The buzz of morning announcements echoed through the dorm corridors, bouncing between steel walls and energy-conductive floors.
"Cadets selected for Earth Regionals preliminary combat trials, report to Dome Alpha at 0800 sharp," the robotic voice barked.
Oliver sat up in bed, blinking away sleep. His body ached in the familiar way it did after System-assisted recovery—like his muscles had been both rebuilt and overclocked overnight.
He hadn't told anyone what the System had unlocked after the simulation. Not even Aria.
"Preliminary power evaluation available. Hidden Core Detected. Category: Unbound. Potential: Above Level Six."
The System hadn't offered more than that—just those haunting words. And that "Unbound" tag. Whatever it meant, it set him apart.
And put a target on his back.
Squad Assembly – Pre-Tournament Briefing
Dome Alpha gleamed brighter than the others—its surface plated in sun-reactive crystal. Inside, it felt more like a spaceport than a gym. Rows of Empire instructors, city leaders, and even representatives from other continents observed from balconies above.
Oliver's squad stood in line beside dozens of other cadet teams, all dressed in matching white-and-black exoweave. Each one had subtle modifications—Aria's had violet lining that pulsed faintly, while Juno's had reinforced sleeves for close-combat durability.
"Look sharp," Garek muttered, arms crossed. "They're judging everything."
"You mean like how your hair looks like it was styled by a plasma grenade?" Lira deadpanned without looking up from her datapad.
Darius chuckled under his breath.
From the far end, another squad approached—imposing and confident.
Squad 2.
Led by Cassian Drex, a third-year prodigy known across the sector. Tall, silver-blond hair, sharp ice-blue eyes. His aura made people either stare or look away. His gaze landed directly on Oliver—and didn't waver.
"So that's Drex," Aria said. "Rumor is, he's already Level Four."
"Level?" Juno asked. "You mean like training tiers?"
Oliver glanced sideways. "I think… we're going to learn what that really means soon."
Private Briefing Room
Only squad captains were allowed in.
Oliver stood inside the small chamber alongside captains from other squads, Cassian among them. On the wall, a holographic chart flickered to life, displaying ten colored tiers stacked vertically.
Empire Power Levels: 0 to 10
• Level 0–2: Basic combatants• Level 3–5: Advanced cadets, planetary soldiers• Level 6–7: Elite forces, interplanetary agents• Level 8–10: Rare. Reserved for generals, galactic threats, or anomalous beings.
"This," said Director Voss, stepping into the center, "is the classification used across known systems. Most of you will never see beyond Level Five. But should any cadet show potential above that, they will be fast-tracked into advanced operations."
Oliver's heart skipped.
He wasn't supposed to exist on that chart.
"We'll be assigning you pseudo-levels based on combat metrics during the tournament. No shortcuts. No skipping ahead."
Cassian raised a hand.
"Yes, Drex?"
"Is there a reason outsiders are present in the stands?"
Voss paused. "Yes. Observers from the Heliox Council."
That silenced the room. Even Cassian stiffened.
Oliver knew that name. The Heliox Council—governors of the galactic central zone.
The Dorm That Night
Aria found Oliver on the rooftop again. The sky above was darker than usual—moons shifting slowly behind cloud layers. Distant stars pulsed.
"You've been quiet," she said.
"I've been thinking."
"About the chart?"
"About what happens if someone goes off it."
She turned to face him, her violet eyes illuminated by soft moonlight. "Then they either rise above it… or they vanish."
He laughed softly. "That's not very comforting."
"No. But it's the truth."
There was a pause between them.
"You're hiding something," she said, too gently to be accusing.
Oliver met her eyes. He didn't lie. He just nodded. "I am."
Aria didn't ask what. Instead, she sat beside him and said, "Just don't forget us when it becomes too big to hide."
Elsewhere – A Surveillance Feed
In a chamber deep beneath Novaros, the man in white watched the footage of the simulation trial again. Frame by frame. Specifically Oliver's movements.
"That cut was inhumanly precise," he murmured.
A second figure appeared behind him, obscured in shadows. "You think he's from the Coreline?"
"No," the man replied. "He's touched by something foreign. We need to know what."