Youri was escorted to the academy building shortly after his enrollment was finalized. General Presley led the way out of the headquarters, their footsteps echoing through the polished corridors until they emerged into the open air of the royal military base.
Before them stretched a vast airfield, its surface smooth and dark, marked with glowing guidance lines that pulsed softly beneath the daylight. Four massive hangars stood aligned along the field, each one bearing the insignia of the Terrian Armed Forces.
Presley gestured forward.
"This way," he said.
They crossed the airfield and approached the first hangar. As they neared, the hangar doors slid open with a deep mechanical rumble, revealing an expansive interior bathed in cool white light. The space was far larger than it appeared from the outside, divided into multiple sections by reinforced walls and transparent partitions.
As they stepped inside, the low hum of energy systems filled the air.
Presley began pointing as they walked down the main hall.
"To your left," he said, "are the living quarters."
Youri glanced over. A series of identical doors lined the wall, each marked with unit numbers.
"We house our recruits in ten-man rooms," Presley continued. "Currently, there are fifty recruits enrolled, including you. That number may shrink before training ends."
Youri understood what that meant without needing further explanation.
They continued on, passing into a wide open area.
"This is the buffet," Presley said.
The dining hall was spacious, lined with long benches and reinforced tables designed to seat more than eighty personnel at once. The atmosphere felt utilitarian but efficient—no excess, no wasted space. Beyond the seating area, the kitchen bustled quietly with automated systems and service drones, preparing and organizing meals.
"There's food available around the clock," Presley added. "Balanced for endurance, recovery, and focus. You won't starve here—but you also won't indulge."
Youri nodded, taking it all in.
They moved on into another corridor, quieter than the rest.
"These rooms here," Presley said, gesturing to the right, "are classrooms and instructor offices. This is where theory happens—navigation, combat protocols, Terrian doctrine, orbital physics, emergency procedures. Many recruits fail here before they ever touch a cockpit."
Youri's jaw tightened slightly.
Finally, Presley slowed his pace.
"One last stop."
They returned toward the entrance of the hangar and stopped in front of a final door. Presley placed his palm against the panel, and the door slid open.
"This," he said, stepping inside, "will be your living quarters."
Youri followed him in.
The room was long and rectangular, illuminated by soft overhead lighting that cast a muted glow across the metal walls. Bunk beds lined both sides of the room, stacked neatly, each equipped with a small storage compartment and a personal light. At the center stood a long metal table flanked by two benches, worn smooth by years of use.
It smelled faintly of disinfectant and clean fabric.
Youri slowly looked around, absorbing the space.
Presley turned to him with a faint smile.
"This is where you'll be living from now on," he said. "Feel free to choose any bed you like. The other recruits won't arrive until tomorrow, so you have the privilege of first pick."
Youri walked over to one of the bunks near the middle of the room and pressed his hand against the mattress. It was firm, practical—built for rest, not comfort. He sat down on the lower bunk.
"Good choice," Presley said. "Bottom bunks are always more flexible."
Youri allowed himself a small smile.
Presley straightened, his expression growing more formal.
"So," he said, "this is it. From here on, everything depends on you. I hope you graduate and earn your place among the elite of our empire's military."
Youri stood and extended his hand.
Presley shook it firmly.
Without another word, the general turned and left the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
Silence settled in.
Youri sat back down on the bed and exhaled slowly.
For the first time since leaving Las Peas—since the fights, the deals, the running—there was nothing he needed to do. No one watching him. No immediate danger pressing against his ribs.
Yet his mind refused to rest.
He stared at the ceiling, thoughts drifting between Volar, Barnaby, and the path that had brought him here. Six months, Barnaby had said. Six months to prove himself, to survive training, to earn the right to pilot an orbiton.
If he failed, there would be no second chance.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.
The next morning began with noise.
The door to the living quarters slid open abruptly, followed by the sound of boots, voices, and laughter echoing into the room. Youri's eyes snapped open as unfamiliar faces began filing in—young men, most around his age, some older, some barely more than boys.
Recruits.
They dropped bags, claimed bunks, sized each other up with curious or guarded glances. Conversations overlapped—names exchanged, origins guessed, rivalries silently forming.
One of them stopped near Youri's bunk.
"You already here?" the man asked. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark skin and close-cropped hair.
"Yeah," Youri replied.
The man nodded approvingly. "Name's Kess."
"Youri."
Kess grinned. "Good luck, Youri. We're gonna need it."
A sharp alarm cut through the chatter.
Red lights flickered along the ceiling.
A mechanical voice echoed through the hangar.
"All recruits report to the assembly field immediately."
Youri stood, heart steady but alert.
This was it.
No more running.
No more underground fights.
Only the academy—and whatever it would demand of him next.