It was already midday.
The sun hung high above the ocean floors, blazing across the chrome-white domes that went above the water, reflecting off the long, transparent corridors that stretched between buildings like arteries of light.
The combat drills had just ended, and normally, this was when students would collapse in the canteen — laughing, arguing, shoving, scarfing down protein packs while replaying clips of the morning's matches on their tablets.
But not today.
Today, the halls were alive with the sound of footsteps — hundreds of them — all marching in the same direction.
The sprint track.
The word had already spread like wildfire.
An instructor had challenged a student.
Not just any instructor — Kieran.
And not just any student — Ashen Vale, one of the academy's top cadets.
Within an hour, the rumor had become a sensation, leaping across batches and sectors.
By midday, it was official: the entire school knew.
Even the automated intercoms had started glitching from the sheer volume of private message traffic.
Every message board, every cadet feed — filled with the same question:
"Who's going to win?"
Crowds streamed toward the arena complex, an enormous structure sitting at the edge of the campus walls — a sprawling metallic bowl like a coliseum for machines. The track inside was easily the size of a football field, but instead of turf, it was a labyrinth of glowing obstacles, hovering platforms, and shifting metallic walls.
The Sprint Track.
It wasn't a normal race, It was part endurance test, part aerial obstacle course — and part survival drill.
In short: the perfect stage for madness.
Ashen stood in the entrance tunnel below the stands, his glider's plates locking into place around him with a satisfying click-click-click as the automated seals tightened.
The soft hum of energy filled the air — that familiar vibration that came from the glider's propulsion nodes warming up.
Blue light ran along the seams of his armor, tracing his frame like veins of lightning.
He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the weight settle in.
Comfortable and familiar.
He'd spent years in the academy — and years before that training to even qualify for the academy.
Sprints were practically one of his domains.
The sharp turns, the split-second calculations, the high-G pressure at top speed — he lived for it.
And yet, for the first time in years, he felt uncertain.
Not because of the challenge.
Because of who he was racing against.
Kieran.
Ashen's brows drew together as he adjusted the grip of his gauntlet controls.
The man had always been a mystery — calm, precise, and untouchable. His lectures were filled with warnings and brutal honesty, his methods harsh but fair.
He was the kind of instructor who could break a cadet's confidence with a single sentence, yet earn their respect by the end of the week.
But none of that explained why he'd challenge a student to a sprint.
No instructor had ever done that before, not once.
Ashen exhaled slowly, eyes fixed ahead on the glowing light at the end of the tunnel. Beyond it, the noise of the crowd was swelling — hundreds of voices blending into a constant roar of excitement and disbelief.
He could almost feel their gazes waiting for him.
Their judgment.
Their expectations.
A low, cocky voice echoed in his head.
'I can't believe i actually thought my life would become boring coming to earth, if only i knew humans were this entertaining i would have crashed here years ago.'
Ashen didn't even flinch. 'I don't remember asking for your commentary.'
'No, but I'm contractually obligated as your parasitic friend to give it anyway.'
Ashen sighed internally. 'Why are you even awake? I thought you said you need to hibernate for a while to gather your strength... whatever that means.'
'Well i was going to, before this beautiful drama presented itself before me. Do you know how difficult it is to entertain yourself in space? I am definitely planning on enjoying you getting your ass whooped'
Ashen's lips twitched. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence.'
'Anytime, champ.'
He pushed the voice aside.
He couldn't let the idiot's sarcasm mess with his focus now.
There was too much riding on this.
Renn's face flashed in his mind — pale, trembling, eyes hollow with the shock of being dismissed.
He'd made him a promise.
"If I win, you stay."
There was no backing down.
Ashen adjusted his glider's neck guard, straightened, and stepped forward.
The tunnel opened into blinding light.
The crowd erupted in cheer.
Rows upon rows of cadets filled the stands — uniforms of different colors marking their batches and divisions.
Some held up holo-displays recording the moment, others chanted his name, while a few just watched in disbelief that this was even happening.
From above, the other instructors had gathered on the observation deck, leaning over the transparent railings.
There where officially a hundred instructors in the Academy — each responsible for a hundred cadets — and each expected to produce ten participants for the annual Dominion Games.
Together, they formed the elite of humanity's defense effort.
And even among them, Kieran stood out.
And because of that he also stood out because since he was one of Kieran's best student.
Ashen could see a few of them whispering, their faces unreadable. Others were smiling faintly — intrigued, maybe even impressed.
Apparently, no one had expected this either.
He stepped slowly into the open field.
His glider hummed softly as the energy nodes synchronized, floating him a few inches above the ground. The blue lights shimmered, catching reflections from the metallic obstacles spread across the arena.
He took a long look around.
The wind, the light, the noise, everything sharpened to a point.
He was ready.
Then — clank.
A faint metallic echo came from the tunnel behind him.
They where footsteps, heavy, measured and metallic.
Ashen turned already knowing who it was.
Kieran emerged from the shadows.
And for the first time since Ashen had joined the academy, he saw something that broke his composure.
Kieran wasn't wearing a glider.
He wasn't even wearing armor, or even the black combat instructor uniform they all expected.
He was wearing a simple tight athletic suit — the kind swimmers or sprinters wore during physical drills.
Sleek, black, unadorned.
It fit him perfectly, outlining a body built like tempered steel.
But that wasn't what froze Ashen.
It was his legs, both of them.
They weren't flesh, they were metal.
"..."
Polished titanium and synthetic alloy, perfectly symmetrical and humming faintly with soft blue energy. The joints were layered with kinetic servos, the calves embedded with propulsion vents that glowed faintly.
Kieran's mechanical legs gleamed under the sun — smooth, silent, deadly.
For a full second, Ashen forgot to breathe.
The crowd went silent too.
Hundreds of cadets, mid-whisper, stopped mid-sentence. The noise of conversation dissolved into a stunned hush that rippled across the stands like a shockwave.