The next sunrise came, and I was ready. I had packed my few things before Aldrin woke up — he would never let me go if he knew. But I had to. I was done sitting idle, waiting for death to knock at our door. Grandmother told me not to worry, yet I still placed a few of my sweets beside Aldrin's bed. He had only me as his older brother. Uncle was at war, Father was gone. If Aldrin woke up and found me gone, maybe those sweets would soften the ache.
Just as I was about to leave, the doorbell rang. Narkit stood there with his crooked smirk.
"It was swift of you to change your mind," he said. "Come on. Let's go."
I waved goodbye to my grandmother, who stayed strong even though I saw her hands trembling on the wheels of her chair. I stepped outside, but before moving on, I turned back to look at my house. Maybe it was the last time I'd see it standing.
"Today, a report came," Narkit said as we walked. His smirk was gone; his face was grave.
"Something happened?" I asked.
"Not just something. Too many things." His voice was heavy. "The Zerathians pulled out of the northern front. Now they're hammering from the east. And this time, it's Zaphlis, Zerathia, and Margus together."
My stomach tightened. "Why leave the north? The mountains?"
"No. The mountains wouldn't stop them. It was because of General Yarna. He was in Narkin for a drill when the war broke out. He took command himself. The man's a legend… but even he couldn't stop them forever. So the fight shifted east and south."
He exhaled sharply, as if the air itself was poison. "Last night, our artillery reached Targalia. They opened fire on the Dormisians and stopped their advance five kilometers short of the coast. But the Velkarians launched three ballistic missiles. Two were shot down. The third… wiped out five of our cannons. The rest of the artillery survived, but only because of distance — and because the air force finally showed up." He shook his head. "It's complete hell out there."
"And yeah, you turned 14 last month, happy birthday."
We walked in silence after that. My chest was tight. I thought of Father, crushed beneath the rubble of Pharkis. A year, and still I saw him every time I closed my eyes. His voice echoed in my mind: "If you ever get the chance to fight for Arkania, give it your all."
Soon, we reached the bus stop. A military truck waited, its back open. Three other boys were already inside, nervous but trying to look braver than they felt.
Narkit handed me a folded packet. "Identity papers. Use these when you register."
I frowned. "Where did you even get these?"
He ignored me.
"Narkit. These are my identification documents. Did you—"
He cut me off sharply. "A soldier doesn't ask stupid questions."
I froze, speechless. He wasn't going to tell me. He just turned and climbed into his own truck, his back straight, his head held high.
"Hey, buddy," the driver called from the truck. "He won't answer you. Just get in."
The three boys inside chuckled nervously, as if laughing would make them less afraid.
I climbed in, my heart heavy, and exhaled.
The boy beside me stuck out his hand. "I'm Ferry. And you?"
"Martin," I said, shaking it. "Nice to meet you."
"Do you know," he lowered his voice, "the academy isn't about passing exams. They're just going to train us enough and then throw us straight into the war."
His bluntness startled me. But he wasn't wrong. "Yeah," I muttered. "If they actually cared about tests, there wouldn't be any soldiers left to fight."
Ferry grinned faintly. I couldn't help but grin back. Maybe — just maybe — I had found a friend.
After a bumpy ride, the truck came to a stop. The academy gates loomed ahead — iron, barbed, guarded. Ferry and I headed to the registration office, papers in hand. I handed mine over the counter, and as I did, I sensed someone behind me. A presence sharp enough to slice through the air.
I turned.
It was Colonel Yornus, younger brother of General Yarna. Both brothers were legends, strategists Arkania counted as its backbone. But unlike the fierce General, Yornus carried himself with calm precision. His eyes scanned us like knives.
"You children…" His voice was smooth, deliberate. "…have the eyes of fighters."
We all stiffened and shouted together, "Yes, Sir!"
But his gaze stopped on me. He stepped closer, his shadow falling across my form.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"M-Martin."
"Full name," he demanded, his voice rising.
"Martin Arkila."
His expression shifted. He narrowed his eyes. "So… you are Malkin's brother."
My blood froze. "Wha—" My tongue stumbled.
How did he know my brother?
I was frozen when Colonel Yornus mentioned my brother's name. 'How... how does he know Malkin?' My throat tightened, but I couldn't ask. A man like him wasn't someone you questioned. He gave me one last sharp glance, then turned and walked away.
Ferry noticed. "Wait, does your brother hold some high position or something?" he asked as we sat in our new room.
I shook my head. "No… He doesn't." My voice cracked slightly.
Ferry tilted his head, confused. "Then how—"
"They must've fought together during the resistance." The words felt heavy on my tongue.
"Oh." He nodded quickly. "So he's probably on the frontlines right now."
My fists clenched, and I fought back tears. "No. He isn't."
Ferry's smile faded. "Then—"
"He's dead." The words shot out before he could finish. "He died in the resistance."
Silence enveloped the room. Ferry blinked, searching for something to say. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't know." He hesitated, then muttered, "You should be proud of him, though. My father… he couldn't handle it. He... took his own life. Left us at the mercy of the Zaphlisians. But somehow, we survived."
I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt like maybe we understood each other — not completely, but enough.
That evening, a voice echoed through the academy's speakers:
"All cadets report to the central grounds. I repeat, all Cadets report to the central grounds."
Ferry and I joined the stream of boys and girls pouring outside. The grounds were massive, filled with rows of cadets lined up by name. My stomach tightened as they called mine.
Our group of five formed: Ferry and I, plus Alfred — a quiet boy whose eyes were always lost in thought; Valkin — smaller, restless, couldn't stop fidgeting; and Barnett — sharp-eyed, already studying everyone like she was scouting weaknesses.
"From today, you train as a unit," our instructor barked. He was a lean man with a scar across his cheek. "Captain Pierson. You answer me now. You fight together, you survive together. Remember that."
Ferry whispered, "He's in the top ten cadets here. We're lucky."
I wasn't sure about luck.
That night, we went to our shared dorm—five bunks, five strangers, trying to sleep under the same roof. I lay awake longer than the rest, staring at the ceiling, wondering if my brother once slept in a place like this.
Then — gunfire.
The sound jerked me out of bed. Everyone else awoke suddenly as well.
"What the—" Ferry muttered, rushing to the window.
The night sky flashed with light. Heavy thuds shook the ground—anti-aircraft guns.
"Stay inside!" Captain Pierson burst in, sweat on his forehead, breath ragged. He slammed the door shut and locked it. "If you want to see, look through the windows. Don't leave your rooms. Colonel Yornus gave strict orders. Got it?"
Alfred rubbed his eyes. "But what's going on?"
"Five minutes ago," Pierson said, struggling to catch his breath, "our patrol planes spotted fifty unauthorized cargo planes crossing over Pharkis. They warned the ground bases. AA opened fire. Our planes landed nearby to load weapons; they'll be back in the air any moment."
Before we could ask more, the academy's loudspeakers blared:
"CEASEFIRE! ALL UNITS CEASEFIRE! The Arkanian Air Force is now engaging the enemy. Hold your fire."
We rushed to the window. The night sky was chaos — black silhouettes weaving through explosions, burning trails carving across the clouds. The cargo planes looked like fireflies being swatted out of the dark.
Hours crawled by like days. Gunfire, silence, then another explosion. None of us spoke.
When dawn finally broke through the windows, Captain Pierson returned. His face was pale.
"Those were Tartusian planes. Smuggling cargo to Zaphlis. Out of fifty, we downed eleven." He paused, rubbing his temples. "They cut across our skies because they thought our patrols were gone. But luck was on our side."
I didn't feel lucky. I felt the weight of it — that nowhere, not even the academy, was safe anymore. And that if Tartus could fly straight into our skies, the real war wasn't waiting at the borders. It was already here.