The Kaleid-One coasted in low orbit, engines muttering as final approach vectors updated across the navigation console.
Niri leaned against the viewport, arms crossed, staring down at the world spinning slow and wide below.
Meridi Axis.
She knew the name from overhearing Lu'Ka. Knew it was important. A capital. A place thick with rules and watchers. But beyond that, it was just another unknown on a list too long to count.
The ship banked slightly, angling toward a floating hub — massive, layered like the rings of a sunken wheel. Ships of every shape circled it. Freighters, courier vessels, personal skiffs bristling with layered shielding. No military marks. No open weapons arrays.
Everything clean.
On the surface, at least.
She shifted her weight, feeling the quiet buzz of the stabilizers kicking harder.
Lu'Ka's voice came low from behind her, pitched just for her ears.
> "Dock security at Axis . You don't talk unless asked."
Niri flicked a glance over her shoulder.
He wasn't smiling.
No lecture tone either.
Just giving her what she needed to survive.
> "And the guards?" she asked, voice rough from disuse.
Lu'Ka adjusted a control glyph, the light brushing his feathers.
> "Grounx."
He hesitated a second, then added, quieter:
> "Big. Warlike. No patience. They're here to scare, not talk."
Niri absorbed that without a word.
Her gut twisted slightly, not from fear, but the simple calculation: bigger, stronger, not her problem unless they made it one.
The ship slid into final alignment, a docking beam locking across the undercarriage with a soft magnetic thud.
The comms clicked once — a distorted voice speaking rapid, clipped Common:
> "Vessel Kaleid-One, secure. Prepare for customs inspection. Await platform alignment."
Lu'Ka thumbed a switch, cutting the external audio.
The ship's internal lights shifted — a soft tone washing over the command deck, signaling transition to dock protocols.
Outside the viewport, the landing platform glided closer.
Built massive enough for bulk freighters. Black deckplates etched with glowing guide lines, spaced wide enough to land entire wings of transport ships side by side.
Automated cranes stalked the edges, lifting containers like mechanical scavengers.
Dock workers moved in slow, deliberate groups.
No shouting.
No rush.
Everything orderly. Clean. Quiet.
Niri watched the Grounx guards stationed near the dock entrance.
Tall. Muscled like they were carved from old stone. Thick armor plating marked with dark glyphs she didn't recognize.
Helmets sealed tight over their heads — blank visors glinting in the station's cold light.
No weapons drawn.
But none needed.
Their presence alone was enough.
Lu'Ka moved beside her, adjusting the sling of his satchel.
> "Stay close," he said simply. "Don't answer questions unless they ask you directly."
Niri's mouth tightened, but she nodded.
She had survived worse than guards.
---
The docking clamps engaged with a low, resonant clang.
A final hiss of equalizing pressure, then the exit ramp began to extend — smooth, mechanical, with none of the screeching rust she was used to hearing from broken stations.
Clean.
Efficient.
Boring.
Almost made her nervous.
Niri flexed her hands once, shook out her shoulders, and followed Lu'Ka down the ramp without a word.
The dock stretched ahead like a canyon of steel and glass.
And somewhere beyond it, the Academy waited.
Whatever that meant.
The dock gates slid open with a low shudder.
Niri stepped through after Lu'Ka, boots scuffing the polished stone tiles beyond the checkpoint.
The air here was colder. Thinner. Smelled faintly of metal and strange perfumes.
Thousands of beings moved through the plaza beyond — an endless river of species, shapes, colors she couldn't name.
Some towered above the crowd on stilted legs. Some glided, tentacles coiling lightly across the floor. Some drifted like smoke wrapped in containment fields.
No two forms alike.
No pattern.
A chaos that somehow worked.
Niri's mouth pulled tight as she stuck close behind Lu'Ka, weaving through the crowd.
Everything here screamed not hers.
The scale. The noise. The sheer indifference of the galaxy flowing around her.
She stumbled slightly as someone brushed past — tall, insectoid, layered in bright green armor plates. It didn't even glance at her.
Lu'Ka glanced back briefly, checking her with a quick nod.
> "This is the Academy's Core sector," he said over the noise, voice pitched low so only she could hear. "Outside this wall—" he jerked his chin toward the distant gates, "—is Meridi Axis itself. Capital of the Galactic Ascendancy."
He kept walking, and she kept close.
> "Beyond the Academy," he added, "you'll find embassies, trade halls, private syndicate offices. The whole damn city stretches like this for kilometers."
Niri's gaze flicked upward, catching the skyline through the open ceiling.
Towers stabbed toward the sky, ringed by floating platforms and moving traffic lines. No open sky. No horizon. Just more city, layered into the clouds.
> "The planet itself's a city," Lu'Ka said. "Every inch of it."
Niri grunted softly under her breath. She wasn't impressed.
The gravity gnawed at her ankles with every step — wrong.
Off.
Too light.
Her body fought the balance with every stride, muscles twitching against instincts tuned for harsher worlds.
She muttered under her breath, half-growl:
> "Feels like walking on bones."
Lu'Ka caught it and smirked faintly.
He tapped the small black disk clipped to his belt.
> "Artificial gravity units," he said. "Standard tech. This whole place's tuned for galactic norms."
He looked at her, not unkindly.
> "You're not standard."
Niri flexed her hands again, working the tension from her shoulders.
She didn't need him to tell her that..
---
They pushed through the flowing crowd toward a row of spired structures ahead — polished black stone and gleaming silver panels, layered with the Academy's crest: a broken ring surrounding a cluster of abstract stars.
Main Administration.
The place smelled colder here. Cleaner.
Like sterilization had seeped into the walls themselves.
They entered a vaulted hall, ceilings arching higher than any building she'd ever stood in.
Lines of newcomers wound through processing lanes — all species, all sizes, all carrying datapads or speaking rapid, clipped phrases into translation devices.
Niri shifted her weight awkwardly, feeling the gravity tug at her knees.
She hated standing still more than walking.
Lu'Ka guided her toward a side desk — smaller, staffed by a bored-looking attendant whose sleek mechanical frame marked them as fully synthetic.
No organic signs at all.
The attendant looked up — blank silver face, polite tone.
> "Processing new registration?"
Lu'Ka nodded and handed over a small code disc.
> "Drift Variant," he said.
The attendant didn't blink — literally.
Just processed the data without reaction.
It slid a thin black band across the counter toward Niri — more bracelet than datapad, thin and flexible.
Lu'Ka tapped it lightly.
> "Your personal watchpad," he said. "Schedule. Map. Dorm access. Official ID linked."
Niri picked it up warily, feeling the slight pulse of power against her skin.
She slipped it over her wrist.
It tightened automatically — a soft click-lock engaging beneath the surface.
Tiny readouts bloomed across the underside — language she barely understood yet, but she caught the icons: dormitory, mess hall, administration offices.
A faint red indicator blinked next to "Housing."
Lu'Ka pointed it out.
> "This room is temporary," he said. "Private, for now."
He tapped another line on the display.
> "In about a week, you'll be reassigned to the main dorms — roommate system."
Niri's expression sharpened, but she said nothing.
Lu'Ka just shrugged slightly, as if to say not my choice either.
He pulled up a second screen — a map flickering to life between them.
The route to her room outlined in green.
> "Follow the instructions," he said. "Find your quarters. Get some rest."
He hesitated, then tapped the band again.
A small, simple icon lit up: a square with a pulsing ring around it.
> "You need help?" he said. "Press this. I'll answer."
Niri frowned at the symbol, committing it to memory.
Lu'Ka stepped back, checking the time on his own band.
> "I have to meet with the counsellor," he added. "Official intake protocols."
He gave her one last look — steady, serious.
> "Don't start fights."
And then he turned, vanishing into the river of species flowing through the Core.
Leaving her standing alone beneath the vaulted ceiling, gravity still pulling wrong against her bones.
Niri clenched her jaw once, breathing slow.
She wasn't going to fall apart because of a little gravity.
Not here.
She struggled with every step.
The corridor stretched in endless polished stone and cool light, and the closer she got to her assigned room, the less her body seemed to know what to do.
Her boots scuffed too lightly. Her legs felt too loose.
Every step was a half-float, a jerk downward — like the floor couldn't quite decide if it wanted her or not.
Niri cursed under her breath.
This place wasn't made for her.
Or maybe — she wasn't made for it.
She kept one hand pressed lightly against the wall as she walked, grounding herself, pretending it was casual.
The hallways were wide, clean, carved from some smooth grey material that muted sound.
Doors lined the sides at regular intervals, each one marked by a small pulsing strip — coded colors and symbols she barely understood.
At last, her datapad vibrated against her wrist.
Room 417.
The panel beside the door blinked once — then hissed open on silent magnetic locks.
Inside, it was... a room.
. Clean.
Too clean.
Bed pressed against the wall, small desk built into the opposite side, single storage locker. A small sealed vent in the ceiling — probably filtration or temperature control.
It didn't smell like anything.
Not metal.
Not desert.
Not life.
Just air.
Niri stepped inside cautiously, letting the door slide closed behind her.
The moment it sealed, she froze — ears straining — but nothing happened.
No attack. No sudden alarms.
Just silence.
Real privacy.
For the first time in what felt like a thousand years.
She pressed her forehead briefly to the cold door, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Small victories.
She dropped her scavenged satchel onto the bed, boots thunking softly as she moved to the desk.
The orb.
She pulled it from the folds of fabric she'd wound it in — setting it carefully on the desk's surface.
It pulsed once — faint and slow.
Alive.
Niri leaned forward slightly, whispering with dry sarcasm:
> "Well. Not dead yet. Guess that's something."
The orb flickered gently in reply.
She snorted quietly and leaned back.
The gravity still gnawed at her — too light, too strange.
She pushed up her sleeve, eyeing the small black belt she'd found earlier, tucked in the corner of the desk drawer.
No labels.
No instructions.
But the buckle looked familiar enough.
She strapped it low across her hips, cinching it tight.
The belt vibrated once — a small mechanical shudder — and her feet slapped harder onto the floor.
Weight returned.
Real, heavy, biting at her joints.
The tiny red light on the buckle pulsed sharply once.
Niri ignored it.
She had no idea what it meant.
Didn't matter.
She could walk now without floating like a deranged bird through the halls.
That was enough.
She flexed her shoulders, feeling the weight settle deeper into her bones — heavier than she remembered from anywhere before.
It didn't hurt exactly.
It just felt right.
She checked the door once more — habit.
Secured.
She checked the small vent overhead — no tampering, no hidden signals.
And only then, only after her world had been measured and tested and declared survivable, did she allow herself to sit at the edge of the bed.
The room hummed softly around her.
Steady.
Predictable.
It wasn't home.
Nothing ever would be again.
But it was hers.
For now.