Echoes of Command
The war room inside the academy's south command complex was dimly lit, walls lined with glowing strategic maps and holographic readouts of border conflicts. Red blips pulsed across multiple sectors—too many, too close.
Kale stood before the largest screen, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Behind him, Kora, Ox, and a few other cadets—those who survived the last op—watched silently.
The room wasn't meant for cadets. Not yet.
But after the last mission, General Voss had issued new directives.
Top-performing cadets with combat experience would now be included in war briefings. No more simulations. No more coddling.
They were being fast-tracked.
Trained for what was coming.
A voice broke the silence—sharp, clipped. "Tell me, Cadet Drayen, what do you see?"
Gavril's eyes bored into him as he stepped beside the screen.
Kale didn't hesitate. "Consolidation. Not random strikes anymore. The vassals are probing the perimeter, testing our response times. They're drawing a perimeter... like they're claiming territory."
The other officers in the room exchanged quiet glances.
Gavril raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"
Kale nodded. "It's the same way we would. Isolate an outpost, hit it fast, retreat before reinforcements arrive. Next time? A bigger force. Then you hold the ground."
"Attrition warfare."
"They're preparing for a long campaign."
A slow, grim smile spread across Gavril's face. "Good."
One of the other officers—a colonel with silver hair and a permanent scowl—snorted. "What's good about it?"
"It means they respect us enough to stop underestimating us."
---
Later that afternoon, back in the cadet barracks, word spread like wildfire:
Kale Drayen had spoken during command briefing.
Kale Drayen had predicted the next move.
Kale Drayen had been right.
The respect was quiet. Uneasy. But it was there.
Not all of it was admiration.
Cassian Dorne leaned against a hallway bulkhead, arms crossed as he watched Kale pass by.
"Drayen," he called, voice cold and clipped.
Kale stopped, slowly turning. The two had barely interacted since the initial tests. But Dorne hadn't forgotten the humiliation.
"I heard you're making friends with the brass now," Dorne said. "Climbing pretty fast for someone who came from the gutters."
Kale didn't blink. "Funny. I thought you'd be grateful someone's doing your thinking for you."
The hallway went dead silent.
Dorne's smile twisted. "This isn't over, slum rat. I know what you're doing. Acting the good soldier, earning their trust. But you're just playing a longer con."
Kale stepped forward, close enough that Dorne's smirk faltered.
"I don't need to play anyone. I just need to win."
---
Later that evening, a new challenge was posted for the upper cadets: Simulated Fleet Engagement.
Each cadet would be assigned a command ship and limited resources. Five teams. One winner.
And it would be public. Every move, every blunder, streamed live to the rest of the academy.
Kale read the mission details and smiled faintly.
This was where he thrived.
---
Twelve hours later — Command Simulation Room 5A
Five fleet command pods lined the chamber, each with a glowing interface, linked into a unified war game. Spectator seats ringed the room, filled with cadets and a few instructors.
Kale settled into his chair, already scanning the simulated star charts. His team consisted of five cadets—Ox, Kora, and two others he barely knew.
Dorne was on the opposing side. So was Lie Cadence.
The simulation began.
A star system under siege. Two fleets in orbit. A hidden third party. Neutral stations. Civilian cargo ships. Saboteurs in play.
The test wasn't just brute force. It was about manipulation, deception, pressure.
It was Kale's battlefield.
---
He moved first. Sent a fake distress signal from a civilian ship near a station Dorne was securing. Dorne hesitated—paused to defend the asset.
While he waited, Kale flanked the right side and took out his recon ships.
Next, he seeded rumors through comms: "Lie Cadence has formed an alliance with Drayen."
Lie, to her credit, responded by opening fire on both sides.
Chaos unfolded.
Kale targeted fuel depots next—cutting off resupply routes for both rival fleets. While they scrambled to adjust, he pulled his fleet into the outer asteroid field—vanished from sensors.
Ox grinned behind his console. "They've lost track of us."
Kora smiled. "Now we bleed them dry."
And they did.
By the final hour, only two fleets remained: Dorne's crippled destroyers limping near a gas giant, and Kale's strike group, hidden, coiled like a knife.
The killing blow was elegant.
One ambush. One decoy.
One perfect, clean wipeout.
The simulation ended.
Kale's name blinked at the top of the leaderboard.
Victory.
---
As the crowd filed out, some in awe, others bitter, Kale stood alone by the control panel.
A slow clap echoed behind him.
Gavril again.
"Impressive. You forced them to fight your war. Not theirs."
Kale turned, voice even. "They think in straight lines. I don't."
Gavril nodded. "And you've made enemies for it."
"I've made believers too."
The older man smiled faintly. "You're going to need both."
---
Border War Feed – Xeno Frontline (Secure Military Transmission)
Location: Astra Station – Deep Recon Vessel "Nightingale"
Status: Distress Signal
> "—No stars. Nothing. They're just... gone. A black sphere. Sensors dead, no echo. Whatever it is, it's pulling us in. Not gravitational—just gone. Tell Command—don't come looking. Just—"
[Transmission Ends]
---
These are the academy factions or different cohorts if you will.
1. Command Corps – Strategists, tacticians, and fleet officers.
2. Vanguard – Infantry-focused, front-line elite.
3. Cipher Division – Intelligence, hacking, psy-ops.
4. Ironborn – Engineers, mechanics, shipwrights.
5. Dynasts – Heirs of noble houses or corporate dynasties, with political influence.
These are just orientations or background or specialities depending on who you ask.