The hours bled together, marked only by the sound of Russell's controlled breaths and the steady thwack of Emma meeting the practice dummy. His arms screamed in protest, his shoulders ached with a deep fire, but he pushed through. The wide, reckless arcs were slowly, painfully, being honed into something sharper, more deliberate.
The facility lights overhead hummed, casting long, thin shadows across the training mats. Sweat dripped from Russell's chin, hitting the floor in rhythmic taps. The scent of oil, metal, and raw effort hung thick in the air. He drew Emma back into a ready stance, forcing his body through one more sequence.
"Step. Turn. Cut," he whispered to himself.
Emma sliced through the air with a sound like ripping silk. But the form was still off—just slightly. His rear foot slid half an inch more than it should. His hips didn't snap enough to generate clean power.
"Damn it…"
He reset.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Every mistake burned, but every correction forged something new.
---
Gareth, having emptied his quiver for what felt like the hundredth time, finally lowered his bow, his own muscles trembling with fatigue. "You're really working hard," he called out, his voice tinged with admiration and exhaustion.
Russell paused, lowering Emma and wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "You're putting in the effort too," he replied, breathing heavily. "But these cutting techniques... they're not as simple as I thought. It's all in the wrists, the hips... the control. It's frustrating."
His tone wasn't defeated — just brutally honest. The kind of honesty someone finds after pushing themselves past their limits, only to realize the road ahead is even longer than expected.
Gareth nodded, understanding the sentiment completely. "Tell me about it. I think my shoulder is going to fall off. But hey, my groups are getting tighter!" He gestured to the target, where the arrows were now clustered much closer together.
Russell gave him a tired grin. "Not bad for someone who couldn't hit a barn two weeks ago."
"Wow. Encouraging," Gareth deadpanned. "Truly motivational."
"Glad to inspire."
Gareth rolled his eyes, half-smiling. "I am too tired to even lift my arms. See ya tomorrow, Russ."
With a weary wave, Gareth headed for the barracks, leaving Russell alone in the training sector as the artificial lights of The Crucible began to dim, simulating evening.
---
Russell watched him leave, his breathing still ragged. The silence felt heavier now, settling in around him like a mantle. But he wasn't done. Not yet.
He turned back to the dummy, fingers tightening around Emma's hilt.
"Again."
He launched into another set of drills—the diagonal cut, the rising slash, the hip-driven arc meant to sever bone cleanly. His muscles shook with each repetition. His breathing grew harsher, each inhale scraping against raw lungs.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Maria's voice echoed in his head:
"A blade is honest. It reflects the wielder. If you are sloppy, it will be sloppy. If you are focused… it becomes an extension of you."
"Extension of me," he murmured. "Come on, Emma… work with me…"
He forced his burning muscles to obey until he could barely lift the katana. Only then did he finally sheath Emma and drag himself back to his room.
---
Collapsing onto his bunk, the silence of room Z-25 was a stark contrast to the day's exertion. In the quiet, a familiar thought surfaced, unbidden. He wondered what Juliet was doing right now. Was she thinking about her future among the stars? Did she ever think about him?
The memory stabbed deeper than expected:
Her laughter echoing in the summer air.
Her teasing him when he confessed—again.
Her gentle smile that always made his heart stop.
Now, all of that felt like a dream in someone else's lifetime.
He shook his head violently, as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. "No," he said firmly to the empty room. "That path is closed. Now I need to focus on my own."
His voice cracked on the last word, but he forced the emotion down.
His path was here, on Titan. It was one of sweat, pain, and steel. He closed his eyes, the image of Maria's calm, skilled face and the Archmagus's stern gaze pushing all others away.
He forced himself to breathe.
Slow.
Steady.
Focused.
Then exhaustion finally pulled him under.
---
VANGUARD ACADEMY - NEO-AETHER PRIME
At that same moment, light-years away on the glittering capital world, Juliet stood at perfect attention in a pristine simulation pod. She wore the sleek blue and silver cadet uniform of the Vanguard Naval Flight Academy. Before her, holographic star charts and complex tactical readouts flickered across a wraparound screen.
The simulation room thrummed with low, vibrating energy. Rows of cadets stood in their pods, each engulfed in their respective training programs. Voices were muted, focus absolute.
Juliet's hands danced across holographic controls, precise and fluid, as she executed a complex evasive maneuver pattern. Every movement was sharp, clean—an expert's touch forming in real time.
Her instructor's voice crackled through the comm.
"Cadet Juliet Valerian, performance rating is rising. Maintain your momentum. This sequence is used by Delta Vanguards in real combat engagements. Do not falter."
"Yes, sir," she replied without hesitation.
There was no laughter in her diamond-like eyes now, only an intense, unwavering focus. Her every thought, every ounce of her being, was dedicated to a single goal: mastering the complex flight patterns flashing before her, pushing her reaction times, absorbing the tactical data. She was entirely focused on becoming a Delta Vanguard officer, the elite of the elite.
Her heart didn't waver. Not even once.
Her pod shuddered as simulated enemy drones swarmed her. She reacted instantly—sharp roll, thruster burst, precision counter-fire. Virtual explosions lit up the surrounding screens.
Another cadet whispered from the next pod, voice trembling with awe,
"She's insane… she's actually keeping up with Delta-level simulations…"
"Of course she is," another replied. "She's Valerian. They don't produce failures."
Juliet heard none of it.
Her mind was fire.
Her focus unbreakable.
The memory of a boy who proposed to her ten times was a distant, insignificant echo from a life she had already left behind.
Her lips pressed into a thin, unwavering line.
There's no going back now.
---
Juliet completed the mission simulation flawlessly. The pod opened with a hiss, releasing a gust of cool, filtered air. As she stepped out, the Academy's towering windows reflected a star-filled skyline—Neo-Aether Prime glowing like a cosmic jewel.
She didn't look up at the stars with wonder.
She looked at them like a battlefield.
Her future battlefield.
"Cadet Valerian," her instructor approached, hands behind his back. "Your trajectory is impressive. If you maintain this pace, you may be assigned to the Delta Vanguard track sooner than expected."
Juliet saluted sharply. "I will not fail, sir."
"I don't expect you to," he said with a rare nod of approval.
She turned away, stepping down the corridor with precise, almost mechanical movements. Other cadets watched her pass — some admiring, some envious, some fearful. But she paid none of them any mind.
Her world was forward.
Only forward.
---
Two different worlds. Two different destinies. Both fueled by a relentless drive to prove themselves, but only one of them was now looking forward, never back.
Juliet walked deeper into the Academy's shining halls.
Russell slept in a dim, steel-gray room on Titan.
Light-years apart.
Paths diverging.
Fates hardening like forged metal.
One chasing the stars.
The other preparing to survive the darkness.