Threads of Power

The dormitory hall was quiet, save for the soft hum of automated vents lining the ceiling. Oliver Vale sat on the edge of his bunk, fingers laced tightly, back straight. His breath was steady—but only because he was forcing it to be.

Across from him, Garek paced.

"You realize what that means, right?" Garek finally muttered, scratching at the back of his thick neck. His copper buzzcut glistened with sweat, and his sleeveless training vest was half-zipped, as usual. "You don't just outscore Enforcer-class drones by luck, Vale."

Oliver said nothing.

"You broke formation," came Lira's voice from the side of the room. She was standing, back pressed against the wall, arms folded neatly. Her steel-gray cadet armor looked pristine, as though she'd walked through battle and come out cleaner. Her long braid—black as a void rift—fell over her shoulder, swaying slightly as she turned her sharp gaze to him. "I don't like reckless."

"I didn't break formation," Oliver replied coolly. "I adjusted."

Lira's eyes narrowed, but she didn't retort.

Garek exhaled and slumped onto his bed, armor clinking against the frame. "Well, whatever adjustment you made, it got you the highest mark in the sim. So, what are you gonna do now? Pretend it was a glitch?"

Oliver didn't answer. He couldn't.

The system pulsed softly in the back of his mind—silent, watching, always calculating. It had said nothing since the simulation. But he felt it. A quiet stirring, like a locked vault he was slowly finding keys to.

No one could know.

His heart thudded louder than it should have.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Commander Halden stepped inside.

The room snapped to attention.

Halden was a wall of a man—dark-skinned, grizzled, with white-streaked hair that was cropped military short. His uniform bore the deep blue sash of a Sector Commander and the golden insignia of the Earth Dominion's 7th Force.

"At ease," he said, his voice a gravelly boom that commanded without yelling. "Vale. With me."

Oliver stood, boots clicking against the floor as he followed the commander into the hall.

They walked in silence for several steps, past holo-panels displaying Earth's security grid, training schedules, and a live-view of lunar patrols. The academy walls were sleek metal, soft-lit with pulsing veins of blue light tracing the path.

"You're different," Halden said abruptly.

"Sir?"

"I've seen prodigies. Geniuses. Cyber-augments with half their brains replaced. You don't move like any of them." He paused, eyes locked on Oliver. "But I've also seen anomalies. Things the Dominion classified so high we pretended they never existed. Are you one of those?"

Oliver's jaw tensed. "No, sir."

Halden's gaze lingered. Then he nodded.

"Good. I don't need secrets. I need results. You're being reassigned for the Sector Tournament Prep."

"Tournament?"

"Yes. City-level for now. Your unit will train with specialized squads. Show me it wasn't a fluke. Or I'll have you scrubbing drone joints for the next six months."

Oliver nodded. "Understood, Commander."

As Halden turned away, Oliver's mind was already racing.

The Tournament. That meant Earth-wide attention. Ranking systems. Exposure.

He'd need to grow faster.

He couldn't afford another slip-up.

Back at the dorms, Garek was practicing air-punches in front of the mirror. His arms were bulkier than most cadets his age—thanks to what he often claimed were "old-fashioned protein gains"—and his knuckles were wrapped in sensor-tape for motion-tracking.

"I'm tellin' you, this year's Tournament is ours," he said, grinning. "I just need to land a couple clean hits on that prick from Sector 3. What's his name? Flint? Frisk?"

"Fray," Lira corrected, not looking up from the tablet in her hand. Her sharp features were illuminated by the screen's glow. She was precise even when idle. Hair always tied, boots always shined. The only thing messier than her was her sarcasm.

"You're both getting reassigned," Oliver said.

They stopped.

"Excuse me?" Lira looked up.

Oliver held up a datapad. "Halden just left. Tournament prep. We're rotating into specialized squads starting tomorrow."

Lira blinked once. "Well… that's fast."

Garek clapped. "Let's gooo! Time to show these genetically-engineered freaks what old-school fists can do!"

He shadowboxed again, accidentally knocking over Lira's water bottle.

"Five push-ups," she muttered.

Garek groaned.

That night, the stars above the dorm window glittered like cold fire. Oliver sat by the glass, staring up at the constellations. Earth's orbital defense ring blinked faintly above, a steel halo in motion.

He exhaled.

"System," he whispered inside.

A faint hum answered.

[User Status: Stable. Synchronization Level: 4%][Core Adaptation In Progress.][Training Modules Unlocked: Tournament Phase I.][Objective: Concealment Priority. Secrecy Status: Optimal.]

He nodded to himself.

This was just the beginning.