The Academy did not rest.
Even between training cycles, the station hummed with motion—cadets moving through steel corridors, holographic schedules updating midair, distant thrums of engines adjusting the fleet's orbit. Liam walked alone, still trying to feel like himself inside a body the universe clearly expected more from.
Triple-class.
Paradox.
The words followed him like shadows.
He turned a corner into one of the auxiliary atriums—an open chamber wrapped in transparent alloy, stars spilling endlessly beyond the glass. Gravity was lighter here, just enough to make each step feel uncertain.
That was when he heard the laughter.
Sharp. Cutting. Wrong.
"Come on, Your Highness," a voice sneered. "You don't actually think refusing the Concord will save you, do you?"
Liam slowed.
Near the center of the atrium stood a girl about his age, her posture straight but rigid, hands clenched at her sides. Her uniform was different—still Academy issue, but threaded with gold filigree and an unfamiliar crest: a crowned star split by twin arcs.
Royal.
Three cadets surrounded her. Older. Confident. One leaned in too close.
"You were bred for alliance," another said casually. "Don't act like you get a choice."
The girl's eyes burned—not with fear, but fury held in check.
"I am not property," she said evenly.
The first cadet laughed. "You are if the Senate says so."
Something cold settled in Liam's chest.
He stepped forward.
"That's enough."
All three turned.
"Move along," the sneering cadet said. "This doesn't—"
Liam didn't raise his voice.
"It does."
The air changed.
Not violently—yet—but enough that the lights along the atrium flickered. The cadets felt it too; their smirks faltered as pressure built, subtle and insistent.
"You're outnumbered," one muttered.
Liam met his eyes. Calm. Centered.
"I don't need numbers."
The girl looked at him then, really looked—surprise flashing across her face, followed by something sharper. Hope, maybe. Or curiosity.
The lead cadet scoffed and shoved her shoulder.
That was the mistake.
Liam moved.
He didn't strike. He anchored.
Command talent flared—an invisible weight locking the bullies in place for half a second too long. Combat followed, kinetic force snapping outward like a compressed storm.
But it was the girl who reached out.
Her hand caught Liam's wrist.
The moment they touched—
The world broke its rules.
Gravity let go.
Loose objects—data slates, fragments of light, even dust—lifted into the air around them. The stars beyond the glass seemed to stretch closer as arcs of electric-blue energy crackled between their joined hands, humming with a harmonic frequency that felt alive.
Support energy bloomed—hers and his—interweaving instinctively.
The bullies screamed as a shockwave tore outward.
They were blasted back, slamming into the far wall in a tangle of limbs and shattered bravado, unconscious before they hit the floor.
Silence fell.
Slowly, gravity returned. Objects drifted back into place. The lights steadied.
Liam released her hand like it was molten.
"I—sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to—"
She laughed.
Not mocking. Relieved.
"I don't think either of us did."
Up close, she was striking—not just beautiful, but present. Like she occupied more space than physics accounted for. Her eyes held twin colors—silver and deep teal—marking her dual talents.
"I'm Princess Seraphine Astryelle," she said. "Though I'd prefer just Seraphine. Thank you…?"
"Liam. Liam Keko."
Her eyebrows rose slightly.
"Oh," she said. "You're the variable."
He winced. "That bad already?"
She smiled, softer now. "That interesting."
They sat on the edge of the atrium platform, stars wheeling beneath them. She told him about the Concord—an arranged marriage meant to bind her kingdom's fleet to another power. A political solution. A personal prison.
"I don't want to be traded like a treaty clause," she said quietly. "I came to the Academy to earn my future, not have it decided."
Liam listened. Really listened.
For the first time since waking among the stars, he didn't feel like an experiment.
Later—much later—Dean Aurelion found him.
"There may come a time," the Dean said carefully, "when you are asked to stand beside Princess Seraphine in more than battle."
Liam thought of the sparks. The weightlessness. The way the universe had responded.
"I won't agree to anything she doesn't choose," he said.
Aurelion inclined their head.
"That," the Dean replied, "is precisely why the question will be asked."
Far away, beyond steel and stars, something ancient shifted—
—as if it had felt the spark too.