It was an unfortunate day for the unfortunate.
They came like locusts descending upon grain. The raiders swept through the colony with practiced efficiency, their weapons gleaming under the smoke-filled sky. Buildings erupted in flames, the fire consuming homes and memories alike. Screams pierced the air, mingling with laughter and crude songs that mocked the dying. The songs had no melody, only malice.
A man begged for mercy on his knees. They shot him in the street. His blood pooled between the cobblestones, spreading like spilled wine.
A mother clutched her infant, sheltering in a doorway. They took the child. Her wails followed them as they moved to the next house, but the raiders never looked back. Compassion had abandoned this place.
The raiders killed without hesitation. Old men. Young women. Children who barely understood what death meant. They violated without shame, dragging victims into shadows while others watched, helpless and terrified. They burned without remorse, torching everything their hands could touch. Libraries. Temples. Schools. Their boots trampled over everything sacred, everything pure, grinding hope into dust.
Some colonists were dragged into the square, metal collars snapping around their necks with decisive clicks. The chains rattled like wind chimes in a graveyard. Slavery awaited those deemed valuable enough to keep breathing. Everyone else received the blade or the bullet.
The raiders sang louder. Their voices carried across the devastation like a funeral march composed in Hell, celebrating victory over the helpless.
Through the chaos, a woman ran. Her dress was torn, her face smeared with ash and blood. She clutched a boy's hand, pulling him through narrow alleyways between burning structures. The boy stumbled but she yanked him forward. They had to survive. They had to escape this nightmare.
Behind them, the laughter continued.
...
The academy halls buzzed with energy, alive with the restless anticipation of youth.
Pamela walked through the corridor with practiced indifference, her black hair flowing behind her like a silk curtain. Silver eyes scanned the space ahead, observing everything while betraying nothing. Her pale features remained composed, almost porcelain in their stillness.
The white academy uniform she wore was pristine, not a single crease marring its surface. Each step carried confidence. Each movement suggested control. Earbuds rested in her ears, delivering the refined strains of classical music that drowned out the mundane chatter surrounding her.
Other students parted instinctively as she passed. Some whispered her name. Others simply watched. Pamela ignored them all.
"Did you hear?" A cadet whispered to his companion near the lockers. "New student today."
"Already?" Another voice joined. "We're mid-semester. Since when does the academy accept transfers now?"
"Exactly! It's completely unfair. The intake windows exist for a reason."
Pamela continued walking, her expression unchanging.
"I heard he's got connections," someone else muttered. "Probably nepotism. Some lieutenant's spoiled brat getting special treatment."
"No way." A girl's voice cut through the speculation. "My roommate said he's from the Outer Rim. You know, those backwater colonies. How would someone from that dump have a sugar daddy?"
The conversations multiplied, bouncing off walls and spreading through the hall like wildfire. Theories clashed. Voices rose. The mystery of the new cadet consumed everyone's attention.
Pamela remained unmoved by the spectacle.
Whoever this person is, they'll just be canon fodder. Another face destined to fade into obscurity.
The main entrance doors swung open.
Silence rippled through the hallway. Every head turned. Every conversation stopped mid-sentence. Even Pamela's silver eyes shifted toward the doorway, curiosity flickering despite her practiced indifference.
A boy entered, dragging a worn suitcase behind him. The wheels needed oil.
Blonde hair caught the lighting, shining like spun gold. He stood perhaps five feet seven inches tall, slightly shorter than Pamela herself. The standard academy uniform hung on his frame, but wrinkled and disheveled compared to the other cadets' pressed attire.
His age suggested fifteen, maybe sixteen. Definitely a junior. Everything about him seemed ordinary at first glance, yet something indefinable set him apart from the crowd.
His expression revealed nothing. Neutral. Blank. The kind of face that gave away no secrets, that suggested either complete emptiness or carefully constructed walls.
He walked forward with steady steps, his gait unhurried despite the attention. The suitcase wheels squeaked against the polished floor.
He didn't glance at the staring cadets. Didn't acknowledge the whispers that resumed in hushed tones. Didn't react to Rikan and his cronies lounging against the far wall, their predatory eyes tracking his movement like vultures circling wounded prey.
The boy continued his path, moving deeper into the hall. His trajectory led him past where Pamela stood. Or perhaps Pamela simply happened to be standing in his general direction.
For the first time since entering, the blonde cadet's eyes shifted.
Red eyes, beautiful and startling, turned toward her.
Red met silver.
Pamela's heart lurched in her chest. The steady rhythm she'd maintained her entire life suddenly accelerated, pounding against her ribs with unexpected force. Heat bloomed across her face. Sweat beaded on her forehead, a single drop sliding down her temple. What is this? Her thoughts scrambled for control, for the composure that defined her. Calm down. It's nothing. Just another cadet.
But her body refused to listen.
The boy's lips curved upward.
He smiled.
It was beautiful. The kind of smile that could thaw frozen hearts and breathe warmth into the coldest spaces. Genuine. Radiant. The kind of expression that seemed impossible to fake, too pure to be anything but real.
Pamela's entire face flushed crimson. The heat spread from her cheeks to her ears, burning with an intensity she'd never experienced. Stop it. She commanded herself internally, fighting against the unfamiliar sensation. Control yourself. This is ridiculous.
The boy walked past her, his footsteps echoing in the now-silent hall. His presence lingered even as he moved away, carrying his worn suitcase toward whatever destination awaited him.
Pamela stood frozen, her silver eyes following his retreating form. The classical music still played in her earbuds, but she couldn't hear it anymore. Curiosity bloomed in her chest, unwelcome and persistent.
Who is he?
The question hung in her mind as the blonde cadet disappeared around the corner.
To be continued.