The carriage rolled forward with a low creak, its wheels clicking against polished stone as the gates of Army Headquarters opened before them.
Arata sat back as the capital revealed itself.
Rows of light poles cast warm amber halos over the streets, illuminating clean roads and manicured trees. People moved freely, there were laughing couples, families with children tugging at their sleeves, vendors calling out late-night offers. The market district ahead glowed with colour and noise, alive in a way Arata had never known.
This was not the Empire he had known.
This was the Empire that slept peacefully while others bled, others lived in poverty.
For the first time since leaving the outer districts, Arata felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest. Not anger. Not resentment. Distance.
"These people" Darwin said quietly, gazing out the window, "they'll never see the war. Not really. They'll hear about it through newsletters scrubbed clean by the Empire, or stage plays where soldiers die beautifully instead of screaming."
His voice carried none of its usual cheer.
"The war isn't their fault" Darwin continued. "It's emperors and kings fighting over dirt like rabid dogs."
Arata glanced at him. This was the first time he'd seen Darwin like this.
"Should you be saying that so openly?" Arata asked carefully. "The driver..."
Darwin smiled.
"Well? Are you planning to report me?"
Arata didn't answer.
"As for the driver" Darwin added, reaching forward and sliding the partition open, "there isn't one."
The seat was empty.
No reins. No figure. No presence.
Arata froze.
Then very slowly, a man shimmered into existence, as if reality itself had remembered him too late.
Darwin chuckled at Arata's expression. "He's there and not there. It's one of my tricks. Learnt it in the navy."
Arata swallowed. "You're Navy?"Also we can learn that?
"Bingo. Naval Special Operations. And before you ask. Yes, you missed it during your observation tests"
"I wasn't exactly looking for invisible people" Arata muttered.
Darwin laughed. "Fair."
The carriage slowed as they neared a quiet residential district.
"There's something I wanted to warn you about" Darwin said, tone shifting. "You'll receive a package tomorrow. Part of your initiation."
"What kind of package?"
"A book. History of the world. Don't read it yet."
Arata frowned. "Why?"
"Because knowledge hits differently once dragon blood's involved" Darwin replied. "Read it too early and it can break you."
He paused.
"Also, choose a weapon. Only one. Master it. The Academy won't forgive hesitation. Out there, you either know your blade or you die before your lungs remember how to breathe."
Arata looked at him. "Why are you telling me all this? Monica didn't."
Darwin shrugged. "Consider it advice from someone who survived."
Silence settled between them before Arata spoke again. "Monica mentioned a unit she hopes I never get assigned to."
Darwin grinned. "She talked a lot with you, didn't she? I got a handshake and a door."
He counted on his fingers. "Air Force divisions: Harpy Eagles. Bald Eagles. Steller. Golden. Condors. Martial Eagles. Falcons."
He hesitated.
"And the Horned Owls."
Arata felt the weight behind the name.
"Everyone ends up there" Darwin said quietly. "Eventually. It's where service ends. Or madness does."
He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Dragon power isn't meant for humans. Some last four years. Some last thirty. Kohler's… different."
The carriage stopped.
Darwin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scale—golden, smooth, faintly warm. He threaded a string through it and handed it over. "Naval tradition. A luck charm."
Arata accepted it carefully. "Thank you… senior."
He'd never received a gift before. The weight of it felt strange.
As Arata stepped out, Darwin slipped a folded paper into his uniform pocket.
"Read it the day before you enter the Academy," he said. "No sooner."
"What"s on it?"
Darwin smiled. "The answer to the question you haven"t learned how to ask yet."
The carriage rolled away.
Arata stood alone before his new house—a quiet bungalow under soft lantern light.
He checked his watch.
22:30.
He'd left that morning at seven. It felt like he'd lived a lifetime since.
He exhaled slowly.
Tomorrow, he would unpack. Today, he would rest. But at the moment, he simply stood there and wondered how a house could feel emptier than a barracks.