Voss smiled.
It wasn't a reassuring smile. It wasn't the smile of a commander encouraging his troops.
It was a smile that had seen many things. That knew many things. That understood that some lessons are only learned in the fire.
"Have fun," he said.
Pause.
"And don't die."
The silence that followed was absolute.
No one blinked. No one frowned. No one showed surprise. The assistant glanced at them for a moment, nodded briefly, and continued analyzing the various data on the tablet he held in his hand.
Where some might have shown nervousness, fear, or simply said something like "What do you mean, don't die?"
But not these kids. They had already seen death since they were children.
When some children slept, they trained.
When some children were eating healthy food and going through labs, they were on a toxic planet fighting against poisoning.
When some children were sleeping at night in their soft gel beds, they slept on stone on a distant planet.
When some children played with their brothers, sisters, fathers, or mothers, they fought monsters with pure physical and mental strength.
That's why these words "don't die" that Commander Voss said didn't affect them much, so to speak. It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a warning. It was simply... a fact. An acknowledgment of the reality they'd lived in for as long as they could remember.
Death was a constant companion. A shadow that walked beside them since they awakened their first Helion, since they set foot on their first hostile planet, since they learned that survival wasn't a right but an achievement earned each day.
So Voss's words went in one ear and out the other without leaving a trace.
There was no fear in their eyes. No unease in their postures. Only a calm acceptance of what was to come.
Mila, who had remained to the side throughout the exchange, stepped forward. Her smile was still there, but now there was something else in it. Something that might have been respect. Or perhaps envy.
"Well," she said, with that warm voice that never seemed to fade. "You heard the commander. Have fun and don't die. Any questions before boarding?"
Kael opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Seriously?" was all he said.
Mila shrugged.
"It's the Council. They do weird things sometimes."
Hugo let out a snort that could have been a laugh or could have been disbelief. Nayu slowly shook her head.
None of them seemed particularly affected by the situation. Kael simply adjusted his grip on his spear, testing the weight once more. Hugo let his shoulders drop in a calculated relaxation, his fingers moving inside his gloves as if memorizing the texture. Nayu was already evaluating the ship with expert eyes, cataloging entry points, emergency exits, possible defensive positions. She did it without thinking, like breathing.
Dorian simply watched Voss. His green eyes, cold as cut emeralds, held the commander's gaze without flinching. There was no challenge in them. No submission. Only... pure observation. The same type of scrutiny Voss had applied to the room hours before, applied back.
Voss didn't move toward the ship. Didn't take a step toward the ramp. Instead, he slid his hands into his uniform pockets with a calm that bordered on insolent.
"The trip to Veridia is long," he said, as if nothing were happening. "You have time to get to know each other."
The assistant, at his side, didn't move either. His tablet was still in his hands, his eyes fixed on it, but his posture made it clear he had no intention of boarding.
So this is what they were hiding from us, Nayu thought, her eyes sweeping over the ship once more. The lack of information. The survival test. The "don't die." It all made sense now.
But something didn't quite fit.
Even though Commander Voss told us that... —her gaze shifted to the white-haired man— there are still some pieces of the puzzle missing.
It wasn't paranoia. It was instinct. The same instinct that had kept her alive through dozens of missions. The same that told her when an opponent was lying, when a situation was safe, when something smelled wrong.
And this smelled wrong.
Not threatening. Simply... incomplete.
As if there were a deeper layer they hadn't yet discovered.
On the other side of the group, Hugo reached the same conclusion. His quick eyes, always evaluating, always calculating, met Nayu's for an instant. Just an instant.
Then both looked away.
It wasn't the time. Not here. Not yet.
Kael, for his part, wasn't even thinking about that. His mind was on the spear, on the weight, on the balance. On how it would feel to sink it into something. On how it would respond in real combat. The complexities of the mission could wait. He was a weapon, and weapons don't think, they only act.
Or at least, that's what he wanted the others to believe.
Because deep down, even Kael had noticed something didn't fit. But unlike the others, he didn't try to analyze it. He just stored it away, like one more piece of data, for when it became necessary.
Dorian, as always, was the hardest to read.
His green eyes remained fixed on Voss, but his mind was elsewhere. Processing. Analyzing. Connecting dots the others hadn't even seen yet.
The commander knows more than he's saying, Dorian thought. Everyone knows that. The question is: why isn't he telling us?
Omega didn't respond. It wasn't necessary. They both knew the answer.
Because some lessons are only learned in the fire.
Hugo was the first to speak aloud.
"Any restrictions on weaponry?" he asked. His voice was as calculated as always, every word measured, every syllable in its place. "Or can we use everything we're carrying?"
Voss shook his head. A slow, deliberate movement.
"None. Veridia is uncharted territory. You bring what you chose. Use it as needed."
Nayu spoke without taking her eyes off the ship. Her staff still rested on her shoulder, but her fingers moved slightly over the metal, as if memorizing every texture.
"Designated landing zone, or do we choose?"
"Designated," Voss replied. "But once on the surface, points of interest are yours to determine. The ship's AI will give you the data we have, which isn't much."
Kael smiled. It was a predatory smile. The kind of smile that appears on the face of someone who knows they're about to get their hands dirty.
"Better. Fewer rules, more fun."
Hugo rolled his eyes but said nothing. Nayu ignored the comment entirely. Dorian didn't even seem to hear it.
Dorian was already moving.
He didn't say "I'm going." Didn't say "see you." Didn't make any gesture of farewell.
He simply... began to walk.
His boots echoed against the metal platform with a measured, deliberate rhythm. Each step was exactly like the last. Each footfall fell with the precision of a metronome. The black trench coat swayed slightly behind him, the smart nanofibers moving with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic.
The short swords hung at his hips in that characteristic cross-draw that allowed lethally fast access. The left-hand sword on his right hip. The right-hand sword on his left hip. A cross that disoriented opponents, that made them miscalculate attack angles.
Dorian didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
Because Veridia awaited him.
And for the first time in a long while, he wouldn't face it alone.
Hugo followed without a word. His black gloves gleamed faintly under the light of the three suns, the material absorbing and reflecting light in equal measure. His quick eyes were already scanning the ship, memorizing every detail, every possible point of interest.
Kael stretched lazily before setting off. The dark spear rested on his shoulder with the naturalness of someone who'd carried a weapon their whole life. His predatory smile was still there, but there was something else in his eyes now. Something that might have been focus.
Nayu was already moving. Silent. Fluid. She reached Dorian just as he arrived at the ramp and, without a word, climbed beside him.
They didn't look at each other. It wasn't necessary.
They both knew that on the battlefield, words were superfluous. What mattered was action. What mattered was being ready.
And they both were.
Behind them, Voss watched in silence. His gray eyes followed each of the four young people as they climbed the ramp, evaluating, cataloging, storing.
Mila had brought a hand to her forehead, as if memorizing the scene. Her smile had softened, becoming more thoughtful. Less professional. More human.
The assistant's eyes were still on his tablet, but his fingers had stopped over the screen. For a moment, it seemed he was about to say something. Then he changed his mind and returned to his data.
The ramp began to rise slowly.
Metal creaked softly against hinges, a mechanical sound lost in Helion's wind. The four young people disappeared into the ship's interior, swallowed by the cabin's darkness.
None looked back.
Veterans don't say goodbye. They just move forward.
The metallic hiss sealed the ship with a definitive sound. The ramp closed completely, and the ship's hull became smooth, with no sign an entrance had ever been there.
The engines began to vibrate with a deep rumble. It was a low sound, almost organic, felt more in the chest than in the ears. Energy accumulated in the propulsion cores, preparing for liftoff.
On the platform, Voss remained motionless. His gray eyes were fixed on the ship, but his mind was elsewhere.
"Good hunting," he murmured, so low that only he could hear it.
Mila, at his side, nodded slowly.
"They'll come back," she said, and it wasn't a question.
Voss didn't respond.
Because he didn't know.
No one knew.
---
Inside, the passenger cabin was Spartan but functional.
The walls were a grayish metal, without adornments or aesthetic concessions. Impact-absorption seats lined up in rows of two, each equipped with safety harnesses and small control panels on the armrests. Information screens, currently dark, covered the forward walls. Storage compartments sealed with access codes bordered the perimeter.
Dim lights, a pale blue, created an atmosphere that invited silence. It wasn't a place for lively conversation. It was a place to wait. To prepare. To be alone with one's thoughts.
Each chose their seat without consulting the others.
Kael dropped into one near the wall, stretching his legs with nonchalance. The spear rested beside him, leaning against the seat, within arm's reach. His smile was still there, but his eyes had closed, as if he were sleeping.
He wasn't.
Hugo chose a seat with a view of the cockpit. Through the reinforced glass, he could see the control panels, the blinking lights, the silhouette of the AI piloting the ship. His quick eyes scanned every detail, memorizing, cataloging. You never knew when that information might prove useful.
Nayu sat with her back to the wall, at an angle to see both the entrance door and the other occupants. It was the strategic position. The one that allowed controlling the space without being controlled. Her staff rested in her lap, her fingers occasionally moving over the metal, as if conversing with it.
Dorian took the seat farthest from everyone.
The one with the fewest possible attack angles. The one that allowed him to observe without being observed. The one that, in an emergency, would give him an extra fraction of a second to react.
He sat in silence. His hands rested on the armrests, fingers slightly curled. The short swords hung at his hips, accessible. The trench coat spread around him like a cloak of shadows.
He didn't close his eyes.
It wasn't necessary.
The roar of the engines intensified.
A female voice, artificial but pleasant, resonated through the speakers. The ship's AI, probably. Its tone was calm, professional, designed not to unsettle passengers.
"Liftoff in thirty seconds. Please ensure all personal items are properly stowed. Estimated travel time to Veridia: seventeen hours."
No one moved to stow anything.
Everyone's personal items were already where they should be. Weapons, within arm's reach. Gear, secured. There was nothing else to stow.
Kael chuckled under his breath. It was a dry laugh, almost humorless.
"Seventeen hours locked up," he said, without opening his eyes. "Great."
"Look on the bright side," Hugo replied without looking at him. His eyes were still fixed on the cockpit, on the control panels, on the blinking lights. "Seventeen hours to sleep without anyone attacking you."
"That's what you think."
Nayu didn't respond. Her light green eyes were fixed on an undefined point on the wall, but her mind was elsewhere. Processing. Calculating. Preparing.
Dorian simply waited.
The ship lifted off.
The pressure of liftoff crushed bodies against the seats for a few seconds. It was a brutal, relentless force that would have knocked out any untrained person. But none of the four showed discomfort. Their bodies were accustomed to it. Their muscles, their bones, their internal organs had been designed and trained to withstand this and more.
They were trained for this.
They were born for this.
When the pressure stabilized and the ship entered cruise flight, silence returned.
It wasn't an awkward silence. It wasn't the tense silence of strangers forced to share space. It was the silence of four predators in the same territory, deciding whether it was worth expending energy on social interaction or better to reserve it for what truly mattered.
For now, most chose the latter.
Kael still had his eyes closed, but his breathing was too controlled for sleep. Hugo had shifted his gaze from the cockpit and now observed the others, evaluating, cataloging. Nayu remained motionless, her staff in her lap, her fingers still for the first time.
Dorian...
Dorian looked out the window.
Outside, Helion slowly receded. The planet of three suns shrank in the distance, becoming first a world, then a sphere, then a point of light among millions.
His home.
For now.
"Veridia," he murmured, so low that no one else could hear.
Seventeen hours.
Then, the fire.
And for the first time in a long while, he wouldn't be alone to face it.