Niri didn't want to admit she was exhausted, but as soon as the door sealed behind her, she sagged forward with a sharp breath. The cot was too low, the gravity belt still tugging tight across her waist, and everything about her body felt stretched too thin.
She was small—even by most species' standards—barely 1.55 meters, compact, wiry. It didn't matter in the plaza, where everyone moved like slow, tall shadows, but now, alone, she felt even smaller. Like whatever strength she'd carried through the day had finally stepped out and left her behind.
Her dorm chamber in the Academy's residential sector was quiet—too quiet. It didn't feel lived in. Just tolerated. A rounded shell with curved walls, a flickering orb assistant, and one stubborn corner light that always blinked twice before shutting off.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. The plaza walk had left her drained. So many faces. So many eyes. Most hadn't looked at her directly, but she had felt their sidelong glances, their curiosity, their suspicion.
The plaza itself wasn't chaos, but it overwhelmed her anyway. The sensory flood, the constant hum of languages she didn't recognize, each overlapping and mingling into meaningless static. Her gravity belt had strained just to keep her balanced. Every step felt disconnected, her legs a moment behind her intentions.
But louder than the plaza noise was the memory of the lecture.
That word.
That question.
If one survived… what would you do?
She hadn't answered, but she'd felt every answer thrown across the room like stones. The panic, fear, speculation—every voice had touched a nerve she hadn't known existed. And beneath it, the truth no one else had yet discovered:
She was the one the question had been about.
The orb chimed softly.
Niri looked up, expecting another pointless notification. Instead:
Status Update: Sponsorship Authorization Confirmed
Recipient: Niri Velas
Origin Tier: Refugee Variant (Drift Status)
Assigned Sponsors: Professor Lu'Ka – Academy Internal, Chancellor Yvith Korr – Oversight Tier
Her pulse quickened.
Lu'Ka was expected. But Chancellor Yvith?
That name carried a weight no one questioned. No one spoke it lightly. Now it was fixed to her profile, a contract she couldn't remember signing.
She stood, pacing. The room suddenly felt tighter, heavier, as if Yvith's presence—even just her name—shifted the gravity around her.
Before she could collect herself, the terminal went dark. The orb froze mid-blink.
A second later, the terminal brightened, and a voice—clear, cold, precise—filled the room.
"Niri Velas, report immediately to Chancellor Yvith Korr, Oversight Sector 2. Compliance is mandatory. Failure to appear will void all current protections."
She stared, her throat dry.
No questions. No options. Only instructions.
Slowly, stiffly, she activated her wristpad. The navigation overlay lit up. Spiral Sector 2—deep inside restricted territory. Three tiers down. High security.
She hesitated, breathing slowly.
"Why me?" she whispered.
The empty room offered no answer.
She tightened her gravity belt, steadied herself, and moved toward the door.
---
The Oversight Sector felt starkly different from the rest of the Academy. Colder. Less forgiving. Corridors stretched out sterile and silent, their smooth, frictionless floors reflecting dim lights. Guards stood rigid, unmoving, eyes forward.
The doors opened silently as she approached.
Inside stood Chancellor Yvith Korr.
She wasn't elevated or flanked by advisors. She stood alone—tall, imposing, yet somehow quiet. Her feathers were smooth, metallic-edged, her eyes steady and unreadable.
"Niri," Yvith said, not a greeting, but an acknowledgment. "Human."
Niri stiffened slightly but held her ground.
"You're smaller than I imagined," Yvith continued, observing her critically.
Niri remained silent, eyes cautious.
"You can speak," Yvith said. "Or just listen. I'm not interrogating you—but I am watching."
Niri still didn't answer.
Yvith moved to the center, the floor beneath illuminating faintly. Her voice softened slightly.
"I know exactly what you are. What it means to acknowledge your existence openly."
"I didn't choose this," Niri finally spoke, quietly.
"No one does," Yvith replied, unmoved. "But the consequences remain."
A tense silence filled the space.
"You aren't in trouble," Yvith assured her calmly, "but we have one major problem, Miss Niri. Your biology produces adrenaline—one of the most coveted substances in the Reach. If you were hurt in a gym session or an accident and sought treatment, standard medical facilities would instantly reveal your identity. That exposure cannot be allowed."
Niri's jaw clenched slightly, realizing how deeply vulnerable she was.
"What does that mean for me?" she asked, voice tight.
"It means," Yvith's eyes narrowed gently, "you are forbidden from seeking medical assistance through normal channels. All your medical care must now come directly from my personal aid chamber. No exceptions."
The implication settled heavily onto Niri's shoulders, another layer of control wrapped tightly around her life.
"Understood," Niri answered softly.
"Good," Yvith said simply. "This isn't negotiable."
Yvith's gaze shifted downward, noting the belt.
"You've set full resistance?"
Niri nodded slowly. "It helps. Your gravity is too gentle. Without it, I feel disconnected."
"You stand like someone prepared for trouble. Muscles coiled. Always ready."
"It's habit," Niri admitted softly. "I don't know another way."
Yvith stepped closer, studying her openly. "Tell me, what exactly do you remember?"
Niri's eyes darkened. "Worms. Dust. Worms and sand. That's where it starts, that's where it ends. Everything else is blank."
"Do you fear what you've forgotten?"
"I fear what I might find," Niri answered honestly.
Yvith's feathers relaxed subtly, an almost sympathetic gesture.
"You surprise me, Niri. You're not at all what I expected," Yvith said softly. "That makes you unpredictable. And dangerous."
Niri met the Chancellor's gaze firmly.
"Then maybe you shouldn't have expectations."
Yvith tilted her head slightly, as though considering Niri's words carefully.
"Perhaps you're right," she said quietly. "Expectations can blind us to reality."
Niri hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment press against her chest. "What reality do you see when you look at me?"
Yvith took a measured breath. "I see uncertainty. Potential. A risk I did not expect to manage. But also," her eyes softened just slightly, "I see a young woman caught between survival and discovery."
"Which one should I choose?" Niri asked quietly.
"That's your choice alone," Yvith replied, her tone steady. "But remember, every decision you make now echoes far beyond yourself."
Yvith studied her for a lingering moment, amusement softening her typically stern features. "For someone so young, your calm and diplomatic responses feel almost practiced. Like someone trained for negotiation, not survival."
Niri held her gaze but stayed silent, uncertain how to respond.
"From now on," Yvith continued firmly, "you must attend all major lectures and classes without exception. I will personally observe some of them to monitor your progress. Understand?"
"Yes, Chancellor," Niri responded evenly.
"Very well," Yvith said, dismissing her with a slight nod. "You may go, Miss Niri—human