Faction Ideologies (Continued) & High Command
Command Corps annex halls were austere and utilitarian — all hard steel and functional layouts. No decorations, no flags, no honor badges.
One kind of glory here: the one won in blood and brains.
Kale strode deliberately down narrow hallways, mind alert, eyes sharper.
They were divided now, the cadet corps splintered into five separate Corps, and one thing the academy had made very clear: inter-Corps rivalry would no longer be unofficial.
It was policy. Encouraged. Measured. Judged.
Only the successful Corps would get their cadets assigned to the best ships.
The weak? They'd be stuck on garrison duty, second-line support ships. or forgotten.
Kale's lips compressed into a tight line as he entered a new training room — a huge sim deck with holographic consoles along the walls.
Dozens of cadets already had their hands full, bellowing orders to AI underlings as they battled simulated naval combat against impossible odds.
Above the door, a few words were inscribed in silver:
> "A commander's mistake is paid in blood."
---
Across the Academy Grounds
Within the Vanguard annex, ideology was brutal and uncompromising.
Cadets were already being trained in boarding drills — instructed to capture close, cramped corridors that mimicked alien starship hallways.
Breaking attacks, explosives, and zero-gee combat were daily exercises.
"Pain is temporary. Failure is forever," screamed their drill sergeants.
The Vanguards embraced their mission with a kind of animal honor.
They were the hammer — the first through the breach, the first to die so others could live.
One of them was Ox — not because of his size but for his steady leadership, already winning the devotion of his fellow cadets.
He fought like a beast, but he thought like a soldier.
---
Within the Cipher Corps annex, the air was cold. quiet.
Cadets were taught the methods of deceit, sabotage, and mind war.
Their instructors, all masked in black, anonymously taught them how to subvert, speak foreign languages, and plan assassinations.
"You are a shadow," said one Cipher instructor to a group of students.
"You shatter the hope of the enemy before you shatter the enemy himself."
Kora moved through these lessons with chilling ease.
She was faster than anyone realized, more ruthless than her sunny disposition suggested.
She learned how to make friends with ease. how to betray them all the more.
"Survival is learning when to be a wolf. and when to be a ghost," she complained to herself.
---
The Ironborn annex was abuzz with imagination and covert rivalry.
Workshops buzzed with the din of prototypes built and torn apart, mock defense grids erected and blasted in practice combat.
Ironborn cadets vied with one another to out-invent their peers, showing off new weapons, armor, or ship designs in merciless contests of ingenuity.
"Wars are won before the first shot is fired," one of their old-fashioned mantras used to proclaim.
Part of them were the Belters and Lune-born — wiry, clever, and utterly ruthless when it came to design.
No medals there — patents. Results only.
---
And then there were the Dynasts.
Their annex was lavish compared to the others — wood-paneled war rooms, antique Earth victory paintings from old, even personal sparring grounds.
Their philosophy was straightforward: rule by virtue.
They were successors to power, heritage, and capital.
Their instructors taught them less ability, more cunning, manipulation, and political battles.
"Better to command others to bleed on your behalf," Cassian Dorne mused to himself as he watched a simulation of a political debate unfold.
"Why risk yourself when you can risk your pawns?"
But Cassian was no idiot.
He recognized that bloodlines alone would never be enough to guarantee dominance at Blackthorn.
Not with cadets like Kale Drayen patrolling the halls.
And Cassian. he never allowed threats to swell uncontrolled.
---
Later That Night
Kale slouched over a darkened console in Command Corps barracks, studying alien fleet movements.
Datapads with reports on Jaru'Ka and Aethari troops flashed across his pad.
Jaru'Ka — death-cult raiders from the southwest border.
Fanatics who saw battle as holy sacrifice.
Vicious, unpredictable, nearly impossible to intimidate.
Aethari — northeastern border enemies.
Cold, logical, high-tech.
They fought like machinery — calculated, relentless, without mercy.
Each alien civilization posed different challenges, offering their own solutions.
Blackthorn's Corps were preparing their cadets for just such a contingency.
Kale learned it all, piecing together not only battles but philosophies.
Each foe required a special kind of cruelty.
"I must be more than good," he thought. "I must become inexorable."
A beep on his console — an invitation to his first Command-only tactical briefing the next day.
He shut down his files, letting the screen fade to black.
Beyond, the moons of Mars low-hung in the red sky, their weak light casting jagged shadows across the academy grounds.
Kale glared out into the darkness for a long time, jaw clenched.
The true tests would be beginning tomorrow.
Tomorrow, there would be alliances. Rivalries would escalate.
Tomorrow, they would stop acting like soldiers and start becoming soldiers.
---
Cut-in: Border Conflict Clip
> — War Report: 4th Expeditionary Forces — Kethari Border Skirmishes
"Enemy Kethari Clans have breached defense lines at Sector Theta-4. Casualty reports show widespread biological weapon deployment among civilian populations.
Survivors report rapid-onset neurotoxic effects.
Directive from Command: Counter-assault launched. No quarter authorized."
Priority level: Severe Threat.
---
Final Reflections
As Kale walked back to his bunk, he spotted Cassian down the corridor, speaking quietly with two Dynast cadets.
Scheming, no doubt.
Plotting the future.
Good.
Kale wasn't here to be friends with the old world.
He was here to destroy it.
One battle, one victory at a time.
High above Mars, above the academy's dusty red skies, an observation station floated silent in orbit — the UNS Vigilant Eye.
Inside, in a darkened strategy room with projection banks along the walls, five people watched the academy's latest simulation feeds flash on gigantic wallscreens.
On one, Command cadets battled battle simulations against alien fleets.
On another, Vanguard cadets stormed a simulated alien dreadnought in savage zero-gravity training.
Cipher Corps sabotage operations buzzed in the background — quiet explosions, changing allegiances.
An admiral with temples of gray and a face hewn from stone crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.
Vice Admiral Rourke Mannerheim, Deputy Director of the Blackthorn Oversight Initiative.
"There," he pointed with a blunt finger at one screen where a certain cadet outmaneuvered an entire simulated fleet.
"Drayen. Again."
Across from him, Rear Admiral Tess Veylan, slightly younger but no less sharp, smiled lean.
"He's been performing above projections now."
The other half of the room — two generals and a senior spymaster from Cipher Command — stared at one another in silence.
It was becoming unavoidable.
Among a thousand of humanity's finest, Kale Drayen was a tempest brewing.
And tempests were fatal.
---
Observations Filed
"His genius for asymmetric tactics is. unnatural," growled General Ardell, tapping on a report with two fingers.
"One against many — simulations have him achieving over eighty-seven percent hit rates even in losing battles."
Veylan went on, "And when he does lose, he learns. Quickly. Scarily quick."
"Social profile?" Director Khain asked, a woman whose first name was known to no one but a few of her closest subordinates.
Veylan waved towards another projection, displaying Kale's academy records.
"Neutral public behavior. Firm loyalty-forging among non-Dynast cadets.
Respected by Command and Vanguard both.".
Some of the Cipher members are cautious, though — he does not trust easily. Does not play games like the others.
Khain's lips tightened.
"Good. Weakness is to trust. Strength is to distrust."
---
The Political Dimension
"But he's already attracting. attention," Admiral Mannerheim whispered.
He gestured toward another file — stamped with high-grade clearance sigils.
> DORNE CONGLOMERATE INTERNAL REPORT:
Concern over 'Drayen' presence in Academy social hierarchy. Likely disruption of established cadet hierarchies.
The Dynasts were nervous.
And when the Dynasts worried, strings of politics started pulling themselves taut across the solar system.
"He's not playing by the rules," General Ardell said bluntly.
"He's rewriting them," Khain corrected.
There was silence again.
It wasn't just a question of talent. Talent wouldn't threaten empires alone.
But an individual who could unite — an individual who could win the loyalty of the commonborn, the militia brats, the fringe worlders?
A person who earned the privileged small without ever speaking a word?
That was another type of threat.
One much harder to kill.
---
On the Other Cadets
"And the others?" Mannerheim asked, deflecting the topic.
Veylan thumbed through holographic reports:
Ox Varin — Vanguard Corps, becoming an unofficial squad leader of the heavy assault troops.
A wall of muscle and stubborn loyalty.
Would likely follow Drayen into hell if he invited him.
Kora Tessan — Cipher Corps, rising fast through the infiltration plots.
Deadlier than her file showed. Extremely resourceful.
Conjectured emotional involvement with Drayen: Status — Under Review.
Cassian Dorne — Dynast Corps, proficient but self-important.
Political clout greatly outweighs personal talent.
Viewed Drayen as a threat. Already surely plotting revenge.
Lie Cadence — Cipher Corps, cunning and ambitious.
Well-respected in the Ciphers, but does not have friends per se.
Unsure if she sees Drayen as ally, rival, or hindrance.
The future face of humanity's officer corps was being forged here, on Mars, far from the decrepit bureaucrats on Earth.
And it was clear:
The old blood were in decline.
---
Strategic Considerations
"We must choose," Veylan said, her voice low.
"About what?" Ardell snarled.
"Whether we support Drayen. or whether we hold him back."
Support meant resources. Guidance. Access to promotion.
Containment had equated to limits. Isolation. Perhaps even quiet sabotage.
Khain leaned back into the shadows, her words a soft whisper.
"He's worth it. Uncontrollable, perhaps. But worth it."
Mannerheim frowned, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the metal surface.
"Uncontrollable is a problem."
"But a man who can't be bought may also be the only kind who won't sell humanity down the river when the worst comes."
And it was coming.
The xenos on the borders — the Jaru'Ka, the Aethari, the Kethari, the Varnok, and the Drekkari — were growing more belligerent.
Humanity's precarious grip on the stars was at risk.
Mannerheim let out a deep breath, his shoulders heavy.
"Fine," he said. "For now, we observe. We support, lightly. No overt favoritism."
"But if he betrays us?" Ardell asked.
Khain's smile was as thin as paper.
"Then we cut the flower before it flowers."
---
Final Decision
Files were sealed, reports encrypted, and the meeting adjourned under the highest security measures.
Above Mars, the Vigilant Eye resumed its silent patrol.
Below, unaware, the cadets of Blackthorn slept restlessly, dreaming of glory, of conquest, of the stars.
And Kale Drayen, somewhere in those sleeping quarters, glared up at the ceiling, sensing — though he could not yet know it — the unseen weight of eyes bearing down upon him.
Watching.
Judging.
Waiting.
---
> Quote of the Chapter:
"The eyes of others are our prisons; their thoughts our cages."
— Virginia Woolf
---
> Quote of the Chapter:
"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity."
— Sun Tzu