The hiss of the transport's hatch sliding shut behind them did little to dispel the cold dread coiling in Kalen's stomach. He followed Scout Major Jenna Veltri's ramrod-straight back away from the echoing cavern of the docking bay, his boots clicking unnervingly loud on the polished grey flooring of the corridor. This deep within Three Rivers Crossing Command felt different from the public docking area – quieter, more sterile, the air tasting faintly of ozone and recycled oxygen. Doors marked with impersonal alphanumeric designations slid open and shut with frictionless, pneumatic precision as uniformed personnel passed, their faces impassive, eyes fixed straight ahead. Glowing strips of cool white light overhead cast long, sharp shadows. It wasn't just a military waystation; it felt like the meticulously ordered interior of some vast, uncaring machine, and he was a foreign particle being routed through its systems.
Jenna stopped abruptly before a door marked 'Sector 7 - Candidate Processing - Verification'. It slid open soundlessly, revealing a small, functional office almost entirely filled by a large, metallic desk console and an array of complex-looking scanner arrays mounted on articulated arms. Seated behind the console, looking profoundly bored, was Proctor Niles. Kalen recognized the thin lips and slightly contemptuous eyes from the initial, chaotic assessment amidst Emberfall's ruins days – lifetimes – ago. Niles's field gear was gone, replaced by a crisp, high-collared administrative uniform that did nothing to soften his disdainful expression as his gaze flickered over Kalen's worn, travel-stained clothes.
"Scout Major Veltri reporting as ordered," Jenna stated, her voice devoid of inflection. She executed a precise, economical salute. "Presenting Cadet Candidate Kalen Frost, Designation: Emberfall Sector, Special Observation flag active. For mandatory verification processing as per Standing Directive Gamma-9, section 4."
Niles sighed, a theatrical expression of bureaucratic suffering. He tapped commands onto the console integrated into his desk. "Frost... Frost..." he muttered, scrolling through a list. "Ah, yes. The anomaly." He peered at the screen with exaggerated concentration. "Origin: Emberfall? Primitive sector outpost. Barely registers on the Core charts. Astonishing they found anything worth processing out there." He waved a dismissive hand towards a slightly raised plasteel platform beside the desk, embedded with contact points and faintly glowing sensors. "Platform, candidate. Standard sequence."
Kalen stepped onto the platform, his muscles tight with apprehension. He was acutely aware of Jenna standing impassively near the doorway, her face unreadable, simply observing. Was this standard? Or was there something more sinister she wasn't revealing? Trust no one. Niles, with an air of profound tedium, activated the scanners. Beams of cool light, amber and blue, swept over Kalen, mapping his surface topology. A small emitter pressed briefly against his temple, logging neural patterns. A tiny prickle on his fingertip sampled genetic markers. Basic biologicals flashed onto Niles's console display. Standard identity confirmation.
Then, a different device descended smoothly from a recess in the ceiling, a complex arrangement of lenses and emitters humming with barely suppressed power. It stopped inches from Kalen's forehead, close enough for him to feel the faint vibrations and a subtle coolness radiating from it. The low-frequency hum deepened, sinking into his bones, making his teeth ache. A strange, invasive pressure built behind his eyes, a disorienting sensation of something intangible looking deep inside him, probing not just flesh and bone, but the nascent, slumbering energy Gareth had hinted at, the potential the Empire had flagged. The humming intensified, rising in pitch for a fraction of a second before culminating in a sharp, distinct beep. The pressure abruptly vanished, leaving Kalen slightly dizzy.
Niles glanced, unsurprised, at his console readout. "Well, well. Anomaly signature confirmed," he reported, still addressing Jenna as if Kalen weren't present. "Resonant pattern deviates 4.7 sigmas from standard pre-Awakening baseline metrics. High Capacity energy potential reading sustained and cross-verified." He sniffed disdainfully. "Matches the flag from Scout Commander Reeve's initial field assessment telemetry. Seems the scouting algorithm occasionally scrapes up statistically significant outliers even from the muddiest corners of the Outer Sectors." He tapped another series of commands with practiced ease. "Identity verified against biologicals and anomalous signature flag. Candidate is cleared for onward transit to Central Academy Processing."
He finally deigned to look directly at Kalen, a cruel, condescending sneer twisting his lips. "Try not to disappoint the Empire too much, mud-blood," he said, the slur hitting Kalen like a physical blow. "We expect a return on our investments, however… questionable the initial outlay." Heat surged into Kalen's cheeks, shame and anger churning in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles white. He forced himself to meet Niles's contemptuous gaze, holding it for a long moment, refusing to flinch or look away, channeling his fury into a silent act of defiance. Inside, the brief relief at being cleared was utterly consumed by the burning humiliation and the cold confirmation that he was marked, different, and despised for it by the very system he was supposed to join.
He stepped off the platform on trembling legs, turning his back on Niles without a word. Jenna simply nodded to the Proctor and led Kalen back into the sterile corridor.
The return journey through the waystation and the short flight back to the transport were conducted in absolute silence. Once airborne again, lifting away from the imposing bulk of Three Rivers Crossing, Kalen stared unseeingly at the viewscreen displaying the receding landscape. Niles's parting insult, mud-blood, echoed in his mind, scraping against his raw grief for Emberfall. Anomaly. Deviation. Was this what the attackers sought when they spoke of 'bloodline confirmation'? Was this inherent difference, this deviation from the norm, the source of the danger Gareth had so cryptically warned him about? The weight of the sealed letter under his tunic felt heavier, colder, pulsing with unanswered questions. Strength. The word was a desperate prayer. He needed strength, not just to endure the sneers and the scrutiny, but to unravel the truth of his own nature, to understand why his existence was an anomaly worth hunting, worth verifying, worth… investing in?
Hours bled into an indeterminate passage of time marked only by the rhythmic hum of the transport. Jenna remained a statue of professional detachment, engrossed in her data slate, offering no comment, no explanation, no reassurance. Kalen didn't ask. He wouldn't give Niles, or the system he represented, the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
Then, without preamble, the viewscreen shimmered, the image shifting from the blue-grey of the upper atmosphere to something… impossible. The transport was ascending rapidly through a final, thick layer of iridescent cloud cover. They broke through into dazzling, unfiltered sunlight. Kalen gasped, pressing closer to the screen, his earlier anxieties momentarily forgotten, eclipsed by sheer, staggering awe.
Below them, Nova Valtoria sprawled across the curvature of the world, a city of impossible scale and breathtaking complexity. Rivers of light, streams of airborne traffic on designated sky-lanes, flowed between glittering towers that pierced the clouds, their peaks sharp against the impossibly blue sky. It dwarfed Three Rivers Crossing, dwarfed any concept of 'city' he possessed, stretching beyond the horizon in every direction. High above the city center, dominating the sky, suspended like a malevolent jewel, was the Astral Rift. It wasn't subtle; it was a vast, violent, shimmering wound torn in the fabric of reality itself, raw cosmic energy bleeding into the atmosphere in colours that seemed to shift and writhe, colours that hurt the eyes and resonated deep within Kalen's bones. He could almost feel the raw, untamed power radiating from it, a constant, thrumming pressure against his senses, a terrifying reminder of the forces the Empire sought to control.
And positioned almost directly beneath the weeping sore of the Rift, hanging impossibly in the sky, dwarfing even the city below, was the Imperial Academy. It wasn't a single building, or even an island. It was an archipelago of floating landmasses, a constellation of architectural audacity linked by graceful, impossibly long bridges shimmering with contained energy and crackling power conduits that snaked between the islands like captive lightning. Towers of pristine white stone and gleaming gold pierced the sky, interspersed with verdant, manicured parklands where tiny figures strolled, massive crystalline domes that pulsed with soft internal light, and angular structures cantilevered out over the abyss that seemed to adhere to principles of geometry he didn't understand. Waterfalls, born from unseen sources high amongst the central spires, cascaded over the sculpted edges of the main islands, plunging into the clouds below in curtains of mist and scattering rainbows in the harsh sunlight. It was magnificent. It was terrifying. It was a defiant testament to the Empire's power, to its mastery over Astral forces, engineering on a cosmic scale that stole his breath and hammered home his own insignificance.
Their destination wasn't one of the sprawling city spaceports visible far below, but a dedicated landing platform nestled high on the Academy's outermost island ring. The docking procedure was seamless, guided by beams of light, the transport settling onto the designated coordinates with automated precision. The air that cycled in when the hatch opened felt different – cleaner, crisper, charged with a subtle, almost electric energy that tingled on his skin, a stark contrast to the heavier air of TRC. Guards in elegant, deep blue uniforms, bearing the complex, stylized crest of the Academy – an interwoven star and gear motif – observed their arrival with watchful, disciplined eyes.
Jenna led him off the transport onto the wide, polished platform. Other transports were arriving, disgorging more young hopefuls. They joined a queue funneling towards a vast, brightly lit processing hall. Here, the architecture was less starkly military than Three Rivers Crossing, featuring polished marble floors reflecting the light from high-arched ceilings inlaid with glowing patterns, and immersive holographic displays showcasing Academy achievements – stylized depictions of powerful practitioners wielding crackling energy. The atmosphere, however, was no less imposing, underscored by the quiet efficiency of the processing officials and the palpable anxiety radiating from many of the candidates.
Kalen studied the other arrivals as they shuffled forward. The social strata Gareth had warned him about were brutally evident. Some youths, clad in exquisitely tailored, expensive fabrics – silks that shimmered, precision-cut jackets bearing subtle house crests – moved with an air of casual arrogance, laughing and chatting easily amongst themselves, attended by hovering, silent servant drones carrying their polished luggage. They looked bored, entitled, as if acceptance were a mere formality. He overheard snippets – complaints about the queue, boasts about tutors, casual dismissal of the facility's aesthetics. Others, perhaps the majority, were more like him – dressed in simpler tunics, worn travel cloaks, or the functional garb of outer-world merchant families. Their expressions were a volatile mixture of wide-eyed awe at their surroundings, nervous anticipation, and grim determination. The officials behind crystalline desks reflected this divide, their scanners flashing, their voices modulated. Polite deference, even ingratiating smiles, for the obvious nobility; brisk, bored indifference or outright dismissal for the commoners.
"Feeling overwhelmed? Me too." The cheerful, slightly breathless voice beside him made him jump. He turned to see a girl about his age, perhaps a little younger, with bright, intelligent brown eyes, dark hair tied back in a practical braid, and clothes that, while neat and well-maintained, spoke of comfortable merchant stock rather than aristocratic lineage. She carried a sturdy travel pack slung over one shoulder and offered him a tentative but genuinely friendly smile. "This place is… insane, right? Bigger than I ever imagined. I'm Mira Lin. You?"
"Kalen. Kalen Frost." The name felt foreign on his tongue after days of being reduced to 'Cadet' or 'Anomaly'. He found himself returning the smile, a small, uncertain gesture that felt rusty, unused. It was the first unsolicited kindness, the first friendly face he'd encountered since leaving Gareth at the forge.
They fell into an awkward conversation as the queue slowly advanced. Mira chattered excitedly, a torrent of nervous energy – she was from a family running trade routes in the southern Meridian Sector, thrilled and utterly terrified by the prospect of Academy training, her parents having scraped together every credit they had for her application fees after a traveling Exemplar had tested her potential. Kalen offered vague, non-committal replies about his own background, mentioning Emberfall briefly, glossing over the attack, the journey, the verification. It felt surprisingly good, almost normal, to talk to someone who wasn't evaluating him or regarding him with contempt. A tiny island of normalcy in a sea of overwhelming strangeness.
He reached the processing desk. The official, a man with tired eyes, barely glanced at him, focused on the data slate. He scanned Kalen's wrist ident. A green light flashed. "Frost, Kalen. Designation: Emberfall. Cleared for standard matriculation pathway." Pass. Mira, just ahead and already cleared, turned and gave him an encouraging thumbs-up before being directed towards the main flow of candidates heading deeper into the hall.
Relief washed over Kalen, fragile but real. Standard pathway. Maybe Niles was just an anomaly himself, a particularly unpleasant cog in the machine. Maybe Gareth's warnings were excessive.
Then the official's eyes flickered back to the slate display, a small indicator flashing insistently in the corner. His brow furrowed. He tapped his console, then spoke quietly into his comm bead. "Hold the candidate Frost." Another official detached himself from a supervisory position nearby and approached – taller, sterner than the desk clerk, his blue uniform bearing officer insignia Kalen didn't recognize. Officer Thorne.
Thorne consulted the slate presented by the desk clerk, then looked at Kalen, his gaze sharp, analytical, utterly devoid of warmth. "Frost?" he confirmed. "Special Observation protocol is in effect subsequent to initial clearance." His voice was clipped, precise. "Standard processing is suspended pending completion of secondary assessment protocols." He gestured with a gloved hand towards a separate doorway off the main hall, featureless grey plasteel, flanked by two unmoving, blue-uniformed Academy sentinels. "You will come with me. Now."
The fragile bubble of hope and relief ignited by Mira's friendliness and the initial clearance instantly burst, replaced by a familiar cold wave of dread that sank hooks deep into his gut. Separated. Again. He glanced towards the main flow of candidates, catching Mira's eye. She looked back, her brow furrowed in confusion, a silent question in her eyes, before she was swept along with the crowd, her concerned face disappearing into the throng. He looked around for Jenna, spotting her standing near the entrance, observing. She met his gaze, her expression as unreadable as ever, perhaps a fractional tightening of her lips, before she gave a minuscule, almost imperceptible nod – acknowledgement? Dismissal? – and turned away, melting back towards the landing platforms.
"Move along, candidate," Thorne ordered curtly, his tone leaving no room for hesitation or argument. Kalen's heart hammered against his ribs. Secondary assessment? Suspended standard processing? Why? What were they looking for now? He took a shaky breath, the weight of the letter a cold, hard promise against his ribs, and forced his feet to move, following Thorne towards the guarded grey door. The heavy panel slid shut behind them with a soft thud, cutting off the murmur and light of the main hall, plunging him into a quieter, dimmer corridor, utterly alone with the stern officer and the silent sentinels. He was inside the machine now, swallowed whole, heading deeper into its unknown, imposing, scrutinizing gaze.