The pod cut across the city from Central Court to the Institute of Science campus.
The palette shifted as soon as the skyline changed, as if someone had swapped the world's materials when he wasn't looking.
Central Court had been stone, matte metal, and strict lines. The Institute was glass and light, buildings opened up like lungs, greenery threaded through walkways as if the campus wanted your thoughts to breathe.
Areon watched it through the window and felt something in his chest tighten, not because it was beautiful but because it was familiar, and familiarity had started to feel like something you could lose.
The Institute of Science had always amazed him, even when he was younger, even when the future still belonged to him in a way it didn't anymore.
It was an educational organization, but it never felt local. It felt universal, with branches on all the major planets and course tracks that floated across star systems and sometimes across multiple galaxies when a program mattered enough.
Time should have made it impossible. Every planet carried its own year length, its own day cycle, its own mess of sunrise and sleep and local law, and any sane institution would have accepted that physics as a limit.
The Institute did not.
He could sit in a virtual lecture hall on Genma-986 and listen to a professor teaching live from a different galaxy, the voice arriving without lag that mattered, the equations clean in his iris overlay as if distance was just a number you paid for.
It worked because everybody relied on personal AIs, synced to the Institute's scheduler ai, and that scheduler did the ugly math that nobody wanted to think about. Time conversion. Attendance windows. Professor availability. Student clusters. Twenty to thirty people, all on different worlds, all needing the same slot, all expecting it to happen like convenience was a right.
A problem that should have broken any normal system, solved quietly, daily, without applause.
The pod dipped toward the entrance gates.
Areon could have taken it deeper into campus, but it was not his personal vehicle, and visitor pods required approval windows that could drag ten to fifteen minutes depending on traffic load and security flags. He did not have that kind of patience today, not with an appointment waiting and his mind already running ahead of him.
He grabbed his bag and the bonsai, stepped out, and started walking.
Sycamore trees lined the entrance path, their branches arching overhead like a corridor built for ceremonies, scenic in a way that usually made him smug about where he studied, as if simply existing here said something about him.
Today it made him feel overwhelmed.
He might have to leave this campus sooner than he planned, and the thought turned the scenery into something sharp instead of comforting.
Public holograms floated at the path edges, their route arrows mirrored in his iris display if he let his focus settle on them.
Admin Building. Auditorium. Laboratories. Boarding wings. Sports grounds. A shopping block and an entertainment zone, because even geniuses still needed distraction, still needed somewhere to go when their brains refused to turn off.
He checked the time again.
11:15 AM.
He entered the Admin Building, confirmed his appointment with the receptionist AI unit, and sat in the waiting area.
The building was quiet because most people were in class, and that quiet made his thoughts louder.
He checked the time again and again, not because it changed anything, but because watching numbers move was easier than sitting in his own skin.
11:18.
11:24.
11:29.
The receptionist unit turned its head toward him.
"Areon Vonn. Director Halden is ready to see you."
Areon stood too fast, then took the lift to the third floor and walked down the corridor with his grip a little tighter around the bonsai pot than he realised.
He knocked.
A voice answered immediately.
"Come in."
---
Director Halden's office was warmer than his father's had ever been.
Not more luxurious. Just more lived-in, like someone here still allowed themselves a life that left traces.
Scribbled drawings were pinned to a side display, probably done by a child with a fearless marker. A couple of trophies sat near the window, sports trophies, not academic, with shields and plaques for administration awards lined up beside them as if they were polite obligations.
Behind Halden's chair, the Institute of Science logo dominated the wall.
Sunlight poured through the glass, laying bright bands across the carpet, and from the balcony you could see most of campus and, beyond it, the mountain that rose inside the Institute boundary like a promise they'd decided to build around instead of away from.
Areon held his posture straight.
"Good morning, Director Halden."
Halden nodded, polite and practiced. "Good morning, Areon. Please take a seat."
Areon placed his bag beside the chair and set the bonsai carefully on the empty chair next to him, then sat opposite Halden and waited for the first question that mattered.
Halden's eyes stayed on him for a beat, then his tone turned official.
"I heard from Professor Rowe yesterday. He gave you a very strong recommendation, and he personally requested that I help you as much as I can."
Areon did not react. He had learned young that stillness kept adults talking, and talking was how you found the shape of the door they were offering.
Halden tapped his desk display.
"State your enrollment number so I can pull up your file."
"1488070."
The file opened in Halden's iris overlay. His eyes flicked, reading fast.
"Four years," Halden murmured. "Outstanding researcher."
He paused, and then his gaze sharpened slightly.
"I'm not seeing anything related to genetic augmentations. Care to explain?"
Areon had prepared for the question. He kept his voice even.
"The first augmentation is Mathematical Abstractness," he said. "I earned it by winning the Intergalactic Science Olympiad. That record is public. It improves mathematical problem-solving and higher-order pattern translation."
Halden nodded once, like that part fit in the world he understood, and waited for the rest.
"The other three were gifted through my lab group," Areon continued. "They were approved by Professor Xaiver at Earth's Institute of Science campus, for contributions I made to collaboration discoveries."
He hesitated, then added carefully, "Those may be confidential. Professor Rowe is aware."
Halden blinked.
"Other three."
His eyes widened, then narrowed, not disbelief so much as calculation, the way administrators looked when something expensive appeared in a file without an obvious owner.
Advanced augmentations were rare. Four on one person was rarer. Four on someone with no obvious clan ties was the kind of detail that made directors sweat behind calm faces.
Halden pulled up parental history.
No major family link.
No corporate dynasty.
His fingers stopped.
He exhaled slowly.
This is above my pay grade, his face said, even if his mouth stayed polite.
Halden scrolled to the end of the file and froze.
A sealed line sat there.
[Your Eyes Only.]
He opened it.
Colonel Pembert.
The note included an officer's name, contact channel, and station designation, the kind of routing marker that didn't belong in an academic file unless the universe had decided to splice two worlds together. It was written cleanly, almost gently, and that made it worse because it meant no one expected pushback.
Halden read it twice.
Then he understood his assignment, and the understanding smoothed his expression into something calmer, like a man setting down curiosity before it could become a liability.
Route the student. Do not ask questions. Do not keep curiosity alive.
Halden looked at Areon.
"There is an alumnus," he said. "He has been informed of your situation."
Areon's heart stuttered once, then steadied.
Halden continued, careful with each word, as if he didn't want to trigger something in the air.
"I will notify you of the meeting time. You may need to return to the Admin Building to use a secure military line for the referral interview."
He paused, then added as if offering comfort.
"I will also provide a strong recommendation on your behalf. You do not need to worry about your admission pathway to the UW Institute of War Studies."
Areon kept his face blank while his mind moved fast, because this wasn't a question anymore, it was a route being drawn under his feet. So it was real, and they had already started deciding without waiting for his permission.
He gathered his things in silence, slipping the bag strap over his shoulder and lifting the bonsai with the care you reserved for anything alive, then gave Halden a quick nod.
"Thank you, Director."
Halden nodded back, and the meeting ended like a door sealing shut.
---
Outside, the campus air felt different, cleaner and lighter, and it didn't help.
Areon checked the time and realized it had not even been half an hour, and the thought came with no relief, only momentum, like his body had accepted that the day was going to keep moving whether he wanted it to or not.
He pinged Theo and Wesley.
"Finished early. Meet at the café on the auditorium terrace."
Then he started walking before they replied, because stopping felt like a risk.
The café sat high enough to overlook the main quad. Students moved below in small clusters, some with tablets, some with lab cases, some laughing too loudly because they still believed the world could not touch them yet.
Areon ordered three coffees and waited, hands folded, eyes on the walkway, trying to keep himself in one piece until his friends arrived.
Theo and Wesley showed up in under ten minutes on campus hover bikes, the free-use student models that always ran a little too fast like they were designed by someone who believed speed was a form of joy.
Theo was tall and broad-shouldered, built like he belonged in the gym more than a lab. Wesley was shorter and leaner, sharp-eyed, the kind of person who looked calm even when his mind was racing.
They stepped off their bikes and went straight to Areon.
Theo hugged him first, hard and brief, as if he could physically keep Areon upright. Wesley followed, quieter but just as steady, hand firm on Areon's shoulder for an extra second.
"You're not doing this alone," Theo said.
Areon's throat tightened. He forced his voice to stay usable and gave them the short version because anything longer would have cracked: what happened to his father, his mother in stasis, Central Court, Keene, the bank issue, the medal ceremony, the redaction wall that turned a death into a closed file.
Wesley listened without interrupting, jaw set. Theo swore under his breath once, then looked away like he needed a second to control his face.
"We'll stay with you today," Wesley said. "Whatever you need."
Areon nodded, grateful in a way he couldn't express properly.
"I might need help moving between campus and home," he admitted. "Depending on how things evolve."
Theo pointed a thumb at himself. "Done."
"And we have to go to the bank today," Areon added. "Co-signer for my moms accounts. Closing my father's accounts."
Theo leaned back in his chair and squinted at Areon.
"So," he said slowly, "you're really going to be a soldier."
Areon did not answer immediately, because saying yes felt like betrayal and saying no felt like lying.
Theo kept going anyway, because Theo always did, and because talking was how he fought helplessness.
"I never chalked you up as a boot," Theo said. "How old are you now? The Institute of War Studies only cares about UW standard age. Old Earth time. Twenty-four hours per day. Three hundred sixty-five point two four days per year."
Wesley made a face. "Theo, breathe."
Theo ignored him. "Genma is close to old Earth's orbit distance, but the day cycle is different. How long until you turn eighteen in UW standard?"
Areon answered simply.
"Three months."
Wesley nodded. "Makes sense. Genma has twenty-six-hour days and three hundred fifty days per year. Your standard age should track close enough."
Theo gave a low whistle. "So you're right on the line."
Areon stared into his coffee.
"I didn't choose this," he said.
Theo's expression softened a fraction. "Yeah. I know."
They ordered food.
Areon took a salad bowl out of habit. Theo and Wesley went for chicken breast and rice, lightly seasoned, because all three of them were gym rats and none of them pretended otherwise.
Between bites, they talked about the thing Areon did not want to say out loud, because naming it made it heavier.
The restricted substrate.
The messages they had sent. The contacts that went silent. The group chats that suddenly felt like dead rooms.
No replies.
Still nothing.
Then Areon's personal ai surfaced a new notification, clean and sharp in his iris display.
[Referral interview: UW Institute of War Studies]
[Attendees: Major Terrance Wayne, Areon Vonn]
[Time: 6:45 PM, Genma-986 local]
[Place: Secure Military Comms Chamber, Admin Building, Institute of Science, Genma-986]
Areon's fingers tightened around his coffee cup, knuckles paling.
Theo noticed immediately. "What is it?"
Areon didn't look up yet, but his voice came out steady anyway.
"My interview," he said. "It's tonight."
Wesley's eyes narrowed. "With who?"
Areon finally lifted his gaze.
"Major Terrance Wayne."
The name landed on the table like a weight.
In the bright, open campus air, Areon felt the same thing he had felt at Central Court, that quiet sense of being routed, of procedures closing behind him while something ahead opened without asking if he was ready.
A door had cracked open.
And behind it, someone was already waiting.