The vessel humd beneath his boots—a deep, constant vibration that reminded Orion he was no longer on solid ground. In his quarters aboard the dropship Echidna, a sleek, minimalist space bathed in dim amber lights, he stood alone. Arms crossed. Breathing steady. Eyes locked on the large holoscreen hovering over his wrist.
The final rankings glowed in sharp white.
[FIRST TRIALS — RANKINGS]
1. ORION REYES
2. AURELIA VELSTRANE
3. LEV LUNEV
4. ELLE VORST
5. RENJI CARRIDAN
6. ZOHAN IRA
7. DARIAN KAIRON
8. MAARA ALVARIX
He studied the nas. So sparked vivid mories—duels fought, grudges ford, alliances whispered in hallways when no ntors were listening. Others ant little to him still, their placent in the Trials a result of talent, luck, or the influence of families more powerful than their children knew how to wield.
The nas hovered for a mont longer, then blurred into light as the display faded out. Silence settled again. The distant pulse of the ship's artificial gravity core humd beneath it all, like a heartbeat trying to remind him he was still alive. Still moving. Still climbing.
Then ca the soft chi of a visitor at his door.
He didn't move at first. He wasn't expecting anyone. Not tonight.
The door slid open.
Aurelia Velstrane stepped in without hesitation, dressed in obsidian black, a faint shimr to her sleeves as if dusted with light itself. Her hair was down, sothing rare for her.
"You could've locked it," she said casually.
"And miss the surprise?" Orion replied, not quite smiling.
She smirked, then sat beside him without asking.
For a mont, neither spoke.
Then, casually, almost lazily, she asked, "Is it true you're considering accepting Leonidas for your faction?"
Orion raised an eyebrow, more amused than concerned. "News travels fast."
"I have ears," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not exactly subtle."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "He's got potential."
Aurelia's expression didn't change, but her silence said enough.
"What is it?" he asked, watching her closely.
"You don't need that kind of trouble," she said simply. No condescension. Just truth.
Orion frowned. "Do you know sothing I don't—"
"It's not just him," she cut in, voice firm. "It's the Lunev na. The politics. The drama. You take him in, you don't just get a wild card—you inherit his family's entire ss. Their debts. Their ghosts. And their enemies."
He didn't answer right away. She let the silence stretch.
Finally, he said, "Hmm. I see what you an, but if that's all, then it's not that big of a deal."
Aurelia turned to look at him properly, sharp eyes catching the low light. "You're not here to rescue people, Orion. You're here to lead. That ans knowing when a risk is worth it—and when it's a future knife in your back."
He exhaled through his nose, staring at the floor. She wasn't wrong.
Leonidas Lunev had a chip on his shoulder the size of a moon and a tendency to escalate problems that didn't need fire. And the Lunevs? Their na carried weight—but not the kind that lifted others. They were a storm cloaked in family crests and well-polished boots. Sure, they'd fought alongside Cassian Reyes during the early Codex incursions, earned early access to the Pythia System in exchange for blood. But just because there was shared history didn't an there was trust. Not the kind that ran both ways.
He glanced at Aurelia. She wasn't looking at him anymore—just tracking the overhead lights as they cycled through their programd dusk-glow.
Did she know?
If she did, she was playing it cool. No shift in her voice. No flicker in her expression. Nothing to latch onto.
Maybe she really didn't know. Or maybe she was just being Aurelia. Reading him without needing words.
Still, the way she'd phrased it—his entire family's ss—that echoed too close to the sa phrasing used in the hidden report Orion had accessed three days ago. The one buried under five layers of encryption, with Cassian's old seal still etched across its tadata.
Maybe this wasn't just concern.
Maybe it was a warning.
He kept his face neutral.
"I'll think about it," he muttered.
"Good." Aurelia said, standing. "Just don't pretend you didn't see the knife when it's already in your back."
She walked off without waiting for a reply, her stride steady, purposeful. As always.
Orion watched her go, unsure if she'd just offered him advice—
—or a veiled threat.
Echidna cut a low arc through a scattered ring of asteroids before nestling into a magnetic dock embedded into the side of a massive structure.
Orion remained aboard for the third stop.
Echidna moved like a blade through the scattered asteroid drift, weaving past defense buoys and solar tethers as it approached Platform Hekara—a repurposed Dominion outpost now used as a disembarkation hub for graduating Trial participants.
Orion disembarked alone, boots clanking against a tal causeway as flickering strips of blue guidance light led him through the main corridor of his family's warship.
He walked until the chamber opened into the sparring atrium.
Varun was already waiting. Dressed in a plain black tunic with no insignia, the man stood still and silent, like a statue. His silver-streaked hair was tied back. His expression unreadable.
Without a word, he lunged.
Their weapons clashed in a blur of speed. Orion ducked low, swept his spear in a wide arc, then launched forward with a sudden burst of controlled montum.
Varun blocked clean. Pivoted. Slamd an elbow into Orion's ribs.
The younger fighter grunted but didn't hesitate. He twisted out, reversed his stance, and struck again.
Strike. Block. Counter. Withdraw. Press.
Each exchange was brief. Violent. Precise.
And every ti Varun tested him, Orion adjusted just slightly faster.
"You're not the sa boy I trained half a year ago," Varun finally muttered between strikes.
Orion smirked, breath coming harder. Sweat lined his brow. "Was that a complint just now?"
A sharp blow cracked across his wrist. He lost grip of his spear for half a breath.
Varun stepped in, swept his leg, and slamd Orion to the ground with brutal efficiency.
"No," he said flatly. "That was a warning. I am not going to hold back."
Orion groaned, staring up at the ceiling lights—still flickering slightly from the old Dominion grid.
Varun stepped back, tossed the spear aside like it didn't matter. "Don't get cocky. Your skills are decent, but you are far from mastery. Confidence is good. Arrogance gets people killed."
The words were harsh. But inside, buried beneath discipline and silence, Varun felt sothing he refused to na.
Pride.
He hated it.
He missed the stiff, stubborn version of Orion—the one who scowled at every stance correction, who cursed under his breath when a strike missed by a milliter, who doubted everything with fire in his eyes.
This new version—faster, sharper, composed—was becoming sothing else.
Sothing real.
And that made Varun uneasy.
It reminded him of what was coming.
He turned away. "Go get so food. We start again at six. No delays."
His voice was cold.
Behind him, Orion rose slowly, rubbing his wrist, wincing. But smiling.
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