The waiting room’s murmuring hum died the second a sharp, electronic chirp sliced through the air. Sixty cadets froze, every eye snapping up to the black display panel above the doors. Names and unit numbers crawled across the screen in that ugly, washed white.

  Caelum’s eyes darted over the board, searching for his number. Unit 7. Figures.

  Beneath it, the roster populated: Hawkins, D. Belrose, é. Sultan, K. Blancard, J. Ward, C.

  "Looks like it's official. Unit 7," Blancard said, exhaling—too loud in the quiet room.

  Dawson Hawkins moved before anyone else, breaking from his group and striding over, boots clicking clean against the resin floor. He didn’t look like someone about to risk his life. More like some exec here to take over a boardroom. All confidence, all control.

  "Right," Dawson said, eyeing the group. "Since the RMAs have thrown us together, I'm Dawson—taking point, handling heavy engagements. Give clear comms. Follow orders."

  Caelum kept his face blank. Takes charge fast. Direct. Assertive. Already acting like he owns the place. High-strata, no question.

  élo?se joined, voice quiet but sharp. "élo?se. Hydrodynamic resonance—crowd control, spacing, healing."

  Dawson offered a tight, acknowledging nod. He respected pedigree, and élo?se clearly had the elite polish the system valued. He turned his attention to Caelum and Blancard. "And you two?"

  "Blancard," the blond boy offered an easy smile, though his eyes remained guarded. "Bulwark resonance. I hit things and can take hits. I'll watch the flanks."

  "Caelum Ward," Caelum said, his voice husky and flat. "Electrical resonance."

  Dawson’s eyebrow twitched upward. "Electrical? Close-quarters or projection?"

  "Close-quarters," Caelum replied, the memory of the bloody, desperate fight in the mangrove basin flashing in his mind. "Conduction and reactive strikes."

  "Fine. Stay out of my firing line," Dawson said, turning to Kifah. She shivered, clutching her pack. "And you?"

  Kifah swallowed hard, staring at the polished floor. "Kifah. Um... resonance negation. A Blank."

  Dawson frowned, a genuine look of displeasure appearing on his face. "A Blank. So, zero offensive capability."

  "I can establish a resonance-null zone," she stammered. "It dampens incoming—"

  "You interfere with everyone's resonance," Dawson cut in. "Stay in the centre. Don't get in our way."

  Before Kifah could respond, the heavy reinforced doors beneath the display panel squeaked open. A synthetic voice carried through the hall.

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  "All units, proceed to the briefing staging area. Deployment commences in thirty minutes."

  The corridor outside was all spotless white, lined with staging bays. Unit 7 got shoved into Bay 4—a cramped, grey box with a holographic table squatting in the middle. The door hissed closed behind them, and the table snapped on, cold blue light washing over their faces.

  An RMA officer's pre-recorded projection flickered above the table.

  "Candidates. Your certification trial evaluates control, coordination, and restraint," the officer droned, repeating the rigid doctrine they had been force-fed for two weeks. "Your objective is the stabilisation and retrieval of a downed RMA sensor node. The previous research team had to evacuate due to hostilities from local fauna. The environment is a Category Yellow echo, patterned on a subterranean expanse. Every team has their own goal, but you are to focus on yours."

  The projection shifted, displaying a wireframe map of a collapsed underground network. The passages were jagged, twisting in unnatural patterns, and stuffed with hazards—unstable ground, sudden drops, and deep shadows that hid detail.

  Caelum stared at the map. Subterranean. Tight corners everywhere. Sightlines cut to nothing. Dawson’s railgun would be a nightmare in here if he didn’t watch his fire. One bad shot and they’d all be fried, or buried under a ton of rock.

  "Extraction window is two days," the officer continued. "Locate the node, extract the core, and return to the insertion gate. Deviation from the objective will result in a failing grade. Uncontrolled resonance escalation will result in a failing grade. Good luck."

  The projection vanished, plunging the room back into standard clinical lighting.

  "Two days," Blancard muttered, rearranging his pack. "In and out. Doesn't sound too bad."

  "It's a maze," Caelum muttered, tapping the dead table. "If we get stuck, we're done. Dawson fires that railgun; he'll drop the ceiling on us."

  Dawson bristled. "I know how to control my output, Ward. I don't need a lower-pipeline cadet lecturing me on resonance physics."

  Caelum stared back, refusing to blink. Pressure built under his ribs, that old spark itching to break loose. Tension always did this. He forced his shoulders down, flexed his hands open. Flow, not storage. Let the heat bleed out. Don’t let it take over. "Tight spaces mean we need to watch our crossfire," Caelum said, his voice expressionless.

  élo?se fixed her uniform. "He's right, Hawkins. My water pressure cuts through rock, but in a closed tube, the ricochet will take our heads off. We need to be surgical."

  Dawson's jaw tensed. "Fine. Surgical. Ward, you're with me—Vanguard. You flush, I finish. Blancard, cover the rear. élo?se, Kifah, center."

  Kifah nodded, wide-eyed. Caelum moved closer, voice muted.

  "Hey," Caelum said. Kifah flinched, then met his eyes. "Just keep the Blank field ready. If anything gets past us, you're the wall. We rely on you."

  Kifah blinked, a fraction of the panic leaving her eyes as the idea of a defined responsibility anchored her. "Keep the field ready..." she whispered.

  "Exactly," Caelum said with a nod.

  The overhead speakers crackled. "Unit 7. Proceed to Gateward 4."

  Before heading out, Caelum moved to the wall where the armoury racks shone beneath cold lights. He picked out a resonant steel spear, testing the weight and balance in his gloved hand. Reliable. Lethal.

  Blancard strapped on heavy gauntlets, knuckles reinforced for breaking bones. Kifah went for a composite bow, testing the string with a shaky pull.

  élo?se already had her rapier, all polished edges and expensive design. Dawson’s sword looked just as fancy. Figures—they probably brought their own.

  They filed out, down another corridor, all blinding white and too clean. The gate waited at the end, humming with energy. Promise or threat—hard to say.

  The gate sat in a massive containment chamber, heavy pylons on either side humming with pent-up energy. Not like the awakening gate out in the dust-bowl. This one was locked down, tied straight into the arcology’s grid. The air pressed in, thick and heavy, making Caelum’s ears ache as the stabilisers fought to keep reality from tearing.

  Through the shimmer, Caelum caught a glimpse of where they were headed. No green wilds this time. Just tangled dark, cold stone, and the weight of earth pressing from every side. The air leaking through the rift stank—rust, old water, ozone.

  "ARC interfaces syncing," a technician behind a blast-glass window announced.

  Caelum noticed the familiar thrum at the base of his skull. His HUD activated.

  ARC // Certification Trial Mode UNIT 7 — SYNC: STABLE OBJECTIVE: NODE RETRIEVAL CASUALTY EXPECTATION: 14%

  Fourteen percent. Lower than an awakening gate, but still high enough that some of them probably wouldn’t be coming back.

  "Stay in formation. Move on my mark," Dawson called.

  Blancard cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders to prepare for the strain. Kifah took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes locked on the tear in reality.

  Caelum pulled the new resonant-steel spear from his back. The grip felt familiar—cold, grounding. He didn’t call up the electricity yet. He just let it sit, quiet in his chest, waiting for when it mattered.

  "Move," Dawson said.

  Unit 7 stepped through the gate.

  The white glare of the arcology vanished, swallowed by choking dark. Caelum’s boots landed on damp, uneven stone. Cold bit through his uniform, sweat already chilling on his neck. Their lights barely cut the black, and deeper in, the faint glow of old infrastructure flickered from the last team that came through. Silence pressed in, interrupted solely by the drop of water and the crunch of pebbles below. Every breath tasted like dust and stagnant air.

  A low, guttural chittering echoed from the darkness of the tunnels ahead, amplified by the acoustics of the ruined station.

  Caelum tightened his grip on the spear, eyes flicking over the shadows. Fourteen days of training. Let’s see if any of it actually counts.