He didn’t say anything—just nodded, once, solidly, the way soone does when they know a mont is worth rembering but not reacting to. A lesson received, accepted, and shelved.
As Marla passed, her eyes lingered on Evelyn—not with suspicion or judgnt, but with a kind of quiet study, like soone looking through a half-open window. "
You’re layered more than most," she murmured.
Evelyn didn’t respond. Not with words. Not even with a glance.
The mont passed with no ripple. But Ethan tucked it away. There was weight in silence, too.
—
By the ti they were walking back toward their private housing, the sunset had begun painting the upper sky in soft pastels—orange lting into lavender, with streaks of burnt gold lining the stone paths beneath their feet.
The light stretched long over the quiet roads, and though there were still students moving around, everything had that winding-down feel of a world catching its breath after just enough motion.
Everly exhaled with a drawn-out sigh, lifting her arms into a half-hearted stretch over her head. "Okay. I’ll admit it," she said, rolling her neck slightly. "That last one fried my brain."
Ethan smirked, not needing to look at her. "Still crushed it."
She bumped him playfully with her shoulder, the motion casual but warm. "Obviously. But seriously? Warden’s boots? I want those."
"You’d fall off a cliff in them," Evelyn said dryly, without missing a beat.
Back inside their housing, the door sealed itself with a soft click, and the interior lights adjusted almost instantly, dimming to match the dying light outside.
The whole room shifted into a relaxed, amber glow that felt more like a cabin at dusk than a school apartnt.
Ethan dropped onto the couch in a slow, grateful sprawl, letting the cushions catch him with that half-sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he needed.
A small ping echoed from the side wall—tomorrow’s schedule, cast gently into a holographic display.
He glanced at it without much interest. Two new classes. One dical. One history. Both were marked with orientation-tier priority, but neither scread urgency.
Still, his mind wasn’t on class titles.
He was thinking about Marla’s gaze. The way her words had slid past everyone but hit ho for Evelyn.
And how Evelyn hadn’t flinched and hadn’t reacted at all. Like the comnt didn’t matter—or mattered too much to address in front of others.
But Astralis wasn’t the kind of place where you asked questions right away. Not even one of your closest allies.
Here, silence wasn’t avoidance. It was a strategy.
You waited, you listened, you watched how deep the waters went before deciding where to swim.
And this is sothing they have understood since the first class.
—
The next morning rolled in just as smoothly as the one before it: no jarring alarms, no announcents, no forced system tones shouting for attention.
Just a subtle pulse from the wristband—low, orange light flickering once at the corner of the glass window, followed by a slow shift in temperature and pressure inside the room.
It was less like waking up and more like being guided gently into a new state of motion.
Ethan got ready quickly this ti. His hands moved with practiced ease, his shirt snapped into place with only one adjustnt, and his hair was already falling where it needed to be.
His body didn’t feel stronger, not exactly. But more in sync. Like the rhythm of Astralis was starting to match sothing in him, rather than pulling him off balance.
Outside the housing, the twins waited as always.
Evelyn looked exactly the sa—composed, polished, quiet. Everly, though, carried sothing different in her stance today.
Her posture was still solid, her gear in place, but the usual playful energy she wore like a second skin was just a little dimr.
Not sad. Just... heavier. Like she’d been thinking all night and didn’t find a way to shake it.
She didn’t ntion it. And Ethan didn’t ask.
The walk to their next class was short.
A curved corridor that opened up into a do that was slightly smaller than the others they’d entered before—clean lines, polished floors, and a faint scent in the air that carried a mix of mint, filtered ozone, and sothing tallic, like sterilized steel or alchemical polish.
Class: Applied Healing & Crisis Fieldwork.
Inside, the space was simple and functional.
A long table ran across one wall, lined with kits—sealed d-packs, glowing vials of restoration fluid, field dressings, synth-gel tubes—and behind them, a curved wall pulsed with a display of projected injuries—burns, ruptures, crush trauma, organ collapse—not simulations, full-scale replications from recorded zones.
At the center of it all stood Professor Deyna.
She didn’t wear a lab coat or dress like a dic out of so polished textbook. Her hair was tied back, but several strands fell freely across her sharp, mocha-brown features.
Her figure was full but balanced, powerful, grounded, and absolutely unshakable.
She didn’t have the air of soone who healed in tents behind the line.
She looked like soone who’d carried wounded soldiers across blood-drenched fields while dodging plasma fire and hadn’t flinched once.
"Welco," she said simply. "No speeches today. You’re here to learn how to keep soone alive who doesn’t want to stay that way. Preferably without dying in the process."
She gestured to the grid behind her.
"Pain relay sync is the focus. You’ll feel what they feel. Direct transfer. No numbing. No filter overlays.
If you faint, don’t get up. If you freeze, drop out. No one here needs a half-dead helper."
The room didn’t react, but a few students clearly rethought their decision to attend.
Everly stepped forward imdiately. "I’ll go."
Deyna gave a simple nod. "Brace your stance."
A circular platform lit up beneath Everly’s boots. The mont the system linked, she tensed. Hard.
The feedback pulsed through her spine instantly—simulated crush injury, upper rib cage, partial lung displacent. The data was real. Her muscles clenched. Her breathing locked up.
"Control the breath," Deyna said calmly. "Feel the flow. Not the burst."
Everly tried. But her balance shifted. Her arms trembled. Her knees began to give.
Reviews
All reviews (0)