The warrior was not leaning against the wall as usual. He was pacing back and forth in the middle of the corridor, snorting. His metallic sword-arm was opening and closing nervously, making a slight creak each time. His single organic eye was narrowed in anger, and his face had taken on an even harder expression than usual.
"Tersan? Is something wrong?" Robert asked.
Tersan stopped and turned to him. "Wrong?" he growled. His voice was like rusted metal scraping. "The problem is Normah's 'brilliant' tactical ideas. The problem is a winged one who sees gravity as a suggestion. The problem is a metal bird that draws geometric patterns around a target instead of flying in a straight line to it. The problem is a hunter who thinks hiding in a shadow is more effective than crashing down on an enemy like a rock."
Robert understood. "Training... didn't go well, I take it."
"Didn't go well?" Tersan laughed bitterly. "Vingyu, Uhura, Bellero, and me. We were practicing the 'Order and Speed Formation.' The objective was to attack the target from four different points, simultaneously, in sync. But Vingyu got to the target ten seconds before everyone else, got bored, and came back. Bellero orbited the target so many times trying to find the best angle of attack that he got dizzy and crashed into another target. And Uhura... Uhura was so silent and invisible that the target's soul didn't even notice her coming, but neither did its body because she never touched it! And I was standing there, like an idiot, waiting for the 'Attack!' command."
Robert had to force himself not to laugh as he pictured this chaotic scene. He understood Tersan's anger; for he was a soldier of order and discipline. The others were like forces of nature, acting according to their own rules.
"It," Robert said slowly. "Reminds me of a memory from Earth."
Tersan looked at him with curiosity through his anger.
"My father and I were working on a very complex circuit board. Hundreds of tiny parts, thousands of connection points to be soldered. My father, like you, was methodical and patient. He would place every part perfectly, according to the schematic. I, on the other hand... I was like Vingyu. Impatient. I wanted to see the result immediately. One time, behind his back, I tried to solder by skipping a few steps. In the end, when we powered up the circuit board, there was a small explosion, and weeks of our labor went up in a puff of smoke."
Tersan listened to the story in silence. The anger on his face slowly subsided.
"My father," Robert continued as they started walking towards the hall together. "He wasn't mad at me. He just put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Sometimes the fastest way is the longest way, son. Because on the longest way, you make sure you take every step correctly.' And that day, I learned that patience can be a more important virtue than speed."
Tersan was silent for a while. When they reached the end of the corridor and opened the door to the hall, he muttered, "Your father... was a wise man," which was one of the longest and most personal sentences Robert had ever heard from Tersan. Robert felt that, with that simple memory, he had built an invisible bridge between them.
When they entered the hall, their conversation continued. The topic was no longer just a failed training session. It was about what it meant to be a team, how differences were not a weakness, but a strength when used correctly.
"Maybe the problem wasn't the formation," Robert said, sitting down in a chair. "Maybe the problem was forcing everyone to do the same thing. Vingyu's speed can be used as a distraction. Bellero's maneuverability, for reconnaissance. Uhura's stealth, for assassination. And you... you are the final blow that eliminates the biggest remaining threat after everyone else has scattered. Not four separate attacks, but four steps of one big plan."
Tersan rhythmically tapped the fingers of his metallic arm on the table, considering Robert's analysis. "What you're saying... is logical."
That evening, in the calm atmosphere of the hall, the two of them talked for a long time. An engineer and a warrior, brainstorming tactics, strategies, and most importantly, how to create a whole from parts that were nothing alike.
As the night progressed, the others returned to the hall one by one. Everyone was tired but filled with the experiences the day had brought. A short while later, everyone, by their own silent agreement, retired to rest.
When Robert closed his room door, his mind was still throbbing, but it was no longer filled just with the wreckage of that frightening question. Now, there were new ideas in it, that new bond he had formed with Tersan, and that silent vow he had made to Tina. As he lay on his bed, he closed his eyes and found himself not in front of that iridescent sphere, but in his father's workshop, in that memory filled with the lingering smell of solder and the wisdom of patience. And in a corner of his mind, that single word still whispered like an echo:
"Creator?"
But this question no longer scared him; on the contrary, it made him curious.
The silence of Robert's room was imbued with that sweet smell of solder from his father's workshop and the wisdom of patience. Lying on his bed with his eyes closed, his mind felt like a calm sea for the first time in weeks. The storm created by the word "Creator" had subsided, replaced by a warm current brought by the unexpected bond he had formed with Tersan and the silent vow he had made to Tina. He felt like a small ship in this chaotic universe, slowly charting its own course.
However, this fragile peace was shattered by a sudden, sharp notification sound from his Tu device.
This sound that came was neither a lesson alert nor an informal message from a friend. The tone of the sound was cold, official, and could not be postponed. Robert sat up with a start and reached for the device on his desk. The holographic screen illuminated the room with an unsettling red light. On the screen, the Academy's highest authority symbol, an eye with seven stars rotating around it, was glowing. And beneath the emblem were words that caused an icy fear to settle in his stomach:
[URGENT MEETING REQUEST: BY COUNCIL MEMBER. SUBJECT: RULE VIOLATION. LOCATION: SECTOR 1 - DISCIPLINE AND AUTHORITY TOWER, ROOM 7. MEETING TIME: IMMEDIATELY.]
"Rule violation..." Robert whispered the word, feeling his mouth go dry. What had he done? Had he revealed the secret of the Twist Seal? No, the seal had silenced him. Was he late for a lesson? No, Iksas had personally dismissed him. As his mind quickly scanned a list of possible crimes, amber-colored eyes, nine silky tails, and that venomous kiss that stole his soul came to his mind. Amara.
His heart began to flutter like a bird trapped in his chest; because no one had asked him anything after the incident. Uhura had said she had cleared his mind. He thought the matter was closed. But the Council did not forget.
He quickly stood up, pulling on his team's standard, dark uniform. He noticed his hands were shaking. Sector 1 was the administrative and political center of the Academy, and he had never been there before. When he opened the Tu's map, he saw that the place he had to go was a structure rising like a tower in the very heart of the Academy, above all other buildings.
The corridors were almost completely empty, as it was the middle of the night. Every step he took was like the echo of an accusation in the silence. As he approached Sector 1, the architecture changed. The functional or ancient feel of the other sectors was gone, replaced by an aesthetic designed to be cold, oppressive, and to display power. The walls were made of polished, black marble, and on them were giant holographic frescoes, illuminated with cold blue light, depicting moments of victory from the Academy's history. Even the air smelled more filtered, more sterile.
At the entrance of the Discipline and Authority Tower, two Sentinels stood with no expression on their faces, their armor gleaming like mirrors. They scanned Robert from head to toe, verified the summons on his Tu device, and without a single word, opened the massive door to let him in.
Inside, another Sentinel met him and silently guided him to an elevator. As the elevator ascended at an incredible speed, Robert felt his stomach clench. Finally, it stopped with a soft chime. When the doors opened, he found himself in a long, narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor, there was a single door, on which only the number "7" glowed.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked towards the door. When he stood in front of it, the door automatically and silently slid open inward.
The room was not grand or ornate as he might have expected. It was completely circular; its walls, ceiling, and floor were made of a milky-white, seamless material that glowed faintly even without a light source. There was no window, no painting, no decoration. In the very center of the room, there was a circular table made of the same white material, and on two sides of the table, two chairs rose from the floor. This place was less like an interrogation room and more like an empty room within a mind; there was nowhere to be distracted, nowhere to hide.
In the chair on the far side of the table, sat a Council Member.
Robert could not discern the being's race or gender. It wore a dark purple, cloaked, high-collared robe that covered its face and entire body. Where its face should have been, there was only a deep shadow, and gleaming within that shadow, like stars, were two bright, white points. The aura emanating from its presence was neither warm nor cold; just absolute authority and millennia of indifference.
"Sit, Robert," said the Council Member. Its voice did not speak directly into his mind like Iksas's, but thanks to the room's acoustics, it was resonant and genderless, as if coming from all directions at once.
Robert sat in the chair on the other side of the table, his legs trembling. The chair yielded slightly, conforming to the shape of his body.
"Do you know why you are here?" the Council Member asked, those two bright white points locked onto Robert.
"About... about a rule violation," Robert stammered.
"Correct. Specifically, a violation of the Academy Code of Conduct, Article 17, Section 3. Subject: A sexual union with an entity identified as 'Succubus' class, named Amara."
The word, 'sexual union', struck the white walls of the room like a whip. Robert's face burned. "What you're saying isn't true! I... she attacked me! She controlled my mind! It happened against my will!"
"There is psychic evidence that your will was compromised at one point," the Council Member said, with no hint of emotion in its voice. "However, in the later stages of the event, it is also on record that your mental aura shifted from a passive victim mode to an active participant mode. Your resistance was not broken; it was redirected. And this, in the eyes of the law, is a form of consent."
Robert's blood ran cold. They had watched him. They had recorded every moment, every thought. "What you're doing is unfair! How could I have resisted? I... I didn't even know what she was!"
"On your first day at the Academy, your leader, Valen Lazeria, reminded you of the basic rules," the Council Member continued, as if it hadn't heard Robert's defense. "One of the most important rules: 'It is forbidden to form deep emotional or physical bonds with anyone outside of your own team, without the special permission of the Council.' Your action is not just a sexual union; it is a violation of this fundamental order. And that is the real crime."
Robert didn't know what to say. Arguing was like punching a white wall.
The Council Member paused for a moment. The atmosphere in the room changed slightly. It was no longer speaking like a judge, but like a doctor. "However... we are aware of the complexity of the situation. And the Academy does not wish to lose its thirteenth Dream Twister in its history over a simple, instinctual mistake."
This branch being extended was an olive branch. But a poisoned one.
"Therefore, we will handle this not as a matter of punishment, but as a matter of correction. But first, we need to understand you. Robert... are you a sex addict?"
The question was so sudden and so personal that Robert was momentarily stunned. "What? No! Absolutely not!"
"Then what is your general attitude towards female entities? Do you find it difficult to communicate with these beings? Or is it the opposite?"
Robert sensed this was a trap, but he had no choice but to answer honestly. "I... I think, in general... I interact better with them compared to other beings. I... I have a relatively emotional nature." And as he said these last words, his intimate conversation with Tina came to his mind.
"We are aware," said the Council Member. "Your training, your conversations, even your sleep patterns have been under review since the first day you arrived at the Academy. We are aware that your emotional nature makes you both a powerful Dream Twister and extremely vulnerable to such manipulations."
It was at that moment Robert felt the trap close. What was happening was not an interrogation; it was just the justification for a decision already made.
"There is a way to correct this situation," the Council Member continued. "But you will not like this solution. We are going to make some changes to your team. There is no other way to fix this situation."
"To my team?" Robert's voice rose in disbelief. "But we are a family!"
"Academy teams are accustomed to such changes. Members can constantly transfer among themselves or, for various reasons, we provide the rebalancing I mentioned. Contrary to what you believe, members are not permanent, Robert."
"But what you're planning... it will ruin everything! Our dynamics, our bonds..."
"Correct," said the Council Member. "However, the will of the Council is superior to individual team dynamics. Our purpose is not to create permanent, isolated families as you think, but to create a widespread, controllable network of bonds. The ban on interaction outside the team is for the establishment of deep initial bonds. And when those bonds are strong enough, we redistribute them in a way that we believe will yield the best results."
"But if we can't interact with anyone outside the team, how will this general bond you mentioned be formed?"
"Because we control that interaction. In missions, in competitions, and in transfers like this... They are all parts of the grand plan."
Robert's world was collapsing. The Red Friends were his only sanctuary in this chaos. And now, the Council was tearing down that sanctuary with its own hands. "What... what's going to happen?" he whispered.
"There cannot be two leaders in one team, Robert."
This sentence from the Council member hung in the white void of the room. Robert didn't understand. "What do you mean?"
"Isn't the situation perfectly clear?" said the Council Member. "In accordance with the decision made, your team's current leader, Normah, and her right hand, Tersan, will be transferred to Team 312, the 'Iron Guardians,' and they will retain their current positions there. In their place, two new female entities, whom we will choose and believe will support your mental and emotional balance, will be assigned to the Red Friends. And the new leader of the Red Friends... will be you."
If the room hadn't been white, Robert might have fainted. Leader? Him? This decision was worse than a joke. "No! You can't do this! The leader... the team should decide the leader!"
"In the terms and conditions you accepted when you first activated your Tu device, it is clearly stated," the Council Member said, its voice holding a metallic certainty. "Each of you is an individual in this Academy. The right to select, disband, appoint leaders, and all other administrative rights belong exclusively to the Council."
"But... but this wasn't told to us at the beginning!" Robert shouted, as a last hope.
The Council Member fixed those two bright white points on Robert. "If that's the case, why are we here, Robert?"
This single question he heard broke Robert's last resistance. He understood. They were God. They made the rules, they changed them, they enforced them. Team bonds, friendships, families had no importance on their grand chessboard.
"We must maintain balance," the Council Member continued, as if explaining the rules of the universe to a child. "Let's say a team is in first place and its members are so harmonious that they've become untouchable. No one can beat them. Such a situation is stagnation, a danger to the Academy. But when we take the most key members of that team and distribute them to other teams, making the necessary rebalancing, this situation changes. In this system we've established, nothing and no one is guaranteed. Everyone must always evolve, always adapt."
Robert slumped into his chair, defeated. He was thinking. And he was understanding. He understood the cold logic behind this brutal system. Yes, it wasn't fair. But it was effective.
"I understand," he whispered. "But I..."
"That is all," the Council Member said, its indifferent tone cutting off the conversation like a steel door slamming shut. "The decision has been made. The changes will be implemented in the next cycle. Prepare your team for this situation, Leader."
The last word wasn't a compliment; it was a brand. Robert tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't support him. The Council Member paid no mind to his state. When it realized Robert had nothing more to say, the wall behind it silently melted away, opening a passage, and the Council Member disappeared into the darkness of that passage.
Robert was left alone in that stark white, empty room, with the heaviest burden of his life. He was no longer just a member. On the contrary, he was a leader responsible for the exile of two of his friends, forced to accept two new members he didn't know, and most importantly, forced to hold together a family on the brink of collapse. When he left the room, he was no longer the scared, innocent kid who had entered; on the contrary, he was a broken man, shaped by the will of the Council.
When Robert walked out of that stark white, soulless room of the Discipline and Authority Tower, the burden that settled on him was so tangible it almost physically slumped his shoulders. He saw his reflection on the polished, black marble floor of the corridor; in the place of the anxious but still somewhat hopeful kid who had entered, stood a stranger's face, bearing the dull weight of defeat and betrayal. The word "Leader" echoed in the Council Member's genderless voice, not like a badge of honor, but like an invisible, yet incredibly heavy shackle clamped around a slave's neck.
Even when he left the cold, oppressive architecture of Sector 1 and returned to the more familiar, more humane corridors of his own sector, he couldn't relax. Every step was a step towards betrayal. What would he say to Normah and Tersan? Would he say, "They've exiled you to another team and appointed me as leader in your place. This is my fault, it happened because of my weakness"? Even rehearsing these words in his mind caused a bitter bile to rise in his stomach. Would they blame him? Would they hate him? How was he going to destroy this family, this sanctuary he had just found, with his own hands?
When he reached the door of the hall, he hesitated for a moment. He knew that the most difficult conversation of his life was waiting for him on the other side. He took a deep, trembling breath and tried to anchor his mind not to the Council's ruthless logic, but to that calm moment in his father's workshop, to the wisdom of patience. But this time, even that memory was of no use. When he placed his hand on the panel and opened the door, he felt like an executioner.