Kane Jr. stood exactly where his father had left him.
He hadn't moved, Not a single inch.
The training grounds were quiet now, scrubbed clean of chaos, recruits herded back to their bunks like cattle after a storm. The only sound was the distant hum of Astra Primus's systems—dark-matter engines idling, gravity stabilized, the station breathing in its cold, mechanical way.
Colonel Kane did not face his son.
He stood with his back turned, hands clasped behind him, staring out through the reinforced transparisteel at the stars. The same posture he always used when delivering judgment. Detached. Impersonal. Absolute.
"You embarrassed yourself," Kane Sr. said. The words were calm and that was worse than shouting.
Kane Jr. clenched his jaw but said nothing.
"You embarrassed your captain. You embarrassed your unit," the colonel continued. "And you embarrassed me."
There it was.
Kane Jr.'s hands curled into fists at his sides. His body still ached from the gravity surge—muscles sore, joints tight—but the pain barely registered. He'd felt worse than before much much worse.
"This is not a game," Kane Sr. went on. "You were not placed here to posture. You were placed here to lead. Every action you take reflects on the TwinBlades. On your command staff. On your name."
Your name.
Not our name.
Never our.
Kane Jr. stared at the floor, teeth grinding. He had heard this speech before. Variations of it, anyway. Since he was old enough to walk in a training yard, old enough to understand that Colonel Kane was not just his father, but a legend that swallowed every room he entered.
This is how it always was.
His father saw potential everywhere—raw recruits, broken veterans, people the system had already written off. He rebuilt them and sharpened them into weapons.
Everyone but his own son.
"You are expected to be an example," Kane Sr. said. "Instead, you acted like a petty warlord."
Silence stretched.
Kane Jr. swallowed hard.
"I was asserting dominance, control," he said finally.
Colonel Kane turned.
The look in his eyes was not anger.
It was disappointment.
"Dominance and control is not leadership ," Kane Sr. said coldly. "It's about actions and the will to do right in the face of wrong. If you cannot tell the difference, then you are not ready for command."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Kane Jr.'s mind flashed backward—years, decades, stitched together in fragments of memory.
Training yards under artificial suns. Endless drills. Simulated combat that always escalated beyond reason. His father standing at the edge of it all, observing, correcting, never praising.
The duel.
He remembered that one with perfect clarity. He had been seventeen. Old enough to think he was ready as a man. He was Strong, Faster, and smarter than the instructors who whispered that no one beat Kane Sr. in his prime.
He had challenged his father openly.
The fight had lasted less than a minute.
Colonel Kane hadn't moved from where he stood. Not one step. He had deflected every strike with minimal motion, redirected momentum with surgical precision, and when Kane Jr. overextended—just once—his father had struck.
One blow.
Lights out.
Kane Jr. had woken nine hours later, sprawled in the dirt of the yard, muscles stiff, head pounding, the sun long since set. No med team. No reprimand.
Just a lesson.
That humiliation had burned.
But not like today.
Today, someone else had earned his father's attention. Heinrich Wynn. That name echoed in Kane Jr.'s skull like a curse. The image replayed against his will—Heinrich forcing himself to his knees under doubled gravity. Bloodied. Shaking. Still defiant. Still moving. At least one of you is worthy of my attention. The words hadn't been meant for Kane Jr. They should have been for him That realization twisted something ugly inside him. Envy, hot and corrosive. Rage sharpened by years of comparison. Yes Heinrich earned that moment through sheer will but He hadn't bled enough on a battlefield, hadn't trained under impossible expectations.
And yet—He stood up where Kane Jr. had fallen.
That was unforgivable.
"You will return to your bunk," Kane Sr. said, voice final. "You will reflect. And you will correct your behavior. Because the next time you embarrass me, I will not be lenient."
"Yes, sir," Kane Jr. said through clenched teeth.
Colonel Kane dismissed him with a flick of his hand, already turning back to the stars.
Kane Jr. left without saluting.
The corridors blurred as he walked. His thoughts churned—envy, humiliation, hatred coiling together into something focused and sharp.
By the time he reached the TwinBlades' bunk sector, his restraint was gone.
His bunk mate was sitting on the edge of his rack, adjusting his gear with deliberate slowness.
Caleb Thorne.
Eighteen. Heavy-set, but not soft—thick muscle layered beneath mass, the kind that came from years of lifting more than running. Pale skin, close-cropped hair, eyes that missed nothing and cared about very little beyond advantage.
Caleb looked up as Kane Jr. entered.
Kane Jr. crossed the room in three strides and punched him square in the jaw.
"Where were you," Kane Jr. snarled, "during the stand-off?"
Caleb reeled back, crashing into the rack behind him—but he laughed as he straightened, wiping blood from his lip.
"Oh," Caleb said pleasantly, "so we're blaming me for you getting folded by gravity now?"
Kane Jr. swung again.
Caleb caught the punch.
Then he drove his own fist into Kane Jr.'s ribs, hard enough to send him into the wall. Metal rang. The breath shot from Kane Jr.'s lungs.
They collided in the center of the room, fists and elbows trading in brutal, wordless rhythm. No technique. No honor. Just rage and opportunism. Caleb fought dirty—headbutts, knee strikes—while Kane Jr. fought fast, precise, fueled by fury.
"You froze," Caleb spat, slamming Kane Jr. into the bulkhead. "That's not my problem."
"You didn't move!" Kane Jr. roared back, driving a knee into Caleb's thigh.
Caleb grunted but smiled. "Because I'm not stupid. I survive no matter what that's how I get ahead."
They broke apart, both breathing hard, knuckles bruised, lips split.
Caleb wiped his mouth again. "Look. You want the truth?"
Kane Jr. glared.
"You're not mad because your father yelled at you," Caleb said. "You're mad because that other guy—Wynn—made you look stupid."
The words hit home.
Caleb shrugged. "Good news? That can be fixed."
Kane Jr.'s eyes narrowed. "Talk."
Caleb leaned back against the rack, unfazed. "Wynn's very disciplined something about him is insane and he's driven if left unchecked he can become a problem but Reyes is his anchor—morals, humor, and keeps him balanced. Break Reyes mentality or his bones, you break Heinrich."
"And how," Kane Jr. asked quietly, "do we do that?"
Caleb smiled, slow and knowing. "We don't fight them where they're strong which is when they're near each other but how about we separate them and force them to make mistakes. Pressure and Pride and Two months is just enough time to "break" someone."
Kane Jr. felt the rage settle into something colder. He felt focused..
"Good," he said. "Because I don't just want to beat Heinrich Wynn."
He flexed his bruised hand.
"I want him to fall in despair as I take everything from him..."