The morning began with violence.
Not the fun kind—the tournament kind—where the arena shook and the crowd screamed.
This was the other kind—the Staff Sergeant Sorn kind—where the walls shook because he pounded on them at precisely 0400 hours and the crowd screamed because the crowd was Jake.
The barracks lights flared to life with a blinding white intensity that felt like it was judging every mistake the cadets had ever made.
"ON YOUR FEET!" Sorn's voice roared through the corridor, the sound vibrating through the metal like a war alarm. "IF YOU AREN'T AT ZERO-G DECK IN TEN MINUTES, YOU ARE MEAT PUT INTO A FIGHTER JET."
Danny fell out of bed hard enough to rattle the bunk. He groaned, rolling upright, eyes flashing golden for half a second before he forced them dim.
Swift sat up immediately, already alert, hair perfect, expression too calm for this hour. He swung his legs over the bunk with a crispness that somehow offended Jake, who groaned into his pillow.
Jade flopped out of bed like a dead fish, muttering curses in three different languages. "I hate mornings. I hate space. I hate Sorn. I hate—"
Shadeclaw passed him without comment, already armored and ready, every movement precise and predatory.
Mira stretched with quiet discipline, then snapped her gaze toward the door before Sorn even reached it—sensing his approach a second before he arrived.
The door slid open.
Sorn filled it like a mountain wearing a uniform.
"Ten minutes starts NOW."
The door slammed.
Jake screamed into his blanket.
Danny dragged him out by the ankle.
They dressed in record time—not because they were proficient, but because the alternative was Sorn dragging them there personally.
And no one wanted that.
Zero-G Deck Three was a massive dome of reinforced glass and modular platforms suspended in gravitational flux. Bright holo-markers floated like drifting stars across the chamber. Metal spheres drifted in unpredictable orbits, firing stun bolts at random intervals.
Sorn loomed over the entrance, tapping a massive claw against the floor in mounting impatience.
"You are late," he growled.
Swift checked the time on his wrist console. "…It's been eight minutes."
"LATE."
Swift wisely said nothing else.
With a gesture, Sorn hit a panel, and gravity died.
Danny felt the floor vanish from under him. Jake shrieked as he floated upward, limbs flailing. Jade spun like a thrown wrench. Mira adapted first, angling her body and pushing off a platform. Shadeclaw drifted with unsettling elegance, using tail adjustments to glide.
Sorn boomed across the chamber.
"LESSON ONE: YOU MOVE LIKE BABIES. YOU FIGHT LIKE YOU ARE GLUED TO THE FLOOR. FIX IT OR DIE."
A metal sphere whirled toward Jake.
He screamed and curled into a ball.
Shadeclaw zipped past him, kicking off a floating beam and slicing the drone with shadow-infused claws. It sputtered and drifted away.
Swift grabbed Jake by the collar and forced stability into his vector. "Stop curling into a ball. Spread your limbs. Distribute weight."
"I CAN'T DISTRIBUTE ANYTHING!" Jake cried.
Jade shot past them, punching a drone so hard it ricocheted back into a shock sphere that erupted in sparks.
"Zero-G SUUUUCKS!" Jade yelled as he spun uncontrollably.
Mira grabbed one of his arms as she passed, counter-spinning him into alignment. Her movements were fluid, instinctual—even graceful.
Danny kicked gently off a platform, sending himself floating toward the center. He caught a drone mid-orbit and flipped himself over it. For a second, he felt a strange comfort. This kind of movement made something deep in him feel awake—like creation energy flowed differently without gravity anchoring him.
Sorn noticed.
"NO DRAGON CHEATS," he barked. "TURN OFF ANY GRAVITY NUDGING."
Danny flinched slightly. "…Sorry."
"AGAIN!"
The next thirty minutes became an insane dance through floating platforms, flashing targets, and Sorn's verbal abuse. Swift adapted quickest—calculating inertia vectors on the fly. Shadeclaw moved in eerie silence. Mira was a breath behind him, her instincts sharpening with every moment.
Jake crashed into everything.
Jade broke everything he crashed into.
Danny split himself between instinct and restraint, managing bursts of brilliance and moments of embarrassing flailing.
When Sorn finally reactivated gravity, Jake dropped flat onto the floor and kissed it like a pilgrimage site.
Sorn didn't give them time to enjoy it.
"MOVE! HANGAR BAY FOUR!"
Jake sobbed quietly.
Hangar Bay Four was alive with mechanical hum. Rows of Switchblade fighters rested under magnetic clamps—sleek, stingray-shaped ships with folded wings and dual-phase thruster arrays. Their black alloy plating shimmered under the hangar lights.
Danny froze in awe.
Swift inhaled sharply.
Jake whispered, "We get to fly THOSE?"
Sorn snorted. "You get to sit in them. Whether you deserve to fly them is another matter entirely."
Two junior officers approached, handing out helmets.
"Switchblades operate with a four-person crew," Sorn barked. "Pilot, Gunner, Systems, Spotter. If you cannot function as a team, you are dead."
He jabbed a finger at Danny, Mira, Jade, and one NPC pilot. "You're Group A."
Then pointed at Swift, Jake, Shadeclaw, and the second NPC pilot. "Group B."
"Simulation. Asteroid combat run. Cloaked fighters. Moving debris. Don't embarrass yourselves."
They loaded into their assigned fighters.
Danny sat in the Systems chair, hands gripping the holographic controls. The cockpit smelled of ionized air and metal. The canopy sealed with a hiss.
Mira sat beside him as Spotter, her senses hyper-focused, reading the holo-tactical overlay. Jade was Gunner, already cracking his knuckles and yelling, "Let's gooooo!"
Group B's Switchblade launched beside them, Swift coolly taking Systems control while Jake trembled in the gunner seat, Shadeclaw looming behind them like a nightmare waiting to happen.
The simulation launched.
And all hell went instantly wrong.
Danny's fighter shot forward—too fast. Danny panicked and overcorrected, sending them into a barrel roll that Mira nearly vomited from.
"STOP FLIPPING THE SHIP!" Mira shouted.
"IT WON'T STOP FLIPPING!" Danny shouted back.
"IT'S BECAUSE YOU PULLED BOTH VECTORS, YOU GOLDEN IDIOT!" Jade yelled while firing wildly.
Meanwhile:
Swift executed perfect evasive maneuvers.
Shadeclaw detected approaching drones before sensors did.
Jake screamed every time he pulled the trigger.
Sorn watched from the control deck, arms crossed.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
But then—
Danny recovered.
He forced his breathing steady, aligning with the ship. Mira adjusted the radar. Jade hit two drones with one plasma shot. Swift pulled off a maneuver the simulation techs didn't think was possible. Shadeclaw tracked Danny through cloak. Even Jake got a clean shot.
By the end, the simulation rated them:
46% success.
51% survivability.
90% chaos.
Sorn's verdict:
"PASSABLE. NEXT."
They barely had time to breathe before being marched to Heavy Infantry Bay for B.E.A.R. training.
And that is where the brutality truly began.
The Heavy Infantry Bay shook as enormous frames powered up. A single B.E.A.R. unit towered overhead—fifteen feet tall, plated in titanium, twin miniguns rotating slowly as diagnostics ran.
The cadets stared in awe.
Sorn slammed a massive hand on the control panel.
"This," he growled, "is the only friend you have on the battlefield. Learn to operate it, and it may forgive your stupidity."
Simulators activated, surrounding each cadet with holographic rigging shaped like B.E.A.R. limbs.
Shadeclaw synced instantly, neural pathways aligning with the suit's predator algorithm. Mira adapted quickly, her new wolf instincts blending with targeting software.
Danny tried to lift the holographic arm.
The simulator sparked.
"Uh… Sorn… I think I broke it."
"You DID break it," Sorn growled. "Again."
Swift locked targets with surgical precision, firing missiles with calm efficiency.
Jake fired eight at once.
Jade smashed holographic tanks with brute force.
Sorn's expression shifted minutely.
Approvingly.
For him, that meant they had not yet disappointed him enough to kill.
By the time the B.E.A.R. drills ended, all six cadets were drenched in sweat and shaking.
Jake lay on the floor, whispering, "I am goo. I am not a man. I am goo."
But Sorn wasn't done.
He pointed toward the Dragon Martial Arts Dojo.
"You three dragons," he barked at Danny, Swift, and Jake, "teach the recruits. Now."
Jake screamed.
Danny blinked. "Teach…?"
Swift adjusted his gloves. "Instructing others may reinforce our own mastery."
Jake trembled. "I'm not ready."
Danny put a hand on his shoulder. "Neither am I."
They entered the dojo.
Sixty fresh recruits stared at them with wide, hopeful eyes.
Danny inhaled.
Swift stepped forward.
Jake swallowed his fear.
And they began.
The Dragon Martial Arts Dojo was a massive circular chamber lined with mirrored plating and reinforced mats. The air smelled of incense, recycled oxygen, and faint ozone from earlier training. Holographic lanterns floated overhead, each displaying the crest of one of the ancient dragon clans—Silver, Bronze, Crimson, Jade, Blue, Void, and rarest of all: the Golden.
Danny hesitated at the threshold.
He was a Golden Dragon. That crest glowed brightest. But he didn't feel worthy of it—not yet.
Beside him, Swift stepped forward with immaculate posture, adjusting his gloves with calm precision. "We begin with stance fundamentals."
Jake stood between them, trembling like someone had replaced his bones with pudding.
Sixty new recruits—human, alien, and hybrid—stood in neat rows, staring at the three dragons with awe, excitement, and in Jake's case, a certain amount of misplaced confidence.
Danny inhaled and stepped forward.
"Alright," he said, trying to sound like someone who knew what he was doing. "Let's start with the basic Dragon Stance: grounded, balanced, connected to breath."
A recruit raised a hand. "Sir! What if I don't have dragon blood? Can I still—"
Jake cut in too fast. "YES! Yes you can! I mean—you can't transform, obviously, but the martial arts work for everybody! …I think!"
The recruits blinked.
Danny sighed. "Ignore the panic. Follow the form."
He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, lowering into a fluid posture that felt natural, instinctive. His body hummed faintly with gold energy—controlled, steady.
Swift demonstrated breath control next, his voice calm and even. "Inhale through the diaphragm. Fill the lower lungs. Release slowly. Channel through the core."
The room followed.
Jake tried to demonstrate a defensive guard.
He tripped over his own foot.
Recruits gasped.
Jake popped up immediately. "THAT WAS A TEST. I WAS TESTING YOU."
One recruit whispered, "Is he always like this?"
Swift answered without hesitation. "Yes."
Danny moved the class into motion. Stances became strikes. Breath became flow. Energy aligned with movement in harmonious rhythm. Even without dragon blood, the recruits felt something—discipline, awareness, the start of potential.
One recruit stepped forward nervously.
"Sir… could you show us the Golden Palm technique?"
Danny hesitated. His fingers tingled with warm creation energy. Showing them such a technique was risky—it wasn't destructive, but it was powerful.
He glanced at Swift.
Swift gave a slight nod.
Danny faced the recruits. "Watch the breath… and the intent behind it."
He centered himself.
His palm glowed faintly—soft gold, not blinding, a comforting sunrise instead of a burning sun.
Then he thrust forward.
A wave of force rippled across the air—not harmful, but strong enough to push every recruit back a step.
Gasps filled the room.
"Okay," Danny said. "Now you try the form without the energy."
Swift corrected several stances with gentle taps of his heel.
Jake worked on guard positions with a group of recruits who seemed to relate to his nervous energy.
Mira and Shadeclaw watched from the doorway.
Mira whispered, "He's better at teaching than he thinks."
Shadeclaw hummed thoughtfully. "He has leadership instincts. Even if he resists them."
Mira glanced at him. "So do you."
Shadeclaw didn't respond, but his tail flicked.
By the end of the session, the recruits were sweating, panting, and more disciplined than when they entered.
Danny dismissed them with a tired smile.
Swift bowed slightly.
Jake collapsed on the mat.
Sorn's voice boomed through the intercom:
"ALL SIX CADETS TO SIMULATION DOME FOUR. FINAL DRILL."
Jake sobbed into the floor.
"I hate this ship."
Simulation Dome Four was built for one purpose: breaking cadets into either soldiers or fertilizer.
The dome shifted colors as the cadets entered, the environment turning into a holographic reproduction of a war-torn cityscape. Rubble, shattered buildings, drone swarms hovering overhead, and six hulking B.E.A.R. units stomping across the simulated battlefield.
Sorn stood on the observation platform above them like a war god.
"ONE RULE," he thundered. "DON'T EMBARRASS ME."
Gravity abruptly changed—intense one moment, nearly gone the next.
The simulation launched.
A drone streaked toward Danny. Instinct took over—he ducked, twisted, slammed his fist upward, and shattered its chassis.
Mira sprinted along a wall, claws digging into projected stone. She used a gravity dip to leap across a street, tearing into a drone's sensory cluster.
Shadeclaw moved in silence.
He leapt onto a B.E.A.R.'s back, cut through its power-feed conduit, and kicked off as it collapsed in a burst of sparks.
Jade roared, racking chi along his arms until they glowed like loaded shotguns. He blasted a drone out of the sky and then used its falling carcass to launch himself at another.
Swift calculated gravity fluctuations with uncanny precision.
"Danny, three o'clock!"
"Jade—duck!"
"Jake, stop running in circles!"
Jake continued running in circles.
A missile locked onto him.
Jake screamed.
Danny tackled him out of the way just before it detonated.
Jade caught Jake by the collar as he flew past. "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!"
"I AM TRYING!" Jake wailed.
Then Swift shouted, "Group formation—now!"
They responded.
Danny forced gravity back down on his end of the field to stabilize the formation—just for a moment—then released it before Sorn could yell.
Swift and Shadeclaw covered the flanks.
Mira cleared aerial drones with pouncing leaps.
Jake fired a plasma blast that actually hit something.
The simulation escalated.
More drones.
More B.E.A.R.s.
More impossible gravity shifts.
But something changed.
They weren't six chaotic individuals anymore.
They were a unit.
Danny moved with Mira without speaking.
Swift read Jade's intentions through body language.
Shadeclaw redirected Jake's panic into aggression.
Jade's wild moves synced with Swift's precision.
Jake followed Danny's cues with raw instinct.
Finally, Danny slammed a fist into the ground, sending a shockwave through the last projection.
The battlefield flickered.
Silence.
Smoke.
Breathing.
Sorn descended the stairs slowly.
He looked at each of them. One by one.
Then he grunted.
"You'll do."
Jake collapsed.
Mira sat down and stretched.
Shadeclaw folded his arms, satisfied.
Swift bowed slightly.
Jade fist-pumped.
Danny exhaled in relief.
Sorn turned.
"Get rest. You earned it. Tomorrow will be worse."
He left.
Jake sobbed softly. "Why… why would he SAY that?"
Danny patted him on the back. "Because it's true."
Mira grinned. "We're getting stronger."
Shadeclaw nodded. "Much."
Swift gathered his datapad. "We performed at 64% improved cohesion. Acceptable."
Jade nudged him. "Acceptable? Dude, we're AWESOME."
For a moment, exhaustion melted into pride.
They walked back to the barracks—limping, groaning, laughing, and bruised.
Together.