The next sunrise came far too quickly. Sleep clung to my eyes, but Captain Pierson had no mercy.
"Up, cadets! This isn't your Aunt's house, it's a military academy!" He ripped the blanket off Valkin and clapped his hands loud enough to wake the dead. "Barnett's already ready and standing sharp, and you boys are still drooling on your pillows."
Barnett smirked from the doorway, arms folded. Her uniform was spotless, her boots shone like mirrors. She didn't say a word, but her grin said it all: 'pathetic boys.'
I pushed myself up and adjusted my uniform. "I'm ready too," I said calmly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I woke up two hours ago, got dressed, and lay back down. Just wanted to see how long it'd take you all."
Pierson gave me a long stare, like he was trying to figure out if I was lying. I didn't blink. He smirked faintly, then shook his head. "Cafeteria. Now. Eat fast."
We shuffled down the hall and into the cafeteria. The air smelled of boiled grain and weak tea, the kind of food that filled you but gave no joy. Metal trays clattered as cadets lined up for rations. Pierson sat at our table, eating with us like he wasn't an officer at all.
He cleared his throat. "Since you're stuck with me, let's do proper introductions. I'm Pierson Derfel, Captain in the Crescent Army. My father's with the mobile unit in Targalia. My mother's a field doctor on the Eastern Front. My sister…" He paused just long enough for us to notice, then kept eating. "She was studying in Targalia when the Phoenix bombed the city. She didn't make it."
He said it like he was reading a weather report. No tremble in his voice, no crack in his face. Just stone.
Barnett spoke first. "I'm Barnett Alexim. Father's a hunter, mother's a housewife. I'm an only child." Her voice had no nerves in it. She added, quieter, "And… I'm sorry about your sister, sir."
Ferry straightened his back. "I'm Ferry Ferling. Father's a teacher at the National Aviation Academy. My mother's a nurse, deployed on the eastern front."
Pierson nodded. "That front is hell. Medics are always needed there. She'll hold her ground. Don't worry."
Valkin toyed with his bread before speaking. "I'm Valkin Varsel. My parents are farmers. They… they stayed back home." His voice was almost apologetic, like farming was a crime.
Then all eyes turned to me. My throat tightened. "I'm Martin Arkila," I said slowly. "My father was killed the day Zaphlis bombed Pharkis. My mother died in the liberation war. And…" My jaw trembled, but I forced it out. "I had an older brother. He was ten when he joined the resistance. He didn't make it."
Silence fell over the table. Even the cafeteria noise in the background seemed to fade. They all looked at me—not with pity exactly.
Pierson leaned closer. "Then you carry their weight, Martin. Every step you take here, every breath you fight for—make it prove that their sacrifices weren't wasted." His words weren't loud, but they cut deep.
"Alfred," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You haven't spoken."
Alfred looked up, eyes dark with thought. "Sir… if a plane dropped on this academy right now, or an artillery shell hit us, what are our odds of surviving?" He asked it like he was asking about the meaning of life.
Pierson groaned. "You know what, Alfred? Just eat your food and don't open your mouth again."
The rest of us snorted. Even Barnett cracked a smile.
Breakfast ended quickly, and we marched out to the training grounds. The morning air was cold, filled with the sound of other groups shouting drills. Pierson stood before us, hands clasped behind his back.
"Alright. Tell me your strengths."
I straightened my shoulders. "Hand-to-hand combat. My father trained me. And… I know some basics of sniping. I can plan, too."
Ferry spoke next, more cautiously. "Since my father's in aviation, I've studied a lot. If I'm trained properly… I think I can fly."
"Think?" Barnett teased under her breath.
He ignored her.
Barnett lifted her chin. "I can scout. Hunting trips with my father taught me to track and move quietly."
Valkin shifted nervously. "I don't… I don't know. I just know how to work the land. Farming."
Pierson's eyes narrowed. "Then you'll learn the rest. A farmer knows patience, and war demands that too."
For the first time since we arrived, Valkin smiled faintly.
"Sir…" Alfred started, raising his hand halfway like we were in school.
Pierson cut him off instantly. "No. Don't. The fact that you're here is already enough contribution." His tone was sharp, but his smirk made it sting less.
"Alright, kids," Pierson clapped once. "On the track. One lap. I want to see what kind of lungs you've got."
We lined up at the edge of the dirt track. My heart was already pounding—not from nerves, but from the way Pierson's eyes drilled into us like we were already soldiers.
The whistle blew.
Ferry shot forward like a bullet, legs pounding the ground as if the world was on fire behind him. Barnett followed close, light and sharp in her stride. I pushed myself hard, chasing her heels, lungs burning. Valkin ran too, slower but steady, like the earth itself was pacing him. And Alfred… Alfred just ran. No rhythm, no urgency—just a body in motion.
One lap. One lap felt like a mile. By the time we came around, Ferry crossed first, throwing his arms up like he'd just won a race. Barnett came next, quick but controlled. I was right behind her, chest aching but proud I'd held the pace. Valkin finished a little after, bent over, and wheezed. Alfred trailed in last, looking like he'd been dragged by invisible chains the whole way.
Pierson whistled again and clapped. "Well done. You three—Ferry, Barnett, Martin—you've got speed. Valkin, keep building stamina. Alfred…" He sighed.
We laughed, even Alfred.
Pierson's face hardened, though his eyes still had that glint of playfulness. "But speed isn't everything. Listen carefully. I won't be with you out there when it matters. It'll be the five of you—alone. That means you'll need a leader to follow."
That word leader made all of us straighten unconsciously.
"So here's how it'll go," he continued. "From now on, every drill, every exercise, every test—you'll earn points. Ultimately, the individual with the highest score becomes the squad leader. No votes. No whining."
Valkin perked up, restless as ever. "So… whoever's best at everything takes command?"
"Exactly," Pierson said with a smile that showed just how much he liked this idea.
I nodded. "It's fair. I don't see any problem."
"Same here," Ferry agreed, still breathing heavy but grinning.
"Me too," Barnett added with no hesitation.
Valkin shrugged. "Fine by me."
Alfred looked like he wanted to raise another philosophical question, but under Pierson's stare, he just muttered, "Okay."
And that was it. The competition began—not just for skill, but for the right to lead. Every drill from now on was a test.
And in the back of my mind, I already knew: none of us would walk away the same.