///Three Weeks Ago

A clear day in Okania.

Pure white clouds crossing a blue horizon, a warm breeze from the equatorial seas blowing through a metropolis of five million. Skyscrapers of hardened concrete and glass reaching forth to the heavens above, carving between them the open canals of a thriving city.

Commerce in open stalls: meal bundles of dried seaweed and thick slabs of fish alongside clothing and consumer electronics sold with carefully margined profits. Merchantmen snap vocalized advertisements between the markets, working in the shadows of the towering structures above them.

Monoliths to the capitalization of the nine seas, huge corporate structures becoming the foundations of global economics.

One building group at the periphery of the centralized superstructures stands out however, a construction created in the stead of unification. Twelve paths lead outward from the platform, the founding members of the Coalition represented via an individualized flagpole at the edge of the premises.

All leading towards the central Assembly Hall.

Glass windows reflecting the city surrounding them, the halls within filled with representatives of over twenty nine kith. An architecture distinctly Okiani: curved edges shaped into rain catching basins by well paid craftsmen, intermixed with several other contributors. Communications arrays from Jraad, Venglorian artistry across the rotunda’s dome, Gaelsin armor plating for security, and Benuli guards.

Beneath the banner of the Coalition.

Today however, the Central Assembly Hall is barely visible from Fortuna Harbor. The canals leading into the center of Okania were jammed by civilian traffic on this busy morning, the bustle of shifting factory shifts creating a logistical backlog stretching almost to the harbor’s military sector.

Nine shipyards in full swing, navy ships in an iron womb slumbering in creation. Alongside them, giant forms of active duty vessels remain silent in dock. A tension in the air as crew members resupply both munitions and morale, a specter of conflict thickening movement and minds.

Ten battleships and two fleet carriers in port, four kith represented by their number. The flags of their origins found waving above them, a path placed first and foremost above the blue tone of the coalition. Between them nearly thirty other military vessels: heavy and light cruisers, destroyers, frigates, and five fleet tenders.

A Task Force of donated steel chained to dockyards, forms awaiting orders from unified commanders above.

Within the relative quiet of a late morning, six cadets stand idle amongst the chaos. Navy blue formal uniforms of the Coalition Armed Forces: the symbols of their kith on their right shoulders alongside a single bar of rank. The continuation of military study for youthful minds: future officers in service to a higher cause.

One of them speaks up first, the young woman making an observation as they await the arrival of promised individuals. Short black hair and fierce brown eyes, a sheathed short sword at her waist more telling of kith than the blue, black, and red roundel in the shoulder. Impatience reaching a critical point, she speaks to her compatriots. “What time is it?”

“0833.” Another immediately answers softly. Lanky form, brown hair and black eyes of the Okiani people. A short smile against the blazing sun above him, a hand held above eyes as he attempts to provide himself with some shade. “He’s only three minutes late…”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“He is three minutes late.” The young woman barks back quietly. “Unacceptable.”

One of the cadets clears her throat. Long blonde hair, a form more bulbous than average on Kalish, and accent holding a regalness beyond that of lower classes. “The Commander did tell us to expect this. I wouldn’t put it past the Rear Admiral to be early anyhow.”

Above them the flocks of seabirds disperse, shrieks of panic from animal minds echoing across the harbor as a predator arrives into the airspace.

A single hawk in the midst of a steep dive, bronze colored feathers catching the sight of human watchers. Wings swept back, the bird of prey accelerates at lethal speed into the ball of gulls, talons readying for a kill shot.

Blade like claws shred through feathered flesh, hollow bones snapping as the beast finds its mark. A gull decapitaced, its limp body dragged by the rust hawk towards a nest within the nooks of waterfront warehouses.

From behind the Cadets the sound of approaching footsteps on concrete dock, the rush of a man in mid-jog plastered against an actualized rank.

Rear Admiral Fujisaki, an Okiani complexion of pale skin and dark hair corroborated by days inside command centers away from the tanning effects of sunlight. Hands freed of the usual briefcases of flag officers, a position instead allowing for a strange casualness of stride.

All the Cadets stand at attention: spines straightening and boots clopped together, arms at sides held stiff before the words of dismissal arrive. Slightly out of breath from a half kilometer run, Vice Admiral Fujisaki waves them off. “At ease Cadets.”

Stances relaxed, quick glances staring at one another in confusion as the Flag Officer pulls papers from his coat pocket. “So you’re class Five-One?”

“Yes sir.” The sole Okiani Cadet replies as he gathers leadership. “My name is…”

“Cadet Minato Yamada, Okania. Class representative…” The Rear Admiral snaps his fingers as the memorized face, name and kith brings itself to bear. “Thank the gods our youth are actually doing something with their lives.”

“Yes sir.” The young man replies with a slight confusion.

Papers unfolded, a memorized class list checked again as the Vice Admiral continues down the line of Cadets. The shortest girl among them, fierce gaze returned. “Akane Jeong Bunli, congratulations on carrying your class to the top. You should all be thankful the class examinations are based on averages rather than median scores.”

A few bits of laughter from the class, the girl’s cold gaze stopping the joke.

The Flag Officer clears his throat, moving on. “Chloe Aian the Fourth of… Vengloria.”

“Sir.” The blonde haired girl straightens at the name.

“And of course we have you two.”

Brown hair and fair skin, blue-green eyes reflecting the light from ocean waves. Two similar faces from direct bloodlines, a brother sister pair. Uniforms straightened to a mechanical precision, the twin red stars of their kith dominating shoulders.

The Rear Admiral scratches his head as he attempts to remain composed. “Iska and Isiah Lambert Jraad. Hope you know your Mom’s proud of you, because she’s certainly let us know about it.”

“She is.” The older girl from the pair answers without pause.

“And last but not least our representative from Gaelsi.” Rear Admiral Fujisaki finishes, putting the class list back into his coat. “Natlan Seven, Gaelsin.”

The short boy blinks, dark irises and darker hair revolving around a thin form. A single triangle stashed above the perfection of squared gray, the iconography of Kith Gaelsin represented by industrial creation and design.

He only nods at the name, lifeless gaze echoing nullity of thought.

“Congratulations are in order.” The Rear Admiral continues, standing straighter in the execution of traditional formality. “Class Five-One, I am Vice Admiral Haru Fujisaki Okania. It’s a pleasure to be your handling officer for your field training.”

“Sir.” The Class Representative notches a salute again. “It is our honor to be your students! We are in your care!”

All behind him follow suit, the Flag Officer smiling at the display. “At ease.”

Turning towards the docks and tied down warships the middle-aged man stifles a small chuckle. “Sorry for being late by the way, hate to leave you kids baking in the summer sun.”

“It’s no problem sir.”

“You’re all wearing dark clothing, it’s an issue.” The Flag Officer insists. “Either way, let’s get you out of the heat. And, well, see the boat you’ll be shadowing on for the next two months.”