But there's nowhere to go."
She leaned closer, her tone tightening. "And you know better than to talk like this. The walls might be listening."
They sat in silence for a few minutes before the echoes of boots and low voices stirred the air.
"Come on," Sora said, forcing a laugh. "Let's get something to eat. Maybe it won't be offensive today."
Spoiler: it was. Goopy. Beige. Smelled faintly of metal and despair.
They grabbed trays and found a seat by the window, chewing in silence. Arra tried to focus on the hum of machines outside the dome, but footsteps approached—slow, deliberate.
"Great," she muttered under her breath.
Sora's face shifted—neutral to hostile in a heartbeat.
That was all Arra needed to know.
Jerek.
She didn't even have to turn to feel him behind her—his presence radiated heat like a toxic furnace. A hand landed beside her tray, fingers tapping once.
"Look who decided to be good girls for once," he sneered, his hyena pack trailing behind, laughter thick and predatory.
"Fuck off," Arra said, voice low but steady.
Sora's fists clenched tight.
"Aww. I can't hear you if you don't look at me," Jerek said. Then, he grabbed Arra's chin—hard—forcing her to meet his eyes.
He was the kind of attractive that didn't matter. Hazelly green eyes, curled brown hair, a soldier's build. If not for the rot in his smile, he could've passed for a model.
Arra shoved his arm away, eyes locked on his. "Can I help you?"
"Sassy," he said with mock admiration. "I like it."
His hand slid over her shoulder—drifting lower.
Both girls stood at once, chairs scraping loudly across the floor.
Jerek laughed and lunged. He grabbed Arra and pinned her against the table, pressing in close. His arousal was unmistakable.
"Be ready for training," he whispered.
Arra spit in his face.
The slap came fast and hard, knocking her sideways.
Sora moved like a spark—leaping across the table—but one of the others caught her midair, laughing as he restrained her.
"Cadets," came a dry voice from across the room. An officer leaned against the frame of the door, amused. "If you're done playing, make your way to the training grounds."
Jerek leaned in close to Arra's ear. "Watch your back."
Then he and his pack walked off like nothing had happened.
Sora's chest heaved.
"Fucking assholes," she hissed.
They stared at the floor. At their trays. Anywhere but each other.
Shame is a strange thing—it settles on the people who were hurt, not the ones who did the hurting. Even when you know better. Even when it doesn't belong to you.
"I've lost my appetite," Arra muttered, bile rising.
"Same," Sora said quietly.
They made their way down to the training grounds in silence. The halls echoed with malice, and the stale stench of sweat clung to the air like old smoke. Each step forward felt like descending deeper into something rotten.
In the gym, the lighting buzzed overhead—cold, clinical. Along the far wall hung the weighted suits, dull and gray, like second skins waiting to be strapped on. Arra reached for hers and grimaced. As if training wasn't brutal enough, the suits added nearly a hundred pounds to their already aching frames.
The moment hers was on, her knees dipped under the pressure. Her muscles groaned in protest, her spine compressing as though gravity had changed its mind about being merciful. She clenched her jaw and adjusted her stance. No one here got to look weak.
Sora was already suited up beside her, stretching one arm behind her head and rolling her shoulders like this was just another day. Arra caught the quick glance she gave her—Ready?
They paired off automatically and began to spar. It was one of the few things they actually enjoyed here. There was something pure about it—no lies, no propaganda, just movement and instinct. They pushed each other hard, made small bets in whispers: winner gets the last ration bar, loser does their laundry. Sora had the height advantage, but Arra was faster, sharper. She didn't win every time, but she won enough to make it count.
A sharp crack echoed through the gym as Arra's palm connected with Sora's side, sending her staggering back. She didn't fall—but she laughed, breathless, and came back swinging.
That's when Commander Viren's voice sliced through the air.
"Impressive."
He was standing just off the edge of the mats, hands behind his back, eyes sharp with calculation. "Especially you, Arra," he continued, pacing closer. "Controlled. Adaptive. You move like someone meant for more than this dome."
The words were smooth, but they snagged on something unspoken.
Around the gym, eyes turned. A few of the male cadets—especially the ones from the cafeteria—stared at Arra with something close to venom. One crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall with a sneer. Another muttered to the one beside him, and they both snorted.
Praise here wasn't harmless. It was dangerous.
Arra didn't flinch, but she felt the heat of their resentment press against her skin like radiation.
Beside her, Sora tensed. Their eyes met—a flicker of understanding—and held. Don't react. Don't give them anything.
Viren's gaze lingered just long enough to sour the air, then shifted away as he continued down the row of sparring pairs.
"Some of you," he called out, "should be taking notes."
He didn't look back.
But everyone heard him...
[Later – Lower Hallway Outside the Dorm Quarters]
The corridor was dim and quiet, the buzz of old lights echoing like a warning. Arra had just left the hygiene unit, her skin still raw from the recycled water and her muscles aching under the surface. She pulled her jacket tighter around her damp shoulders and kept walking.
Footsteps behind her.
Heavy. Close.
"Hey, star cadet," a voice said.
She didn't stop—but they quickened. Surrounded her before she could turn the corner.
Three of them. The same ones from the cafeteria. Rul stood in front, that purple bruise still haunting his cheekbone. He grinned like he owned the hallway.
"Viren's little favorite," he said, voice low and mocking. "Must be nice."
She said nothing.
Jerek stepped in from the left, arms crossed, leaning just a little too close. "How's it feel getting praised in front of everyone like that? Makes you feel powerful, huh?"
"Or maybe it just makes him feel powerful," Rul added, eyes narrowing. "Bet that's the deal, isn't it?"
Her stomach turned cold.
"Oh come on," he went on. "You don't actually think you're outpacing us on skill alone, do you? You're what—five foot nothing? Barely any muscle? Let me guess... you've got other strengths."
The third one laughed, cruel and quiet. "Commander's been awful generous lately."
Arra's eyes darkened. "Say that again."
Rul raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. "What? Just trying to understand how things work around here."
The venom behind the words hung in the air like smog. Accusations that weren't just meant to shame her—they were meant to erase everything she'd earned.
Then:
"Back off."
Sora.
Her voice rang out like a blade unsheathed. She stood at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed, face unreadable—but her presence was thunder.
"Didn't know she needed a babysitter," Rul muttered, stepping back.
"She doesn't," Sora said, walking forward, "but you might."
The tension snapped, just slightly. Enough to make them peel away, muttering under their breath as they disappeared down the hall.
Sora didn't speak until they were gone.
"They're afraid of you," she said, her voice quiet but steady.
Arra exhaled, still feeling the weight of their words crawling under her skin. "No," she said. "They're afraid of what I mean."
Sora was silent for a beat too long.
When Arra glanced at her, she caught something in her friend's face—something small and sharp, gone before it could fully form.
Sora looked away, adjusting the strap on her jacket. "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe they're just pissed you get attention the rest of us don't."
Arra blinked. "You think I want that kind of attention?"
"I think," Sora said carefully, "you don't get to choose what it looks like from the outside."
The hallway felt colder now.
Arra didn't reply.
Sora's tone softened, as if pulling back. "It's just… everything feels different lately."
Arra studied her, but Sora wouldn't meet her eyes.
Then, like nothing had happened, Sora brushed her hand against Arra's arm and gave a faint smile. "Come on. If we don't get back soon, they'll dock our rest credits."
They walked the rest of the way in silence—but something between them had shifted.
Barely a crack.
But it was there now.
The dorms had quieted to a low hum—only the distant whine of ventilation and the occasional flicker of failing lights.
Arra followed Sora down the narrow hall to the lower living pods, where the families of cadets and workers were kept. The ones not considered "training material."
Zia's room was barely big enough for three people to stand in without touching, but it always felt warmer than the rest of the dome. A few scraps of fabric hung near the ceiling—soft colors, worn but clean. There was even a pressed flower sealed in glass on the shelf, smuggled in years ago and somehow never confiscated.
Zia looked up from the bed as they entered. Her smile was tired but real.
"You're late."
Arra smiled faintly. "We were making bets in the gym."
Zia raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You lost."
"Only by half a second," Arra said, collapsing into the corner of the bed with a grunt. "Sora cheated."
Sora rolled her eyes but didn't sit. She lingered near the door instead, arms folded tightly.
Zia noticed. "Everything okay?"
Sora nodded too quickly. "Just tired."
Arra frowned but said nothing.
Zia turned to her, voice softer now. "They're pushing you harder lately."
Arra shrugged. "Same as always."
Zia didn't believe her. She never did. "Just… don't let them turn you into something you're not."
Arra looked away. That was the problem—she didn't know what she was anymore.
Sora finally moved, stepping over to Zia's side and adjusting the thin blanket around her legs. "You warm enough?" she asked gently.
Zia nodded. "You always fuss."
"You always let me."
There was a long pause then—comfortable, but stretched thin at the edges. The kind of quiet that came before a goodbye no one wanted to say out loud.
Zia looked between them, then spoke almost shyly. "Do you remember that game we used to play? With the stones and the stories?"
Arra smiled. "You mean the one where you made up dreams for each color?"
Zia nodded. "Yeah. I still have mine. Want to try?"
Arra hesitated, then reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, worn pouch. "I kept mine too."
Sora stayed silent.
Zia closed her eyes and pulled a pale blue stone from the pouch.
"This one," she whispered, "was always for flying. For leaving."
Arra swallowed. "And did we ever say where we'd fly to?"
Zia smiled, eyes still closed. "Somewhere with air that smells like real trees."
Sora turned away.
Arra watched her, something heavy curling in her chest.
Zia opened her eyes again. "Promise me something?"
Arra leaned in.
"If anything ever happens," Zia said, "don't let them use you."
The room went still.
Sora didn't turn back.
Arra reached out and gently took her sister's hand. "I promise."
They stayed for a little while longer—just enough to pretend the world wasn't coming undone.
The lights dimmed to their lowest setting as Arra and Sora slipped back into their shared quarters. Technically, curfew had passed. If anyone had caught them sneaking through the lower levels to see Zia, they'd be punished—but no one had stopped them.
Not tonight.
Arra sat on the edge of her bunk, unzipping the weighted boots and letting them fall with a dull thud. Her legs still felt heavy even without them.
Sora moved slower, quieter than usual. She didn't speak as she changed out of her suit, only glancing once toward the door as if expecting someone to burst through it.
"You okay?" Arra asked softly.
Sora nodded. "Just tired."
But it didn't ring true.
Arra lay back, staring up at the ceiling—a patchy metal grid where condensation sometimes gathered. "Zia always makes things feel less… hopeless," she said.
Sora let out a breath, like she'd been holding it too long. "She still believes in stories. Dreams."
Arra turned her head toward her. "Don't you?"
Sora was sitting on the floor now, her back to the bunk frame, arms wrapped around her knees.
"I used to," she said. "Before I realized some dreams get people killed."
Arra sat up. "Where is this coming from?"
Sora didn't answer right away.
Finally, she said, "Do you ever wonder if we're being watched? Like… all the time?"
Arra raised an eyebrow. "Of course. They don't exactly hide the cameras."
"No," Sora said, shaking her head. "I mean really watched. Like someone already knows what we're going to do before we do it."
Arra frowned, uneasy. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Sora looked up, and for a moment her mask slipped. There was something raw behind her eyes—fear, guilt, maybe both.
But then it was gone.
She stood and climbed into her bunk, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
"Goodnight, Arra."
A pause.
Arra watched her, heart pulling tight in her chest.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
Neither of them slept.