Tarrin's body ached like hell—three days in the same damn seat would do that to anyone.
Maybe this was the army's idea of a warm welcome.
A subtle way of saying, get used to the discomfort, civilian life's over.
"These bastards really made us sleep sitting up," he muttered under his breath, shifting stiff legs. "At least they gave me food when I asked… but still. Bloody bane."
The past days inside the Loop blurred together—equal parts dull and surreal.
Watching the Union fly past through reinforced glass, like a documentary he hadn't signed up for.
He remembered A-Five—Lunaris—the capital. Towering spires of steel and light, tech so advanced it made Merlen look like a relic.
It had been his first time off his home Isle, and now he'd crossed half the Union in a single trip. A sightseeing tour for the damned.
'Still boring though,' he thought bitterly. 'Too stiff, too quiet, too clean to enjoy. Fuck 'em.'
Then the voice crackled through the speaker, distorted but unmistakable.
"We will be arriving at the Centauri Base Terminal shortly. All recruits, prepare to disembark. Please follow personnel's instructions upon arrival."
The announcement cut through the cabin like a blade. Tired eyes lit up. Stiff spines straightened. After days of silence and stale air, this felt real.
They'd made it. The end of the line.
Tarrin cast one last glance at the recruits he'd shared this metal coffin with for the past three days. No one had spoken to him. He hadn't spoken to anyone.
'Probably for the best,' he told himself. 'Had plenty of thoughts to untangle.'
Still, a small part of him couldn't help the sting.
'Wasn't my Gift supposed to make me magnetic? What happened to that irresistible charm?'
No answers came. Just the sound of boots and orders, the distant hum of machinery.
Outside the window, the Centauri Military Base unfolded in sharp angles and sharper discipline.
Soldiers marching in perfect formation, officers barking clipped commands, workers hauling crates with mechanical precision.
Damn… it's like a military drama had a budget and came to life.
The Loop hissed as it came to a final stop. A moment later, the speakers flared again, cold and efficient.
"All recruits, disembark. Follow the instructions of appointed personnel."
And just like that, the dam broke.
Dozens of bodies surged forward, all with the same goal—off this damned train.
Tarrin moved with them, pushed and pulled by the current, his duffle bag bumping against knees and backs.
Then he stepped out.
Into the Spire-light for the first time in what felt like forever.
Then came the voice—sharp, clipped, and laced with venom.
"All recruits, front and center. Now!"
Tarrin's head snapped toward the source. A man stood a few meters ahead, older, built like a brick wall, and wearing a face like someone had just torched his entire bloodline.
What a ray of sunshine, Tarrin thought, dragging his feet toward the man with reluctant obedience.
As he got closer, he felt it. An edge in the air, like static clinging to his skin. The man had an aura—barely restrained violence wrapped in authority. It wasn't just attitude. It was pressure, quiet and heavy, the kind that made your spine straighten whether you liked it or not.
The drill sergeant—because what else could he be—spent the next three minutes barking at the dawdling recruits to form up.
When he finally checked his smartwatch, he began counting under his breath. Then, he spoke again—louder, crueler.
"Listen up, fuckers. You stick to me like your lives depend on it—because they do. If any of you wander off, I'll personally peel your skin off and wear it as a scarf. Clear, buttboys?"
Tarrin swallowed. Hard.
'Does this guy have a steel rod shoved up his ass or is everyone here like this?'
No one dared to answer. They just followed.
The march behind the man was silent, save for the ambient roar of the base—engines, drills, and shouts. No chatter. No whispering. Just boots on metal and the pulse of restrained fear.
Tarrin glanced around the group, mentally counting heads.
'Close to a hundred. No clue if that's a lot… but it feels like too many.'
He glanced around, taking in the base. A brutal mix of stone, sleek metal spires, and looming hangars—each building humming with purpose. Even the damn air felt engineered.
'How's everything here better than fucking Merlen?' Tarrin muttered internally, a bitter taste curling on his tongue.
The group came to a halt in front of a towering structure, all tinted glass and steel bones. Clean. Intimidating. Purpose-built. The kind of place that didn't tolerate hesitation.
The drill sergeant stopped near a side entrance, his presence alone enough to silence a riot.
"Listen up!" he barked. "Each of you will scan your military ID at the panel inside. Then step into the scan chamber. If you don't know how it works—figure it out. Fast."
The crowd froze—fresh Scarlings paralyzed by indecision. Uncertain glances bounced between recruits like a disease. No one wanted to move first.
Tarrin clenched his jaw, mentally chanting like a war prayer.
'Form a line. Just form a fucking line already.'
After a beat, he stepped forward, shoulders squared, wearing confidence like armor. If he moved with purpose, maybe the wrath wouldn't find him.
He could feel the drill sergeant's eyes flicker toward him. Sharp. Watching. Judging.
Tarrin kept walking, pretending not to care.
And then—
"Form a fucking line, you retards! What did you awaken, an extra chromosome instead of essence?!"
The voice cracked through the air like a whip. Half the recruits flinched. Tarrin didn't stop—but he did allow himself the smallest smirk.
'Credit where it's due. That one was creative.'
After Tarrin's bold move and the sergeant's thunderous bark, the recruits finally snapped into motion, stumbling into a loose line behind him.
Tarrin stood at the front, arms relaxed, smirk in place—like the pressure didn't touch him.
The sergeant watched him for a beat too long. Then, to Tarrin's surprise, the man actually grinned.
"Like your balls, young man. Let's see how long you'll last."
Tarrin blinked, then fired back with a salute and a straight face. "Thank you, sir. Trimmed them just yesterday, sir."
A few recruits chuckled. Others muttered idiot under their breath.
For a second, silence.
Then—laughter. Loud and booming. The sergeant's laugh hit like a blast wave.
'Is he planning on bursting my eardrums?' Tarrin nearly winced but held steady.
"A good one," the man said, eyes gleaming. Then his smile vanished like it had never been there. Wrath snapped back into place. "Now stop wasting my time and get your ass moving!"
'There he goes again. Is this bastard bipolar or just bored out of his skull?'
"Sir, yes sir," Tarrin said, mimicking a show he barely remembered. He felt the man's gaze sear into his back like a heat ray, but kept walking as if nothing fazed him.
Inside, though, he was fraying at the edges.
'Hoosh, that was close. Hate people like him—loud, twitchy, unstable. Like the chairs in my old place… one wrong move and they snap.'
The interior was clean and clinical—white walls, chrome panels, a single scanner beside the entrance. Tarrin pulled out his ID, slid it through the reader.
A soft chime. His name and basic info flashed on-screen.
Then:PLACE ALL LUGGAGE ON CONVEYOR. PROCEED TO CHAMBER.
Tarrin didn't hesitate. He dropped the duffle like it held his regrets, letting his shoulders finally uncoil. He stepped toward the sleek door ahead.
It hissed open automatically.
He paused, took one steadying breath, and tried to ignore the way his right hand trembled.
Then he stepped inside.
The chamber was pitch dark—until Tarrin stepped inside.
A soft blue glow blinked to life overhead, casting long shadows across the smooth metal floor. Then came the low, mechanical hum of dormant systems stirring awake.
Before he could even gather a full thought, a speaker crackled.
The voice was jagged, synthetic—more machine than man.
"Tarrin Vex. One hundred fifty-six pounds. Height: five feet, ten inches. Essence saturation: seventeen point two-two. Unnatural, essence-based pheromones detected—possible Gift. No anomalies found. You may proceed, Cadet Vex."
The voice cut off with a sharp click.
Then the far door slid open with a hiss.
Beyond it was a cavernous hall, stretching wide and tall, lit by rows of white-gold Spire-lamps overhead.
A dozen people milled about inside—most in military gear, some hunched over terminals, others barking orders.
Tarrin stepped through, eyes wide.
He'd never seen a room so massive. It felt less like a hall and more like a hangar for giants.
'They could fit a bloody battalion in here if they wanted…'
He took a breath. It echoed slightly.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt small.
The people inside barely looked up. A new cadet meant nothing. Paperwork, checklists, and voices over headsets mattered more than a wide-eyed seventeen-year-old dragging in military-issue boots.
Tarrin kept moving, slow and steady, eyes darting across the massive chamber.
Mapping exits. Noting cameras. Every door, every guard. Harry's rules playing in his head like a broken record.
Always know your exits. Always assume a setup. Never trust uniforms.
It had only been a few days, but damn—he already missed them.
Helga's motherly smile.
Simon's jokes burying the sorrow inside.
Harry's stoic face.
Mira's sweet smile.
But that was the past.
And the past had no place here.