Days later,
The announcement came at morning formation.
Lieutenant Orin Faulk stood at the podium, flanked by the three Adepts—Atheon, Vaelith, and Rowan Kadesh. Behind them, a board displayed fifteen names in crisp, official script.
The crowd of young soldiers pressed forward, hundreds of faces turned toward that board with desperate hope and barely contained fear.
Fifteen names.
Fifteen futures.
Everything else was dust.
"The Republic Academy selection committee has finalized their choices," Faulk announced, his voice amplified by soul-force resonators. "The following soldiers are to report for processing and transfer within seventy-two hours."
He began reading.
"Private Bright Morgan."
No surprise there. Bright stood in formation with Sunshine Squad, his expression carefully neutral. He'd known his slot was guaranteed—had known it for weeks. But hearing it made official still sent something through his chest. Relief, maybe. Or the weight of expectation settling heavier.
