The Veil. A protective barrier created by the ancient Ruvos at the height of their power. The arcane technologies that conjure it transcend conventional science and are so advanced that, to the uninitiated, they appear to delve deep into the realm of magic.

Despite all their advancements in dozens of advanced scientific fields and centuries worth of research, the Runora scientific community was still completely stumped by the Veil’s inner workings.

The Runora could harvest a measurable percentage of a star’s energy output, considered travel between solar systems little more than a slight inconvenience, and were able to terraform planetary bodies within a single generation if they so desired. They were an advanced society indeed, yet the accomplishments of their ancestors made even their greatest works of engineering seem little more sophisticated than a mound of dirt.

Cai remembered a lesson he’d been taught back when he was in basic education: A science experiment that aimed to show them two things:

Firstly, it put the might of the ancient Ruvos in perspective to theirs.

Secondly, it showed that even primitive societies could adapt to complex circumstances beyond their ability to fully comprehend.

In the experiment, the students were shown an ant colony in a large terrarium. The ants lived carefree lives inside the glass box, able to go where they pleased with no predators or other threats to oppose them. The ants never even considered those aspects of life that were above their understanding, because they had reason nor ability to.

In the second phase of the experiment, the students had placed a small battery-fed shield projector on top of the colony.

Cai had watched as the insects curiously inspected this new addition to their nest. It was no food, it was no enemy, it was nothing that impacted any aspects of their simple lives. To the ants, it might as well have been a fancy rock, so they left it alone. They simply lacked the necessary context to understand what the device did, leave alone how it accomplished this.

Then, the third phase of the experiment started: All of the individual ants were selectively targeted with a constant beam of powerful X-rays. The only thing protecting them from the harmful beams was the shield generator, which created a safe zone around their nest.

Much like the energy shield, the concept of radiation was something the ants could never understand. Whenever the insects left their nest to scavenge for food or dig new tunnels, they were exposed to more and more of the invisible killer waves.

The effects of the radiation were devastating. Nearly all of the ants died in just a few days' time, yet the colony survived.

The remaining ants had learned that straying too far from their nest meant death and chose to stay put: They adapted.

But the experiment wasn’t done yet. After the colony had rebuilt sufficiently, the students slowly moved the shield generator. A few centimeters each day. Little by little, the protective field was removed from the nest, forcing the insects to adapt yet again.

And adapt they did. Once their siblings started dying inside the nest, the ants quickly evacuated. Cai had been so surprised when he saw the colony’s queen leave the supposed safety of the nest. The students began moving the shield generator across greater distances, but the ants had now learned that the strange rock helped them survive. They followed it wherever it went and even became increasingly aggressive when Cai and the other kids tried to move the device.

Despite having no schools, no science, not even sentient thought, the ants had learned that something they couldn’t see, hear, or smell was out to kill them and also that a strange, alien rock somehow prevented this.

When one of the kids pointed out that the Runora were a lot like these ants, young Cai’s worldview had been flipped upside down.

When the Runora studied the Veil, they were like the ants studying a shield generator someone had placed in their hill. A device crafted by veritable gods, so far above their grasp that they couldn’t possibly hope to understand it in their current state.

All the Runora knew of the Veil was that it kept them safe. None who ventured past the barrier survived, so the Runora were forever trapped: Stuck inside an area of space roughly 100 light-years in diameter.

Two opposing powers. One trying to kill them, the other keeping them safe.

The Runora understood neither of these forces.

Cai recalled the excitement of his classmates. The sheer epicness of two invisible, godly powers clashing for their sake spoke to their young minds on a base level.

But a question still gnawed at young Cai’s mind. There was something that didn’t quite add up.

If the Veil, the pinnacle device built specifically to keep the Runora safe, was so powerful…

Then why were his people still threatened from every angle?

It was a question that made sense. A simple conclusion drawn by a child’s mind, one that had seen too much at their age already.

Cai had asked his teacher the question before he realized he hid.

“Good question Cai.” His teacher had responded. “See, as advanced as this shield generator is, it only has a very specific purpose. If we were to put rivals, let’s say a nest of wasps, in the terrarium. The shield would not protect the ants from these intruders because it’s not meant to. The wasps might threaten the ants, sure. But this is a problem they know how to deal with. Unlike the X-rays, the ants can fight this danger by themselves.

“The same goes for us. We Runora are strong. We don’t need the Veil to protect us from alien threats we can see. Do you understand, Cai?”

He nodded obediently in response, but in truth, he didn’t understand at all.

Cai had been eight years old back then. He was skinny at that age, so skinny that he seemed too tall for his weight. Like he’d spent his entire life living in zero-g.

His eyes were sunken deep in their sockets, his skin an ashy gray. It had stretched tightly over his body, like a sheet of conservation foil spread too thinly.

Cai was not the only one, nearly all of the kids in the classroom shared his ghastly appearance: Sunken eyes, thin hair, and hollow cheeks. Even the teacher seemed less than healthy, but that was to be expected. The famine had hit them all hard.

The Arétemo Crisis had lasted for sixteen months. During this time, the perfidious race of alien zealots known as the Merizeh had pierced deep into the Arcel sector and laid siege to its core systems.

Istrum was but one of the planets under attack, but its loss hit the hardest.

Before the Merizeh paid it a visit, the binary suns of Istrum used to shine upon the 3rd largest agricultural hub under Runoran rule, only surpassed by those in the home system. Nearly 400 billion people were once fed by the crops, meats and fungi produced there.

These days, the twin stars casted their rays over a dead and barren ball of dirt, the radioactive fallout still snowing down over a decade later.

The Merizeh had nearly brought the Sindrion system to its knees without ever entering the neutron stars’ magnetosphere.

The hunger, the riots, the near-collapse of society as he knew it. These were among Cai’s most vivid childhood memories, serving as a grim reminder of the chaos the attacking alien races brought with them.

Most of all, he remembered the fear. The mind-killing emptiness which gnawed at his body.

He hated that fear. Fear was just the body’s irrational belief that something bad might happen, a belief that clouded judgment and only made a bad outcome all the more likely.

Cai had once been paralyzed by fear, but he’d been a child back then. Too young to be in control of himself or anything around him.

He liked to believe that he had conquered that fear now. That he was free from the oppressive darkness clawing at his heart.

Veriss’ words shattered that illusion. His fear had never left: It had simply hidden within him, ready to strike at any point..

“I would not recommend cadet Atreuna be allowed to continue his Academy career.” Veriss said, her words echoing through the tactical room.

Cai’s chest tightened, if only for a moment. The fear sensed an opportunity, a small moment of weakness, and tried to take over. It crept through his body like mold spreading through a loaf of bread. Cai controlled his fear. He told himself he was the master of his fear, the master of his body. He was–.

“I’m sorry, what?” He blurted and immediately regretted the outburst. Veriss and Captain Aduï both turned to face him, their respective faces painted with sadistic amusement and careful neutrality. The two kinds of expressions you could make when one of your friends did something highly embarrassing.

“Cadet Atreuna. Would you please be quiet so that Commander Bunshin may continue?”

“Er, yes ma’am.” Cai said, his face flushing red. “My apologies.”

“And that, captain, is but another reason why I don’t think cadet Atreuna is fit for active duty.” Veriss said, pushing the projection of her report to the side so it didn’t obscure her face. “His emotions have free reign over his actions. Cai is but one negative comment away from insubordination, as evidenced by this outburst, as well as the hallway fight..

“In my honest opinion, it’s a miracle that he has lasted as long as he has within the Academy.” She added, her every word cutting deep into Cai’s soul. He wisely kept his mouth shut this time so as not to prove her point, but found that his hands were unconsciously balling into fists.

“I don’t recall asking for your honest opinion, commander. Please read us the next part of the report.” The captain said. She shot a half-second glance towards Cai, and he could’ve sworn her lips were curled up ever so slightly.

“Of course, captain…” Veriss sighed, then pulled up her text again. When she resumed reading, her voice was back to the flat and neutral tones he’d heard before. But there was something else too. Something that made it sound like she dreaded the words that she was about to speak. Cai perked up, getting the impression that he might want to hear this part.

“Despite the obvious shortcomings the cadet displays, they are offset by strengths the likes of which cannot be properly put into words.

“There is a reason why the cadet has advanced through half a decade of curriculum in only two years: Their work-ethic and learning ability are beyond impressive, so much so that the cadet has been described as ‘so adept that it’s uncanny’, by their peers.

“While this has resulted in some… unsavory rumors–” Veriss paused for a second and finally spared Cai a glance, the contempt dripping off her face. “–these accusations appear to be completely unfounded for the moment.”

Cai felt his chest swell with warmth. Whether it was relief about his report turning out positive after all or simply dumb pride in hearing about his own accomplishments he didn’t know.

Come to think of it, he also didn’t know why exactly Veriss had decided to commend him so much. She wasn’t exactly fond of him, and if she truly wanted to oust him from the Academy these evaluations were probably her best shot of doing so. Veriss wasn’t done yet, however, so Cai saved these questions for his future self.

“Overall, while few of cadet Atreuna’s peers would readily place their lives in his hands, all would have to agree that his abilities are noteworthy at the very least.

“In any other case, dishonorable disenrollment would be the preferred course of action, yet Cai ‘Dodger’ Tarin Atreuna shows sufficient latent potential that this might deprive the navy of a great asset later down the line. Therefore, my final recommendation would be to merely delay cadet Atreuna’s active duty.”

A long pause followed. None of them said a word as Veriss shut off her dome display and turned to face Aduï, waiting for her to give the next command. When she didn’t, Veriss cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Obviously, this report was written before the Baknian wormholes appeared within our solarium. The sudden need for additional voidsailors has overruled my advice, hence why…”

“Thank you, Veriss.” Captain Aduï interrupted her. "You may go now. Cai will be with you shortly”

Veriss bit her lip and swallowed her words, then nodded curtly and spun around 180 degrees on one heel before marching out of the tacticarium. She completely ignored Cai as she walked past him, not even giving him the usual ice-cold stare.

The thudding of her boots on the composite floor grew softer as the distance between them increased and cut out completely when the doors of the tactical room closed with a hiss behind her.

“Well then.” The captain said, and Cai shifted a little. Aduï stepped back onto her chair and let out a sigh, her eyes focusing on the cadet in front of her.

“What do you make of this situation?” She asked. The sheer simplicity of the question caught Cai off guard. He wasn’t used to speaking his mind freely against superior officers, so when Aduï offered something like this he had trouble letting his guard down.

“I’ll admit I’m confused, ma’am. I don’t know what to make of the commander and my team.” He said sheepishly, carefully choosing his words.

“And there’s the problem, Atreuna. They feel the same about you.” Aduï responded. She pulled up a small diagram of fleet movements in the system and quickly zoomed in on several points of interest. Cai could see the two densely-packed sets of ship icons representing the 6th and 11th fleets gathering in high orbit. They would depart around the same time he and his team would.

Cai wondered if Aduï wanted to bring attention to something on the map, but after about a minute she shut the diagram off and looked back at him.

“Why did you join the navy, Cai?” She asked him bluntly.

“To serve my blood and secure the future of…” He began, but one look at Aduï told him that he’d better shut his mouth.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Why did you REALLY join?” She asked impatiently. “I’ve heard the chant a million times. I’m asking about you, cadet. What drove you to be here today?”

Cai swallowed and looked around, wondering if this was a test. To see if there was some kind of other instructor hiding behind an empty seat, ready to jump out and point an accusing finger the second he said something wrong.

He was pretty sure there wasn’t, so he took a deep breath and lifted his chin.

“I wanted to join the academy to provide for my family, ma’am.” He responded, and was met with a thoughtful nod.

“That’s noble and all, Cai. But why are you in the navy, specifically? Any academy course could’ve lifted your social standing significantly.” She said, sitting forwards a little with her hand supporting her chin.

“You knew in advance that the navy is a pretty exclusive club. Without the right connections, people don’t tend to get long-lasting careers in this line of work.” She continued, and Cai nodded. He had indeed known that before signing up.

“Then why do you refuse to make such connections?” She asked with a questioning gesture. “I know how hard it is for surface dwellers to gain any kind of status in the SDA. Yet your reputation precedes you nonetheless. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but several fleet commanders have personally asked me about you.”

Cai perked his ears at these words and felt a smirk creep onto his face. For a cadet to be a point of interest to a fleet commander? That was something special. For a surface-dweller cadet to gain such fame? That was unheard of.

“By the Oracles Cai, commander-admiral Kyra even considered recruiting you for her flagship, the Ode to Ferocity.” Aduï said, highlighting one of the largest vessels in orbit around Sindrion III. There was some disappointment in her voice. After a few seconds, Cai said what the captain had left silent: “But she didn’t.”

Aduï nodded. “Indeed she did not. She most likely would have gone through with the recruiting if you’d actually shown your face on any of the quarterly celebrations.”

Cai stood stunned for a second. No one had told him that a big shot admiral had been keeping an eye out for him on the feasts he always did his best to avoid.

“But… I thought coming to those celebrations wasn’t obligatory!” He said, a little louder than he’d intended. His emotions were welling up to the surface again, he only barely managed to suppress them in time.

“It’s not.” Aduï said with a sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. “But that’s only because no other cadet would even consider not attending.”

“I went to the first celebration that was hosted after I joined up. It was… disgusting.” Cai said hesitantly, vividly remembering that night, back down on Sindrion III

“So many outstanding men and women got hammered simply because they could. And they feasted for so long that some had to forcefully empty their stomach four times, only to get right back to the banquet.”

The memories of that celebration still made him feel queasy, he did his best not to remember the most striking scenes.

“They wonder why surface dwellers call us Accies decadent, then go on to hold four such parties each year. Am I really supposed to attend something like that when there’s still daily deaths of starvation, down in the labor districts?” He shook his head no and stared Aduï straight in the eyes "I refuse to do that…"

Aduï chuckled and shrugged her shoulders in an exaggerated fashion.

“Don’t preach to me about it! You think an old bird like me enjoys such depravity any more than you do?” She asked, tapping with her fingers on her chair’s armrest.

“It’s called politics, Atreuna. You’re smart by trying not to participate, but I’m afraid you have little other choice. People have to meet you in order to know you.”

“I thought you said my reputation is well-known?” Cai responded, already dreading the thought of having to attend the next feast.

“It is, but simulator results alone won’t prove that you’re a valuable asset. Just like Veriss said: Not even your fellow cadets would readily place their lives in your hands.”

Aduï smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, something Cai had rarely seen the captain do.

“They may know you. But they don’t trust you. Your bond is nowhere near close enough for that. Maybe try socializing a little more on your mission? When your lives are on the line, you’ll be glad you did so.”

Cai saw the wisdom in her words, but he scoffed nonetheless. He had some pride to uphold, after all.

“My social contact with the team isn’t THAT bad.” He said, trying to sound confident. He almost believed his own words, almost.

“Sure, sure.” Aduï said with… was that a chuckle? “Remind me again where you got your title name, Dodger?”

Cai’s shoulders slumped, he never liked to go into detail about his nickname. But Aduï already knew about it, so he might as well fess it up.

“Maxin was the one who suggested it. At first I thought it was because I didn’t get hit once in that day’s simulator training.” He felt a melancholic smile form on his face.

“Turns out he called me that because I always had an excuse to not hang out with him after studies were done. And then the name stuck.”

“All the proof I need.” Aduï said. “I know it’s easy to think that you’re singled out simply because you’re from Svartheim, but it’s more nuanced than simple discrimination.

“You know where most navy cadets come from? They are often from rich families: Bondsmen, corporations, registrators. All these groups have some tykes signing up for the SDA, even if it’s only to keep a finger in the pie. This is true for the entirety of your team as well, excepting that offworlder you seem to get along with.”

Aduï stood up again and moved to the corner of the tactical table which, at her request, dispensed a small cup of water which she took a grateful sip of.

“These kids in your team? They come from a world where your enemies smile in your face even as they’re stabbing you. Political assassinations are so rampant that they constantly keep their eyes peeled for any behavior that might signal trouble. And you, my friend, you trigger their every survival instinct with how you’re acting.” Aduï said. She finished her cup of water, and then requested another.

“Add to that that you’re also a threat to their own reputation. What do you think happens when a model child from a respected family is overshadowed by a mole three years their junior? That situation might be salvageable, but only if they can say they’re friends with you. And you’re not giving them that chance!”

“Why should I care about what some rich voidborn families think of their kids?” He asked, shrugging disinterestedly.

“Because–” Aduï hissed at him, pronouncing every syllable as if they were their own word. “–you’re stuck with them. Do you really wish to have enemies within the navy? Within your own team, even?”

“And you’re saying that I should be the one to conform to their norms?” Cai said, his voice getting a little rougher. He was starting to forget that he should be watching his words in this conversation.

“No, I’m not.” Aduï responded to him, finishing her second cup. “I’m saying that you should open up for a while first, let them get to know you. Once you’ve won their trust, you’ll be free to act like yourself.” She crumpled the thin paper of her two cups up and tossed them in a recycler chute. She turned to look at him, her eyes piercing through him again. There was something ominous in her face this time, something he couldn’t quite place. Not until she spoke again.

“From darkest depths of endless night, a Savior on blue wings takes flight. From bedrock and ice, they have been hewn, yet surpass they shall the furthest moon. Loose spirit, free from all command. When Veilbreak comes, they too will stand.”

Cai simply nodded in response. He knew the words by heart.

Veriss had called him a prophecy chaser earlier. She wasn’t wrong. This prediction of the future had been granted to the Sindrionites by the illusive Oracle Neith. It was one of the greatest motivators planet-born miners like himself had to join the navy.

“Captain, do you really think I could be the Savior?” Cai asked hopefully, but Aduï let out a croaking laugh.

“If I said anything of the like, I’d be making the biggest mistake in my career. Least of all because it’d go straight to your head.” The old woman said. She walked towards Cai and poked him in the chest.

“I bring it up because some of your teammates might think that you are. Your abilities speak for themselves, after all. If there’s the slightest chance that you’re the one described by the prophecy, they’ll want to work together with you, if only you’ll let them.”

She nodded at her own words and turned away from him. “Right now, the only thing truly holding you back is your own attitude.”

The captain stuck her hand in the blue light of the tactical table and made an activation gesture, garnering the device’s attention.

“Go call your family. You’re way overdue. Dismissed.” She said with a voice that made clear that the conversation was over.

Cai saluted and turned around, leaving the tacticarium with a lot to think about. The sliding doors acknowledged his identification tag with a soft beep and let him through into the well-lit hallways of the RAL port. His eyes narrowed for a second, struggling to adjust to the change in brightness. There was a figure in front of him he didn’t immediately recognize.

‘Eyy! Veriss leave early, no?” Maxin said. Cai marveled at the fact that his offworlder dialect was a better way to recognize him than his physical appearance.

“Getting quality times with Cappie, ka?” He asked with a sly grin. “Fix me promotion yet? We buddies, no?”

Finally, Cai’s pupils contracted enough for him to make out the dark-skinned exo-planetary cadet he called friend. Maxin was about twenty years old and built like an athlete. His frizzy black hair was a mess that he somehow managed to still make look good and he always kept a fair amount of facial hair on his cheeks and chin in clear opposition to the navy’s guidelines. The fact that he’d never been reprimanded about it was a miracle to Cai, but then again, Maxin was friends with everyone. Something he often proudly proclaimed.

“I don’t even wanna know what you’re insinuating.” Cai sighed, but he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “She gave me some advice, nothing more.”

The two of them started walking through the oval passages that made up the bulk of the port’s inner superstructure, making their way towards the berth where their ship was currently docked.

“Advice? From ancient lady?” Maxin asked with feigned shock. “Me is all you need for that!”

Cai scoffed and went down a ladder, the sounds and smells of the docking area growing ever closer. “Right. If I ever need advice I’ll be sure to ask the guy with a speech impediment.” He teased the exo who –again– pretended to be shocked by his words.

“Cruel yous, so cruel.” He lamented, shaking his head from side to side with eyes closed. “Very sensitive, me. Also infinite puddle la wisdom.”

“I think you mean pool, Maxin.” Cai said grinning.

“Yeye, puddle! Just like I say, no?” Maxin responded. Cai wasn’t sure if the exo was messing with him or not. He always suspected that Maxin knew a lot more about the Sindrionite vocabulary than he let on, but if that was the case then the offworlder had managed to keep the act up for an incredibly long time.

They neared the RAL-port’s outer shell which housed most of the smaller warships, theirs included. Beyond the next checkpoint security would be a lot tighter than it already was. If Cai wanted to speak with his parents he’d have to do it before they got there.

“Cai, you ring kinners yet, ka?” Maxin asked, apparently thinking the same thing. “Better not be dodging them also!”

“I was just about to, that nook there looks quiet.” Cai said, gesturing at a niche set into the wall. It had a physical network port, so Cai figured it must’ve been purpose-built for communication.

“Wait here, I won’t be long.” Cai said to Maxin, who nodded enthusiastically for some reason. He let the offworlder to his strange behavior for now and walked towards the niche, sliding his dome off his head as he did so.

He spun the small computer around and placed it into the access port set into the wall. The device connected to the RAL-port’s security systems which promptly redirected him to the communication hub. His dome’s call interface appeared on a screen in front of him and he navigated to the list of his contacts. His family address was right at the top. He sighed and prepared to make the connection when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“So excited to meet Cai’s kinners, me.” Maxin said from less than ten centimeters behind Cai, somehow having got that close without the latter noticing.

“Woah Maxin! Anyone ever told you about privacy?” Cai yelled, recoiling from the exo’s sudden appearance. Maxin didn’t seem to notice the yelling or the sudden movement at all, only thoughtfully placing his fingers on his stubbled chin. After a few seconds he slowly shook his head no.

“Privacee? Nono. Weird names you Sindrons have. That yous sister, ka?” Maxin asked, his face perfectly straight.

“Okay, now you HAVE to be messing with me.” Cai said with an uncertain chuckle, but Maxin didn’t give the slightest indication that he was, so Cai decided to drop it.

“Well, I doubt I can get rid of you now. If you wanna be here for the call, be my guest.” Cai said, then turned back to the display. He was ready to make the connection request when his eye fell on something strange.

“Huh… I have four missed connection requests from them.” He said, gesturing at the numbered red circle above his parent’s name.

“I wonder why, they should know we won’t receive private calls unless we’re plugged into the system.” He turned to Maxin, but the exo merely raised his eyebrows to showcase his thoughts on the matter.

“Guess we’ll find out.” Cai said, and pressed the request tile.

“This might take a while. They’re often busy around this time.” Cai said as he turned to Maxin, only to be proved wrong when his mother’s face appeared on the screen no three seconds after he requested the call.

“Oh, hello mother!” Cai said in pleasant surprise, turning back to face her with a smile on his face. Her grave expression blew his smile away like snow under a fusion engine.

“What’s wrong?" He asked with rapidly growing concern. You’re not mad because I didn’t pick up earlier, are you?”

His mother hesitated, a tear rolling down her cheek, then said something that made Cai’s blood freeze in his veins.

“What do you mean Noah is missing?”