“Welcome aboard the Stellarion,” Sentra’s voice crackled through the chamber. “The journey to Planet 81 will take approximately 70 hours. Until arrival, you are to follow a strict routine designed to ensure optimal performance.”

  A holographic timetable shimmered into existence in the air before us: Training, Meal, Briefing, Sleep, and—surprisingly—a full hour labeled Break.

  “For now,” Sentra continued, “proceed to the Armory. Retrieve your designated loadouts.”

  It rotated smoothly and glided toward another set of massive black metal doors.

  “I don’t trust that thing,” Becca muttered, eyeing the spinning red sensor.

  “Well, we don’t exactly have a choice,” I sighed.

  The doors slid open, flooding the dim airlock with bright, sterile light. I blinked, momentarily stunned.

  The interior of the Stellarion was nothing like the severe, industrial bunkers we’d grown up in. It was sleek, white, and disturbingly artistic. The walls curved organically, glowing with soft ambient light. But it was the decorations that made my blood run cold.

  We followed Sentra through a long, gleaming corridor lined with glass columns. Inside each column was a creature suspended in stasis fluid.

  There were serpentine beasts with three heads.Each head had the same contorted expression. There were insectoid horrors with razor-wings sharp enough to cut through metal. They weren't arranged like scientific specimens; they were lit from below, posed dramatically.

  They were displayed like art.

  “Are those…” Katherine whispered, shrinking away from a glass tube containing something that looked like a skinned bear with tentacles.

  “Trophies,” Vance said, his voice hard. “From the other campaigns.”

  A chill slid down my spine. These were the things the Northern Nation had conquered. And now, we were just the next tool they were using to add to the collection.

  The Armory was enormous, the smell of cold steel filled the room.

  The racks hissed open, revealing the weapons we had spent the last six months bleeding over.

  “Standard Attrition Loadouts active,” Sentra announced. “Equip yourselves.”

  I walked to my locker. Inside, resting on velvet pads, were my Two gleaming blades.

  I picked them up, the weight familiar and grounding. The hilts were matte black, and when I thumbed the activation switch, the edges didn't just vibrate—they hummed with a white-hot thermal filament.

  I looked around. I was the only one holding two separate blades. It was a high-risk style—trading defense for double the speed.

  “Finally,” Becca grinned from the next locker over.

  She hoisted her massive Chain-Axe with two hands. She thumbed the ignition, and the weapon roared to life, the loop of diamond-tipped chainsaw teeth spinning so fast they became a blur.

  “The balance on the this version is way better,” she shouted over the noise.

  I looked around the room. Everyone was reuniting with their specific instruments of death.

  Vance was strapping a massive Claymore to his back. It was a traditional two-handed greatsword, six feet of tempered steel designed to cleave through bone and armor alike. Simple. Heavy. Devastating.

  Ray was admiring his Combat Arm Blades. They were sleek, mechanical gauntlets that covered his forearms. With a flick of his wrists, three serrated steel claws extended past his knuckles with a sharp snikt. He wasn't holding weapons; his hands were the weapons. It fit his brawler style perfectly.

  Zed was inspecting a Spear-Sword. It was a long polearm with a heavy, curved blade at the end. It gave him reach and power, perfect for keeping enemies at bay.

  Alicia was coiling a Scorpion Chain Dart around her waist. It was a single, deadly kunai attached to a long, flexible steel chain. It required immense precision to wield.

  Katherine held a Khopesh. It was a curved, sickle-like sword. She looked at the hook-shaped blade nervously. It was a nasty weapon, designed to hook around shields or limbs and pull enemies off balance.

  And Theo was holding a Dao. It was a single-edged broadsword with a flared tip, designed for heavy chopping. He gripped the leather-wrapped handle with both hands, giving it a few practice swings. It was a solid, reliable piece of steel—simple and effective.

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  “Please form groups of two and train for the next three hours,” Sentra instructed. “Familiarize yourselves with the live-weight specifications.”

  Sentra turned and glided out, the doors sealing shut behind it.

  “Hey—do you want to team up?”

  I turned. A girl with neck-length, wavy black hair was approaching me. She held a sleek Compound Bow made of carbon fiber—one of the few weapons allowed to use ammo, simply because the arrows were magnetic and could be retrieved.

  “Oh—sure,” I said.

  “Aww, no fair! I wanted to partner with you, Cass,” Becca groaned, swinging her axe menacingly at a dummy.

  “Tomorrow,” I promised.

  The girl and I moved deeper into the hall. She had fair skin and dark eyes that seemed too kind for a place like this. When she smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks.

  “So… what’s your name?” I asked.

  “Lexie. Lexie Williams. And you?”

  “Cassandra Jameson.” I hesitated. “Williams? You’re not related to the Commander, are you?”

  She laughed, a bright sound that echoed in the sterile room. “No. I get that a lot. Thankfully.”

  “What’s the deal with the bow?” I asked, gesturing to her weapon. “You’re one of the lucky ones with range.”

  “It’s a Mag-Draw,” she explained, showing me the magnetic pulleys. “It recycles the kinetic energy. And I have to go pick up every arrow I shoot, so don't be too jealous. You?”

  “Two swords.”

  “Oh—so you’re ambidextrous?”

  “I am.”

  “That’s honestly so cool,” she said, completely sincere. “You’re the only one trusting your reflexes that much.”

  We headed toward the warm-up zone.

  “Basic stretches and jogging?” I suggested.

  “Sure,” she said with a grin. “Though warm-ups can get boring.”

  As we jogged, her voice cut through the steady rhythm of our footsteps. “What do you think of the mission so far?”

  “Not terrible. But…” I hesitated. “I think we’d be better off if Commander Williams came with us.”

  “I agree. But maybe having Sentra is better.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a machine,” she said. “More accurate. Less likely to make… human mistakes. No ego.”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Putting everything in an AI’s hands feels like a disaster waiting to happen.”

  She exhaled. “Let’s not talk about depressing things. What do you think of the Stellarion?”

  “Cool. But creepy.”

  “Right? Those jars in the hall—terrible décor choices.”

  “Why decorate a warship at all?”

  “To make it feel more… welcoming?” she shrugged.

  “Mission failed then.”

  She laughed again. “Do you know anyone here?”

  “Yeah. The other girls were my roommates. Becca, Alicia, and Katherine.”

  “Lucky. My friends were sent to the Gas Giant squads.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see them again.”

  “I hope so,” she said quietly. “I miss them already.”

  Silence settled between us.

  “Did you have any interests before the war?” I asked.

  “Not many but I’ve always wanted to travel;,” she said, her eyes losing focus for a moment. “That’s why I took the drug. I wanted time—forever, really. I kept telling myself I’d travel later. And then the war started.” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance now.”

  Her voice carried a soft, aching finality.

  “Then that’s your reason to survive,” I said firmly. “After the war, we’ll travel together. I think you’d make a great travel influencer.”

  “There’s not much of a world left to travel or influence.”

  “Then we’ll build a new one.”

  She paused, then smiled—soft and genuine. “It’s a promise.” She held out her pinky finger.

  I smiled and hooked mine around hers. “Promise.”

  Just like that, I’d already made a new friend aboard. This wasn’t going to be so bad.

  We finished warming up in thoughtful silence.

  “Ready for weapons training?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  The weapons section buzzed with intensity. Alicia was sparring with Ray, her chain dart lashing out like a cobra while Ray weaved, using his gauntlets to deflect the metal tip. Becca was absolutely demolishing a training droid with her axe, laughing maniacally. Vance was testing the weight of his claymore with slow, deliberate swings.

  I picked up my swords, the familiar weight grounding me. Lexie slung her bow over her shoulder and tied her hair back.

  “I’ll fire low-impact training arrows at you,” she said with a smirk. “You dodge.”

  “Good. I need the practice.”

  We took our positions.

  “Ready, Cassandra?” she called.

  “Oh please. I was born ready.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Her hand moved in a blur—three arrows sliced through the air. I dodged the first, bent back from the second, and deflected the third with a sharp upward strike of my left blade.

  I barely had time to breathe before four more followed.

  “Oh, come on,” I gasped.

  I leapt, twisting midair to avoid the low shots, my swords flashing as I knocked the rest aside.

  Lexie moved with calm precision—relaxed, controlled, dangerous. She wasn't just shooting; she was herding me.

  Then her arrows began to curve, cutting off my escape routes. My feet reacted before my mind did. My arms burned as steel met the blunt training tips again and again.

  “You’re doing better than I expected!” she called.

  “Don’t patronize me!”

  She laughed. Then she nocked one final arrow. Something in her stance shifted. The playful sparring partner was gone; the soldier was there.

  “Ready?” she asked softly.

  I didn’t answer. I settled into my stance.

  She released.

  The arrow flew like silver lightning. I stepped forward, not away. I swung in a clean arc, catching the arrow right in the center. I split it in two. The fragments slid past me, clattering to the floor.

  Silence.

  Lexie lowered her bow, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad yourself.”

  We trained until sweat clung to our clothes and my arms felt like lead.

  “Training period complete. Proceed to the Mess Hall,” Sentra announced.

  I wiped my forehead. “I won’t lie, Lexie—you’re incredible.”

  She blinked, then smiled. “Thanks. But your skills are way beyond mine.”

  “Says the girl who knocked me flat ten times,” I huffed. “You can call me Cass.”

  “Alright, Cass.” She slung her bow over her shoulder. “Shall we?”

  “Unless you want that bossy sphere threatening us—yes.”

  Alicia, Becca, and Katherine joined us halfway to the door.

  “How was training?” Alicia asked, wiping down her chain dart.

  “Good,” I said.

  “It could’ve gone better,” Katherine muttered, looking at her khopesh like it was a foreign object. “This hook… it keeps getting caught on things.”

  “It’s supposed to get caught on things, Snack,” Becca replied, resting her heavy axe on her shoulder. “Like necks.”

  “Shut up, Becca.”

  “That’s rich coming from someone who lost to me,” Alicia added dryly.

  “That was bad luck! My axe jammed!”

  Lexie leaned closer. “These your friends?”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Unfortunately.”

  We walked into the mess hall together, the team finally forming. But as I looked around at them, a sudden, cold realization hit me: some of us were probably not going to make it back.