The candidates were dismissed without ceremony.
No instructions about rest.
No warnings.
Just a silent expectation that everyone would be ready anyway.
The holding corridors beneath the Crucible filled slowly, boots echoing against metal floors still warm from the planet's core. Groups formed naturally — not by squad assignment, but by instinct. Species clustered. Veterans drifted together. Earth cadets stuck close, pretending not to notice how out of place they looked.
Tojo sat on a low crate near the wall, elbows on his knees.
His chest still felt tight.
Not pain.
Pressure.
A Kyrr cadet from his unit dropped beside him with a heavy thud. "You hesitate less than most," the Kyrr said, voice gravelly. "Still too much."
Tojo glanced at him. "Noted."
The Kyrr snorted. "Didn't say it was bad. Said it'll get someone killed if you don't fix it."
He stood and walked off like the conversation was over.
Ozaru leaned against a support pillar nearby, staring at the floor as if it might answer something for him. Two cadets were arguing quietly a few meters away.
"That wasn't in the syllabus." "There is no syllabus." "Then what are we even supposed to do?" "Survive tomorrow."
One of them laughed. Too sharp. Too forced.
Another group was already placing bets on who wouldn't make it past Trial One. Names were thrown around casually, like careers were currency.
Ozaru didn't like how normal it sounded.
Elara passed through the corridor with her unit, helmet tucked under her arm. When she noticed Ozaru watching, she paused.
"You stabilized late," she said, not accusing. Just stating.
"I didn't want to break anything," Ozaru replied.
She studied him for a second. "You will. Eventually. Everyone does."
Then, quieter: "Just choose what you break."
She walked on before he could answer.
Tojo raised an eyebrow when she was gone. "She always talk like that?"
Ozaru exhaled. "I think that was encouragement."
Tojo shook his head. "This galaxy's weird."
Somewhere farther down the corridor, Blaze Onyx was holding court, leaning against a railing, retelling the day like a highlight reel.
"—so I tell my squad, 'Relax, I got this,' and boom, construct's gone."
Someone muttered, "You still got a strike."
Blaze waved it off. "Details."
A sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Lights out in ten."
The corridors dimmed slightly, not enough to sleep comfortably. Enough to make everyone aware that rest was a suggestion, not a right.
Tojo lay back on the crate, staring at the ceiling. Ozaru sat beside him, arms folded.
"You ever feel like," Ozaru began, then stopped.
Tojo didn't look at him. "Like what?"
"…like we're already behind, and the race hasn't even started?"
Tojo closed his eyes. "Yeah."
They didn't talk after that.
Far from Eclipsera, a transport cut silently through deep space.
Alkhaz stood near the viewport, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that came only from experience. Stars slid past like data points.
The figure beside him finally spoke.
"You're calm," the stranger said.
Alkhaz smiled faintly. "If I wasn't, they wouldn't have sent me."
"No concern for the boys?"
"There's concern," Alkhaz replied. "Just not panic. Panic's for people without plans."
The other figure nodded slowly.
"And Zarion's message?"
Alkhaz's eyes stayed on the stars. "A map. Not a warning. Anyone treating it like prophecy is already misunderstanding it."
The transport adjusted course.
Somewhere ahead, something important waited.
Morning on Eclipsera arrived without light.
The Crucible reconfigured itself during the night. Trenches deepened. Platforms shifted. The ground felt less stable underfoot, like the planet itself was testing balance.
Candidates were lined up again.
Fewer than yesterday.
No one said it out loud, but everyone noticed.
The senior instructor returned to the platform, expression unchanged.
"Trial One begins now," he said.
No preamble this time.
No explanation.
Just a gesture.
The ground moved.
Tojo's muscles tensed instantly. Ozaru's breath slowed.
Around them, cadets tightened grips, checked spacing, whispered last-second reminders.
Someone behind them muttered, "Don't freeze. Don't freeze."
The Crucible did not care.
Metal split. Structures rose. Shadows moved where nothing should have been.
And then—
The first Voidspawn construct surfaced.
Not dramatic.
Just inevitable.
Tojo felt Destruction stir again, heavy and impatient.
Ozaru felt Creation respond, curious and alert.
Around them, squads braced.
Above them, Ken Kuruzama watched.
Far away, Nina was already in motion on another battlefield.
And somewhere even farther, plans adjusted quietly.
The Crucible had moved past observation.
Now it would measure damage.
Trial One had truly begun.
The first impact didn't come from the Voidspawn.
It came from panic.
A cadet two rows ahead flinched when the ground shifted again, boots skidding on unstable metal. His squad compensated instinctively, but the hesitation rippled outward. Another squad adjusted too late. A third overcorrected.
The Crucible rewarded none of them.
Tojo caught fragments of voices through the noise.
"Hold—don't break—" "Spacing, spacing—" "Why is it moving like that!?"
A younger cadet near the rear laughed breathlessly. "This is insane. This is actually insane."
No one answered him.
Ozaru tracked movement patterns automatically now, eyes darting, mind racing ahead of his body. The constructs didn't advance in straight lines. They probed. Tested. Waited for mistakes.
One squad tried to rush.
They were gone in seconds.
Extraction beams pulled them out mid-charge, their shouts cut short as if the Crucible itself had lost interest.
Someone near Tojo whispered, "They didn't even last thirty seconds."
Another replied, quieter, "That's the point."
Between engagements, there were moments—small, sharp pockets of stillness where everyone realized they were still alive. In those gaps, people talked. Not loudly. Not bravely.
A Vexari cadet muttered calculations under his breath, trying to predict terrain shifts. A human girl checked her hands repeatedly, flexing her fingers as if afraid they'd stop responding. Two Andromeda-born cadets argued in clipped tones about formation doctrine, each convinced the other would get them killed.
Tojo listened without turning his head.
Everyone thought they knew how to survive.
Everyone was wrong in a different way.
Ozaru noticed a cadet stumble and instinctively leaned forward—then stopped himself. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
Not yet.
He hated how hard that was.
Across the field, Blaze Onyx was still grinning, but sweat traced the side of his face now. His movements were sharper, less playful. A teammate shouted something at him he couldn't quite hear, and Blaze snapped back with irritation instead of laughter.
Even he was adjusting.
Stryke Vahr didn't look back at anyone. He didn't need to. His squad moved with quiet, mechanical certainty, as if they'd rehearsed this exact failure a hundred times already.
That scared Tojo more than the Voidspawn.
The Crucible shifted again.
New trenches opened. Old cover vanished. The ground refused to stay solved.
Somewhere in the chaos, a cadet screamed—not in fear, but in rage—when their Genesis misfired and tore apart a structure they were standing on. They were extracted before they hit the ground.
No one clapped.
No one mocked them.
Everyone understood.
High above, Ken Kuruzama marked another data point.
Not success.
Not failure.
Deviation.
He watched Tojo hesitate again—less than before, but still there. He watched Ozaru restrain himself again—more cleanly this time, but with visible strain.
Ken's expression didn't change.
Inside, he noted it anyway.
Night crept in without warning, the Crucible's artificial sky dimming further as Trial One stretched on longer than anyone had expected. Exhaustion set in. Muscles trembled. Focus thinned.
This was intentional.
Tojo felt it in his arms. In his breath. In the way Destruction pressed harder now, sensing weakness, opportunity.
He swallowed and stayed still.
Ozaru closed his eyes for half a second—just long enough to steady his thoughts—then opened them again, scanning for what the Crucible hadn't revealed yet.
They were still here.
That mattered.
For now.
Far above Eclipsera's orbit, sensors adjusted again, recalibrating around specific signatures. Two in particular lingered a fraction longer than the rest before moving on.
Data archived. Variables updated.
Somewhere far beyond the Crucible, someone looked at those numbers and didn't smile.
The ground shifted once more.
And no one pretended this was training anymore.