The announcement came at dawn.
A crisp chime echoed through the entire academy. Then the message displayed in glowing letters on the holo-displays, dorm walls, mess halls, even personal tablets:
EARTH SECTOR TRIALS — OFFICIAL REGISTRATION OPEN. FINALISTS MAY BE SELECTED FOR OFF-WORLD STRIKE FORCE CANDIDACY.
Lira spit out her drink.
"Wait—off-world?"
Garek slammed his fork down. "That's it. I'm in. No way I'm staying planet-bound while the galaxy's burning."
Oliver, mid-bite, kept his expression blank. He'd expected this. The whispers had been building for weeks—leaks from the upper brass, strange drills, secretive scout squads being pulled from the rotation. The military was gearing up for something bigger.
And Oliver needed to be ready.
"You should enter. High-stakes combat will accelerate Core growth. And also... it will be fun."
You really don't understand humans if you think stress = fun.
"Your heart rate suggests excitement."
My heart rate also spikes when I get stabbed. Doesn't mean I enjoy it.
Later – Registration Terminal
The line stretched down the hallway. Cadets, soldiers, and specialist trainees all waited in tense silence, eyeing each other like predators in uniform. Some wore smug grins. Others looked like they hadn't slept in days.
Oliver stepped forward, thumb hovering over the retinal scan.
He could feel it—that thrum under his skin, the quiet pressure of something ancient and powerful humming in his bones.
The Core was restless. Eager. Like it could smell the coming chaos.
"Soon you'll see why survival is an art form. And why the strong aren't just born… they're made."
I'd like to be made slowly and with minimal explosions.
"We'll see."
Scan complete.
Oliver Vale, Squad Echo, Sector 7C — Registered.
Training Ground 3 – Later That Day
Squad Echo had three more simulation drills scheduled that week. All of them were harder. Longer. More punishing.
Oliver held back—just enough to seem capable, but not enough to draw suspicion.
Because the truth was… he was changing.
Each time he used the Core, it felt more natural. His body moved cleaner, faster. He could calculate trajectories and enemy patterns mid-fight like he'd seen them before.
But he also knew if anyone found out—if the wrong person learned he had a foreign system embedded in his mind—they wouldn't ask questions.
They'd dissect him.
Or worse.
"You're not ready to be discovered."
I know.
"You also cannot remain average. Not for long."
Oliver flexed his fingers behind his back, listening to Lira bark instructions while Garek panted from a rooftop. "Cover me! Oliver, suppressing fire!"
He fired on command, hitting three targets with precision.
Lira turned toward him afterward. "Not bad, Vale."
"Trying to be useful."
Garek slapped his back. "About time you stepped up. I was starting to think you were sandbagging."
Oliver laughed nervously. If only you knew…
That Night – Squad Dormitory
Everyone was asleep.
Except Oliver.
He lay in bed, eyes open in the dark, the faint glow of the city shield dome pulsing through the window. The ceiling fan spun slowly. The night was still.
"They won't be with you forever."
Oliver turned over, voice low. "I know. Lira and Garek... they'll move on. Or I will."
"Growth demands sacrifice."
"Will it always feel like this?" he whispered. "Lonely?"
Silence.
Then:
"Yes."
Elsewhere – Observation Deck Omega
A woman in a dark coat sipped coffee as she reviewed live training footage. Dozens of cadets flickered across screens—some promising, some not.
She tapped one feed, zooming in on a familiar face.
Oliver Vale.
"Rewind ten seconds," she said.
The screen replayed a clip of Oliver mid-dodge, moving in a way too precise for someone of his listed stats.
"Tag this one," she said. "Special protocol. Observation priority alpha. But keep it discreet."
"Ma'am?"
"Just a feeling," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Or intuition. Or maybe…"
She took a sip. "Maybe I've seen something like him before."
Next Day – Combat Conditioning Arena
Trial registrants had been pulled for pre-selection assessments. The waiting area was stacked with the top percentile—graduates, soldier-scientists, augmented elites.
Oliver walked in and felt instantly underdressed.
The floor vibrated slightly beneath his boots—hundreds of hidden grav weights, pressure plates, and kinetic generators ran beneath them. The arena could shift terrain, deploy traps, simulate zero-gravity conditions and more.
"You Vale?"
Oliver turned. A tall cadet in advanced armor stood behind him—chrome-lined, visor down, muscles like someone had 3D-printed him from war. A squad patch read UNIT 3X: Valkyrie Talon.
"Yeah. That's me."
The cadet smiled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… try not to die. We need the middle-tier fodder to make the rest of us look good."
Oliver smiled back.
"I'll keep that in mind, table ornament."
The cadet blinked. "What?"
"Oh, sorry," Oliver said. "You just looked really shiny. Like something someone would put on a coffee table."
Lira passed by, choking on her drink.