After getting settled in yesterday, sleep came hard for him at Astra Primus. Just when his body relaxed his body began to toss and turn it felt unnatural.
Heinrich Wynn lay on his bunk, hands folded behind his head, staring at the darkened ceiling panels. The barracks lights were dimmed to a perpetual twilight, just enough illumination to remind the recruits they were never truly off duty. Around him, bodies shifted, metal frames creaked, and quiet breathing mixed with suppressed groans from shots from yesterday and all the beginning things before getting fully in the academy.
Just then he felt the eyes on him.
Like always whispers followed him like static. Not loud enough to fully hear everything they said but he could hear the usual things. Criminal. Earth-rat. Gang trash. He didn't know who had dug up his background—maybe the academy didn't bother hiding it, maybe some rich kid had pulled favors—but he knew the look. He'd seen it his whole life.
Judgment wrapped in disgust.
He turned his head slightly and met a pair of staring eyes across the aisle. The other recruit looked away instantly. Heinrich smirked and let his gaze harden, slow and deliberate, daring anyone else to keep staring. When a few did, he returned the favor with a look that promised violence without saying a word.
He hadn't come here to be judged.
He'd come to be better.
Astra Primus hadn't pulled him from Earth's gutters so he could listen to trust fund aristocrats and cowards who whisper about his past. He was a Void recruit now. Same uniform. Same rations. Same chance to bleed and earn something better. If the others couldn't handle that, it wasn't his problem.
The overhead speakers crackled to life.
"Wynn, Heinrich. Assignment call. Deck Seven, Instructor Wing. Move."
The voice was clipped, emotionless. Heinrich swung his legs off the bunk and stood, muscles protesting from the day before from the march across the station. The stares returned immediately, heavier now, curious and sharp. He rolled his shoulders, jaw tightening, and walked out without looking back.
The corridors of Astra Primus stretched like arteries through a steel beast. Gravity shifted subtly between sections, a reminder that the station itself was a weaponized environment. As Heinrich moved deeper into the academy's core, the looks followed him
They were easy to spot.
Perfect posture. Tailored undersuits adjusted to individual measurements. Family crests hidden beneath regulation insignia. Kids raised in orbital estates and colonial domes, who'd fired weapons in private ranges and called it hardship. Upper-class recruits who treated Astra Primus like another elite institution they were entitled to conquer.
Heinrich hated them on instinct.
He knew what he represented to them—a stain. Proof that bloodlines and credits didn't own this place outright. He was a reminder that the academy still needed bodies hardened by reality, not just pedigree. If his existence pissed them off, good. Let it fester.
He would prove himself the only way that mattered.
He would outlast them.
He would outfight them.
And one day—he didn't care how long it took—he would stand at the top of the Human Empire Star Covenant's command structure. Supreme Marshal Commander. The thought burned hot and dangerous in his chest. Ambition like that got people killed.
He smiled anyway.
The Instructor Wing was colder than the rest of the station, the air filtered sharper, cleaner. Heinrich stopped outside a reinforced door marked only with a crimson sigil: a knight's helm split down the center.
The Crimson Knights
Even street trash from Earth knew the name. Mars pacification campaigns. Anti-gang extermination units. Close-quarters specialists who didn't ask questions and didn't leave survivors when they were told not to. Their reputation wasn't heroic—but he admired their effectiveness.
The door slid open.
Captain Malrin stood behind a steel desk, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that suggested absolute confidence. He was tall, thickly built, his face carved with old scars that hadn't been smoothed by regeneration tech. His eyes were pale and merciless, assessing Heinrich like a defective piece of equipment.
Another man stood off to the side.
Cole Kane Jr.
Heinrich recognized him instantly. Tall—six-foot-two at least—broad-shouldered, dark skin unmarred by scars. He carried himself with controlled ease, like a predator that didn't need to prove it was dangerous. His eyes met Heinrich's briefly, unreadable, then returned forward.
Colonel Kane's son.
Of course.
"Recruit Wynn," Malrin said, voice thick with contempt. "Former criminal. Earth-born. Void designation."
Heinrich stood at attention. "Sir."
Malrin snorted. "That's all you've got?"
"Sir, yes sir."
Malrin turned his attention to Kane Jr. instantly, tone shifting—still harsh, but cleaner. "This is Recruit Kane Jr. Exemplary entrance scores. Disciplined. Proper upbringing."
Heinrich felt the slight, deliberate and precise.
"You two will be assigned to the same training group," Malrin continued. "Under my supervision. Crimson Knights doctrine. My rules."
His gaze snapped back to Heinrich, sharp as a blade. "Understand this, criminal. I don't care who took pity on you. I don't care about your sob story. You don't belong here."
Heinrich kept his face neutral, but his teeth ground together.
"But," Malrin went on, a thin smile creeping in, "I enjoy proving that."
He leaned forward. "Your first task. Daily PT. Full cycle. Other side of the station. ACFT standards, plus Warrior Tower and auxiliary obstacle courses."
He checked a chrono. "You have one hour."
Heinrich blinked once. The other side of Astra Primus was kilometers away, through shifting gravity zones and transit bottlenecks. Getting there alone would take most of that time.
Malrin smiled wider. "Did I stutter?"
"No, sir."
"Then move."
Heinrich turned sharply and exited before his temper betrayed him. The door sealed behind him with a hiss.
The moment he was out of sight, he broke into a run.
His boots pounded against alloy decking as corridors blurred past. Gravity shifted heavier in one section, lighter in the next, throwing off his stride. His lungs burned almost immediately. Sweat slicked his spine.
Malrin's voice echoed in his head. Criminal. Don't belong here.
"Go to hell," Heinrich muttered under his breath as he sprinted harder.
This was punishment. Pure and simple. A test designed to break him, humiliate him, maybe even wash him out. Malrin would enjoy it. The thought only fueled Heinrich's rage.
He ran.
Past transit junctions. Past recruits who stared as he barreled through. Past the ache that clawed at his legs and the warning tremor in his core.
If Astra Primus was hell, then he would run through it and he would not stop until toke everybody who doubted him down also.