“We once more are going to honor the Medics of the Assessment with the Recruit and Assessment-tier Emperor’s Touch awards,” Major Quinn announced as the screen behind her once more turned into a representation of the various medals available for this category.
Alpha Squad settled back into their seats, the earlier joviality fading into a more focused calm.
Thea followed suit, sinking into her chair with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief, her gaze locked on the two medals in her hands.
Having a Two-Star Palladium and a Two-Star Platinum medal felt surreal, downright absurd, as if reality itself had bent to accommodate something that shouldn’t have been possible.
The weight of the medals—both literal and symbolic—felt heavier than her hands could bear, yet she couldn’t stop staring at the polished silver-hued surfaces. The way the podium lights danced across them made them seem almost alive, their gleam a constant reminder of her accomplishments.
‘This is absolutely crazy,’ she thought, her mind unable to fully grasp the enormity of it. ‘Third and second best in the entire Assessment for two separate categories? I didn’t even think I’d get anything above maybe a Recruit award, but now I have two…?’
She turned one medal over in her flesh-and-blood hand, running her fingers along the cool, etched surface, while the other rested in her cybernetic palm. The contrast between the two felt oddly poetic—a blend of her old self and the new, standing as proof of her journey.
Yet, the surreal pride in her heart was accompanied by a gnawing unease.
It felt particularly strange because the feats she had been recognized for didn’t seem all that impressive to her.
The Eyes In The Sky medal weighed heavily on her thoughts, the sense of unearned glory clouding what should have been her moment of triumph.
‘It was just a coincidence,’ she told herself again, the rationalization becoming a mantra. ‘I spotted some tire tracks, nothing more. If that truck hadn’t been loaded with experimental tech, it wouldn’t have meant anything. It could have just been a troop transporter, and no one would’ve cared.’
She exhaled softly, the sour taste of undeserved praise lingering.
While she couldn’t deny that her instincts had led them to that pivotal moment, the idea that her success hinged on sheer luck made her uncomfortable.
How could she reconcile the accolades with the reality she believed?
Her thoughts turned to Desmond’s earlier achievement.
Despite his impressive display of controlling three drones at once—something she still couldn’t imagine doing herself—he’d only received a Gold medal.
It didn’t seem fair, and the imbalance gnawed at her.
The second medal, the one she had just been awarded, felt slightly less misplaced in her hands. At least with this one, she could point to some actual effort and execution on her part.
Taking out the Anti-Armour Cannons alongside Lucas had been one of the most adrenaline-fueled moments of the entire assessment for her. Drawing the combined ire of an entire defensive installation like the Wall wasn’t something just anyone could claim.
But as the initial rush of that memory faded, the doubt crept back in.
Shooting the Anti-Armour Cannons hadn’t exactly been a masterclass in skill, either.
Almost anyone could have done what she had, provided they had access to the Caliburn and her [Detect Weak Spots] Ability. It wasn’t as though she had to make a difficult shot or perform any kind of advanced tactics.
It was simply point, click, and let the Caliburn’s overwhelming power do the rest.
She glanced down at the medals again, their polished surfaces gleaming in the dim light of the hall.
She was undoubtedly happy to have them, but they didn’t feel earned.
They felt more like strange consolation prizes than anything else.
‘But why would the UHF hand out consolation prizes?’ The thought gnawed at her, refusing to let go. ‘Is it because of my talk with Lumis? Did she pull some strings…?’
The idea festered in her mind like a wound, festering since she had been called up for the first medal. The longer she thought about it, the less sense it made.
A random lucky guess leading to an Assessment-tier award?
Especially one as prestigious as the Two-Star Palladium?
‘Lumis did say I’d get extra rewards to circumvent the System’s restrictions...’ Her logical side countered, trying to stitch together some understanding. But even that explanation felt incomplete.
The idea lodged itself like a splinter in her mind, festering the longer she thought about it. Lumis had promised extra rewards to bypass the System’s restrictions, so maybe she had intervened in some way.
‘But then again,’ her logical side argued, ‘if the System was involved in any capacity, it wouldn’t allow favoritism. The System doesn’t bend to whims, not even for the UHF brass. If they could manipulate it, they wouldn’t be desperate enough to recruit from Midworlds in the first place.’
Her train of thought only spiraled further. ‘So, does that mean the System genuinely thought my actions were worthy of these medals? How? It was just luck. I saw some tire tracks and got the Caliburn lined up on a big target. How does that justify this kind of recognition…?’
Her ruminations swirled like a storm, an unrelenting battle between her doubt and the tiny flicker of pride trying to fight through.
Yet the doubt still loomed larger, its shadow darkening her every thought.
All the while, the ceremony continued undisturbed.
Major Quinn’s voice was a steady background, presenting one medal after another.
Thea paid little attention, certain of one thing amidst her doubts—Karania would undoubtedly be called up soon.
If anyone deserved an Assessment-Tier medal, it was her.
There wasn’t a shred of doubt in Thea’s mind about that.
So she only started paying attention when she heard Major Quinn call out the winner of the Two-Star Platinum medal; who naturally turned out to not be Karania.
Thea glanced at her friend, who, as always, appeared utterly serene, sitting back in her seat with the kind of calm that seemed impossible amidst the tension.
Karania’s posture was relaxed, her expression composed as always, and her eyes fixed on the stage with the quiet confidence of someone who already knew exactly when her name would be called.
It was as if doubt itself had never existed in her mind, not even for a moment.
“How do you do it?” Thea asked before she could stop herself, her voice barely above a whisper. She immediately regretted it, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.
Karania turned to her, her piercing gaze meeting Thea’s as if she’d been expecting the question all along.
Thea fumbled, almost wishing she could pull the words back into her mouth.
“Do what? Not freak out about what medal I might get?” Karania replied, her lips curling into that knowing smile she often wore—the one that always made Thea feel like her thoughts weren’t as private as she hoped. “It’s simple: Logic and observation.”
Thea remained quiet, instinctively leaning closer as she braced for the explanation she knew was coming. Karania had a way of breaking down her perspective that always made Thea feel simultaneously in awe and more than just a little inadequate.
“I’ve seen most of the Medics in this Assessment,” Karania began, her voice calm and even. “At least the ones on the eastern front. And I’m better than them. Vastly better.”
There was no arrogance in her tone, only an unshakable certainty that came from knowing the truth.
“I poured everything I had into making sure people made it out alive—often at the cost of myself.”
She raised her cybernetic arm, her mechanical fingers flexing slightly, a reminder of the sacrifices she had made during the assessment.
“I skipped sleep. I skipped meals. I worked myself to the bone to save every single person I could, wherever I went,” she continued, her voice growing firmer. “And when I felt like I was going to pass out from exhaustion, I simply kept going. Because if I didn’t, people would die. And that’s unacceptable.”
Her tone shifted, growing sharper, more fervent. “Death is a symptom of an untreated condition—a condition that I can fix. And I will. Every time.”
Thea stared, unable to look away as her friend spoke with a conviction so deep it seemed to fill the space around her.
Karania wasn’t just confident—it was something deeper, a kind of purpose that seemed to define every part of Karania’s being.
She didn’t need reassurance or validation from the UHF or anyone else.
She knew her worth, knew the impact she’d made, and it radiated from her in a way that left Thea feeling both inspired and humbled.
“Other Medics I saw, broke down, took breaks, decided that a person wasn’t worth their time or energy trying to save—they gave up,” Karania said, her voice low but laced with an intensity that demanded Thea’s full attention. “They lost the fight with themselves as much as they lost the fight with death. They were weak. Unworthy of being called proper Medics. Unworthy of being relied upon in the midst of the only battle that matters: Life and death.”
Thea was enraptured.
She had never heard her friend speak like this before, so openly passionate, so raw.
It was as if Karania had peeled back a hidden layer of herself, revealing a side of her that few, if any, had ever seen. It felt like stumbling into a secret room in a familiar house, something you never even knew existed.
“That’s observation,” Karania continued. “Logic, then, dictates that the person who does better than these so-called Medics will be placed higher in the rankings. I’ve seen the majority of Medics on the eastern front. I’ve met Medics from the western front earlier in the assessment as well. None of them stood out. They were Medics when it was convenient—when they had the energy to spare, when the odds were easy enough to make it an obvious win.”
There was a rare sharpness in her voice, an undercurrent of disgust that Thea had never heard before.
Karania rarely spoke ill of anyone, especially others in the same role as herself, but now, her disdain for what she considered mediocrity among her peers was unmistakable.
“There were a few, of course, who understood the true calling. A few who fought longer, harder, and further than others. But in the end? They all gave up. So, logic dictates that the one who does not give up, who fights harder, longer, without breaking, will win.”
Karania’s eyes locked onto Thea’s, her gaze intense, unyielding and raw.
It was impossible to look away, as if her words held Thea captive in a spell she didn’t want to escape.
“And I never give up, Thea,” Karania said, her voice dropping slightly, almost a whisper, but carrying the weight of a solemn vow. “Death is the ultimate enemy. The thing that hunts us all without pause, without rest, without tiring. If you, as a Medic, cannot match its relentlessness, then who are you to claim you can beat it? I never give up.”
“I saved people from the kind of brinks that others wouldn’t believe. I sacrificed my own flesh and blood to give even the furthest-gone the most miniscule of a chance. I worked day and night, without rest, without a break, to save those who could be saved. And those who couldn’t?”
She paused, her voice hardening. “I still fought for them and tried to make it work. Because death fights for them too, every single time.”
Her cybernetic hand flexed slightly, the light catching the metal as if emphasizing her point.
“I don’t fear death. I loathe it. Death steals from us—our futures, our potential, the infinite possibilities of change. It is the thief that cuts short humanity’s greatest gift: The ability to grow. To evolve. To be. Death is not some passive inevitability. It is an active predator. And like any predator, it, too, can be hunted.”
Thea’s breath caught.
Karania’s words now carried a weight that was almost overwhelming, her conviction like a veritable force of nature.
“Death is the ultimate enemy, Thea. And I don’t just keep it at bay. I will defeat it. I will destroy its very existence in our reality. I will hunt it down, like it hunted us for time immemorial, without rest, without respite, until every last person has been saved and death becomes nothing but a distant memory.”
Her voice rose slightly, an edge of righteous defiance sharpening her words. “Death itself will learn to fear. Because I will not let it claim what it wants. Death itself will learn to fear because I will not rest, like so many others. Death itself will learn to fear because I don’t care if it chooses someone to die—I will fight it every step of the way, no matter what.”
She leaned forward slightly, her piercing gaze locking with Thea’s once again, as if daring her to disagree.
“Logic dictates that the one who refuses to give up will win. So I will win. Death itself will learn to fear me, Thea. Because I am a Medic, and death is nothing but a symptom that requires treatment.”
Thea could only stare, speechless, as her friend got up from her chair, calm once more, as if she hadn’t just declared war on the very concept of mortality itself.
In the same moment, Major Quinn’s commanding voice echoed through the hall, clear and resolute: “And with the utmost pleasure, respect, and genuine pride, I present the Two-Star Crysium Emperor’s Touch Medal to our very own Karania Faulkner, from Sovereign Alpha!”
The hall erupted.
Cheers, screams, and applause crashed through the air like a tidal wave, the sheer force of it vibrating through the floor and walls, threatening to tear the Sovereign apart at the very seams.
Yet, Thea barely registered it.
The cacophony seemed distant, muffled beneath the weight of her own thoughts as her eyes remained locked on Karania’s back.
She had watched as her friend moved with purpose, already halfway to the stage before Major Quinn had even finished announcing her name.
‘She knew,’ Thea thought, a mix of awe and disbelief swirling within her. ‘She knew this was hers from the very beginning.’
As the roaring cheers continued, Thea felt a strange sense of quiet envelop her.
The overwhelming pride she felt for Karania mingled with a deeper sense of humility.
For all her own doubts, victories, and struggles, Karania’s unflinching determination and belief in her own cause stood as a blinding reminder of the heights one could reach when driven by an unrelenting purpose. It was almost overwhelming, the sheer force of her friend’s clarity and conviction, and it left Thea grappling with a question she had managed to avoid until now.
‘What… is my purpose?’
Her friend’s composure hadn’t wavered for even a moment under the weight of the spotlight, and as Major Quinn extended the medal, the pride in her voice mirrored the room’s thunderous approval.
Thea found herself clapping, even cheering with the rest of the squad, her face breaking into a wide grin despite the storm raging within. But her thoughts refused to settle.
‘What exactly is my purpose? My drive? My goal?’
She glanced down at her hands, the medals still nestled in her lap. ‘I am not Karania, fighting death itself for the very concept of mortality. I’m not Corvus, leading squads, armies, and Factions into battles that will define the future. I’m not even like Isabella, plowing through anyone in her path just to prove her right to exist… So who am I?’
The question gnawed at her, threatening to consume her. She tried to peel back the layers of her life, searching for something that had always been there, something that defined her.
Her mind drifted to the cold, wet streets of Lumiosia’s Undercity.
The endless shadows. The hunger. The broken glass.
‘Heroics? A noble goal? Some grand, righteous purpose?’
The answer came to her immediately.
‘No. No, that’s not it.’
She didn’t need to think long or hard about it.
It had always been there, woven into the very fabric of her being, hammered into her by every hard lesson the universe had ever thrown at her. It even mirrored James’ first-ever Golden Rule.
‘Survival.’
And with survival came a single, undeniable truth.
‘To survive, you need to be the best. There is no other way.’
The memory of hiding in the dank ruins of the Undercity flashed in her mind. Of trying to bargain her way out of danger. Of fighting with every ounce of strength she had.
All of it had failed, at one time or another—because she hadn’t been the best.
She hadn’t been the best at hiding, so she was found.
She hadn’t been the best at negotiating, so she was betrayed.
She hadn’t been the best at fighting, so she was injured and robbed.
It wasn’t enough to try, to simply scrape by.
Survival belonged to those who excelled—beyond question, beyond doubt—at whatever it was they chose to do.
As she watched Karania descend the podium’s steps, the blue-tinted medal gleaming under the harsh lights of the hall, a strange clarity settled over Thea. It felt cold, but also freeing, like a fog had lifted to reveal a single, undeniable path.
‘Being the best. That is my purpose.’
The thought crystallized in her mind, clear and sharp as glass.
It wasn’t heroic or noble. It wasn’t grand or righteous.
But it was the Truth.
Thea blinked, her thoughts scattering as Karania abruptly appeared in front of her, concern etched across her face. “You okay, Thea?”
It took Thea a moment to process the question, her vision feeling strangely off as if a faint violet-hued filter had been cast over her eyes. She rubbed at them instinctively, realizing it was likely from staring too long into the harsh lights of the podium without blinking.
“I… Yeah,” Thea replied, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to pull herself fully back to the present. “Just… zoned out for a second. Sorry about that.”
Karania studied her for a moment, her sharp gaze seeming to dissect Thea’s words as though searching for deeper meaning. But after a moment, she just gave a light shrug. “Alright, I’ll let you off this time. But only because I’m feeling generous from winning this thing.”
Thea chuckled at that, a genuine smile creeping onto her face as she gestured to the glittering Crysium medal in Karana’s hand. “Speaking of winning, congratulations, Kara. You deserve it more than anyone. Truly. You’re… Incredible.”
“Damn right, I am,” Karania replied with a playful smirk, her hand briefly brushing over the medal as though grounding herself in the reality of it. “But thanks, Thea. Really.”
Thea nodded, her smile softening.
For all her friend’s confidence, there was something genuine in the way Karania carried herself right now—like the weight of the recognition meant more than she let on originally.
Then, out of nowhere, a memory hit Thea like a bolt of lightning. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at Karania. “Wait a second… Did you fucking time that? You know, the speech—ending it right before your name got called, so you could do a cool walk-off?”
Karania’s smirk widened into a full grin, and she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“Please, Thea. You really think I’d be capable of that and be extra enough to actually do it?”
She punctuated the sentence with a sly wink before leaning back into her chair, her expression unreadable.
Thea opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but Karania had already shifted her attention back to the stage, leaving her hanging.
Frustrated but amused, Thea shook her head and let her gaze wander around the hall, trying to piece together how much of the ceremony she had missed while lost in her thoughts.
It didn’t take long to realize that Alpha Squad had already returned to their seats, their previous celebration replaced by their usual focused demeanor. Her eyes darted toward the podium, where Major Quinn was already halfway through introducing the Recruit Awards for the Stellar Republic Reaper category.
‘What the fuck…? Was I really out for that long?’
Thea’s mind reeled as she tried to piece together the gap in her memory.
From the moment Karania had started to walk down the podium steps to when she’d asked Thea if she was okay, at least two or three minutes had passed—minutes she couldn’t account for at all.
She could still feel the echo of clarity from earlier, though, a sharp and undeniable recognition of something she’d once known instinctively as a child but had allowed to fade over time.
‘To be the best… To survive.’
The two medals in her hands suddenly felt heavier, their weight pressing down on her in a way that was both sobering and empowering. It was as if her earlier doubts had dissipated, leaving behind a raw, unfiltered truth.
‘Anyone could have found that truck; but it wasn’t anyone—it was me,’ Thea thought, her gaze locking onto the Eyes In The Sky medal.
She shifted her focus to the Surgical Strike medal, and another thought crystallized with striking clarity: ‘I only had the Caliburn because I fucking owned the shooting range trial and aced the Cube Trial for the Tech-Up Voucher. I only had [Detect Weak Spots] because I earned a Gold-rank Accomplishment. Those weren’t handed to me; they were earned. They were parts of me, parts of what made that situation possible. It wasn’t just luck—it was me, being better prepared than anyone else at that moment.’
Thea’s lips quirked into a small, determined smile.
Luck had always been a factor in every video game she’d ever played—whether it was a perfectly timed drop that she capitalized on, an enemy’s misstep she exploited, or an improbable series of events aligning just right to get her ahead.
But would she ever have claimed that topping the leaderboards was purely luck?
Of course not.
Winning was always an intersection of preparation, skill, and luck.
It was about being ready to seize the opportunities when they came, about turning those slim chances into defining moments.
Only those who managed to capitalize on those moments made it to the top.
‘So why would this be any different?’
The thought settled over her like a revelation, sinking deep into her chest and spreading through her like a long-awaited truth.
The medals in her hands weren’t trophies of random chance—they were proof that she’d been ready when it mattered most. Proof that she’d been the best when it counted and had managed to capitalize on the moment, when others could not.
‘So why wouldn’t I be proud of them?’
Thea’s grip on the medals tightened as a surge of confidence bubbled up inside her. Before she could think twice, the words escaped her mouth: “I’m getting a medal for this one.”
Karania’s head snapped toward her, eyebrows raised in abject surprise. “What?”
“Two-Star Platinum or Palladium,” Thea clarified, her voice steady and sure in a way that even surprised her. “Probably Platinum.”
Her gaze locked with Karania’s, and for a brief moment, neither of them said anything. Then, Karania broke into a beaming smile, so bright and genuine it made Thea’s heart skip a beat.
Without warning, Karania wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug.
“I knew you’d come around,” Karania said warmly, her voice filled with pride. “Just remember, this is only the first step. It’ll still be tough, but you just made the hardest one. I’m so proud of you, Thea.”
Thea froze, overwhelmed by both the sudden physical contact and the unexpected warmth of Karania’s words. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that, I was just—” she stammered, attempting to backpedal, but Karania’s surprisingly strong grip kept her firmly in place.
Before Thea could figure out how to respond, the sound of Major Quinn’s voice cut through the moment like the chime ringing at the end of a round in AoC; stopping the game dead in its tracks.
“For the Two-Star Platinum Stellar Republic Reaper Award, I once more welcome Thea McKay from our very own Sovereign Alpha to the stage!”
The familiar grip of anxiety wrapped around Thea’s chest immediately, tightening with each word. But this time, it didn’t consume her entirely. There was something else—a counterbalance, a fire that surged through her veins, pushing her forward.
She rose from her seat, leaving behind Karania and the rest of Alpha Squad, and began her walk to the podium. For once, Karania didn’t have to nudge her, to get her to move.
Her steps felt heavy regardless and the closer she got to the podium, the more aware she became of the countless eyes boring into her. It became harder and harder to breathe, the air seeming thicker with every step, but the competitive part of her refused to yield.
‘This is yours. You’ve earned it. Just go and take it.’
By the time she reached Major Quinn, who greeted her with her usual air of unshakable confidence, Thea was focusing all her effort on steadying her breathing.
‘You can do this,’ she told herself, gripping tightly onto the fiery determination in her chest. ‘This is your award. You’ve earned it through blood, sweat, and tears. You’re the best, so accept it like the Marine you are. Everyone else is just a number on a livestream. None of them are as good as you, anyway.’
Behind her, the screen flickered with the recordings, playing a series of clips from her most precise and deadly moments during the assessment.
It had begun with the initial ambush on day one, where her well-placed shots had picked out the true Integrated Soldiers from among the Stellar Republic’s Unintegrated ranks.
The footage moved seamlessly to the assault on the artillery station, showing her clean, calculated eliminations that opened the path for the rest of the strike team to detonate their explosives and destroy the artillery.
A brief flash of her forest showdown followed—though short, it was no less impressive—before finally transitioning to the firefights in the compound’s chaos, where her sniper rifle seemed to operate like an extension of herself, every target falling without wasted shots or effort.
As the recording ended, Major Quinn stepped fully toward her, offering her hand once more.
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There was no added boost of confidence from an Ability this time—Thea didn’t require it.
“Congratulations once again, Recruit McKay,” Major Quinn announced, her voice carrying over the silent, captivated hall. “The UHF hereby awards you the Two-Star Platinum medal for the Stellar Republic Reaper Award. Alongside this medal, you will receive 6,000 Credits, a 60% Sales Voucher for any equipment aboard the Sovereign, and a Skill Voucher.” She paused for effect, her words deliberate and precise as always. “Additionally, I have been informed by the Sovereign that you have once again met a point threshold for this category, which warrants another Skill Voucher on top of the standard reward. This is starting to become a bit of a repeating experience, is it not?”
She only caught fragments of her own rewards, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that it nearly drowned out Major Quinn’s words. She extended her hand, shaking the Major’s with as firm a grip as she could muster, before accepting the medal.
The cool, weighted metal rested in her hand, providing a strange sort of comfort that she couldn’t quite put into words. Free from obligation, Thea turned and began her descent from the podium.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, trying to meet the gazes of her fellow Recruits as she walked back toward Alpha Squad, but the oppressive weight of their stares forced her to look away after a few pairs.
She couldn’t quite manage the calm demeanor she’d hoped for yet; the fire in her veins wasn’t quite enough to overpower the anxiety threatening to spill over.
But even with her faltering confidence, one fact stood tall in her mind: She had done it.
Another medal. And not just any medal—another Two-Star, another Assessment Award.
By now, she was the most decorated Recruit in the entire hall by far.
And unless Tiberius Soren somehow swept the remaining categories, that wouldn’t change.
Rachel Masters had already received two medals in the last three categories, meaning that even if she aced the last remaining one, Thea would still be winning out.
Thea’s thoughts were cut off as she returned to her seat and was met with a cacophony of congratulations from Alpha Squad.
“Three fucking Two-Star Medals, Thea? Really?” Isabella’s voice rang out, half incredulous, half impressed. “You’re making the rest of us look like fucking amateurs!”
Corvus gave her a rare, genuine grin. “Keep this up, and I might start worrying about my job. What’s the point of a Squad Leader if the Scout does all the work anyway? Well done, Thea. Truly.”
Desmond nodded, his thumbs raised in mock surrender. “I guess we’re all just going to continue living in your shadow now, huh? Congrats again, seriously.”
Lucas offered her a proud smile and a reserved, “Another well-earned one, Thea,” although it was clear that he was ecstatic, just from the way he was positioned at the edge of his seat.
Finally, Karania turned to her, extending her hand with an encouraging smile.
Without hesitation, Thea took it, the warmth and firmness of the gesture grounding her as her nerves from yet another trip to the podium began to flutter uncontrollably.
“You’re doing amazing, Thea,” Karania said, squeezing her hand slightly. Her voice was low enough for only Thea to hear, a personal moment amid the surrounding noise. “Facing this head-on like that? I’m really proud of you. It’s not easy, I know.”
Thea smiled faintly, her grip tightening slightly on Karania’s hand as she found a small measure of calm in her friend’s words.
“But,” Karania added, tilting her head slightly in curiosity, “I have to say, I’m surprised at how quickly you’re improving. Has something changed?”
Thea blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question.
She hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings into words.
Something had, of course, changed—of that much, she was certain.
The clarity she’d found earlier about her purpose, the recognition of her accomplishments being more than just luck… but how could she explain that without sounding strange?
“I guess…” Thea started, her voice uncertain as she tried to articulate the swirling thoughts in her mind. “I guess I’m just… Trying to emulate you. Your confidence, I mean. I figure, if I can fake it like you do, maybe it’ll start feeling real eventually.”
Karania raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering across her face. “Fake it, huh? You think I’m faking it?”
“Yes. No… Well, not exactly,” Thea backpedaled, flushing slightly. “Just… You always seem so sure of yourself. Like nothing can shake you. I’m trying to channel some of that. Does that make sense…?”
“Yes. It does. Somewhat, at least.” Karania smiled again, her expression softening. “Whatever it is that you’re doing, it’s working. So keep at it, Thea. You’re proving to everyone here—and most importantly, yourself—that you deserve every bit of this.”
Thea nodded, her chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and warmth.
Her gaze shifted back to the podium, where Major Quinn was already transitioning to the final set of awards for this category, her commanding presence a constant rhythm that guided the entire hall.
With Karania’s words still echoing in her mind, Thea felt the fire in her veins burn a little brighter, dissolving the lingering threads of anxiety she’d carried from her earlier trips to the stage.
‘Three Two-Star medals…’ The thought settled over her with an almost surreal weight. ‘What other Recruit could possibly claim that? It’s proof that I’m doing my part, right…?’
She let her cybernetic fingers toy with the medals in her hand, the smooth, polished surfaces catching and refracting the stage lights into faint glimmers. Their weight wasn’t just physical—it carried tangible proof of her worth, her contributions, her victories.
Thea couldn’t help but savor the satisfaction coursing through her. ‘Proof that I matter. Proof that I got things done that made a difference…’
The moment of quiet pride nearly ended in disaster when her hand fumbled slightly, almost dropping the medals as Major Quinn’s voice suddenly rang out once more, her tone carrying an unmistakable note of emphasis.
“And now, for the fourth time today… Thea McKay. You know her, you’ve heard me say it plenty, but regulations demand it—from our very own Sovereign Alpha! Please welcome her back to the podium again!”
Thea froze, her mind struggling to catch up.
‘Fourth? Fourth?’
Her head snapped toward Karania, whose expression betrayed a mix of humor and exasperation as she raised an eyebrow. It was the silent challenge Thea hadn’t realized she needed: “Where did all that confidence go?”
Thea’s chest tightened, but the fire in her veins surged again, fanning the embers of her resolve.
She pushed herself up from her chair, steady this time, and strode toward the podium.
This walk felt easier—smoother even than the last.
The weight of the medals in her hand seemed to ground her with every step.
The stares of her fellow Recruits, still sharp and heavy, barely slowed her down anymore.
As she ascended the podium stairs, her heartbeat pounded in her ears, loud but no longer overwhelming. Standing side-by-side with Major Quinn, Thea could focus for the first time, her thoughts clear as she turned her attention to the recordings playing behind them.
‘Forward Leadership? Why would I win something here, but not Corvus?’ Thea’s mind spun as she tried to piece together the reasoning.
She was confident that she had worked her proverbial ass off during the Nova Tertius infiltration, but the thought of Corvus not receiving recognition in this category gnawed at her.
‘What would Karania say in this situation?’ She mused, her thoughts briefly turning to her ever-logical friend. ‘Right. She’d probably say something about criteria and how Corvus’ actions didn’t fit neatly into this specific category. Or how he had simply not been able to perform together with the rest of the squad, due to the way the Assessment went for us… But that’s such bullshit…’
The recording behind her continued to play, but her focus waned as her internal frustrations mounted.
It felt wrong to be the one standing here, clutching the One-Star Gold medal, when she knew she wasn’t the best Squad Leader amongst the Recruits at the very least—she wasn’t even the best in Alpha Squad; no matter what the UHF’s medals here were trying to say.
Corvus had been the one orchestrating the most critical moments of their Assessment; had made sure the squad worked together and that they had whatever they required, whenever they required it from the very start.
Yet here she was, being awarded recognition while Corvus, the quintessential, text-book leader, had to make do with the MVM medal he had received earlier.
It left a bitter taste in her mouth.
‘This just doesn’t feel right…’
But even as the doubt crept in, another part of her—a part that had been growing louder with every medal won—began to push back. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, Thea. Once again, you’ve made the best out of a shitty situation.’
She remembered the chaos of those moments, the crushing weight of responsibility when Corvus had left her in charge.
She had to lead Alpha Squad through the treacherous terrain of the industrial sector, the relentless pressure of navigating through the civilian areas without being caught; and against the impossible odds of facing down the Psyker Duo.
Yet, somehow, despite the odds, she had managed to put them in a position to succeed.
‘This is your dues; don’t cheapen them by complaining about Corvus’ situation. He didn’t get lucky enough—wasn’t prepared enough to take advantage of the situation he was thrust into. Simple as that.’
The thought jarred her, leaving her feeling uncomfortable.
To frame Corvus in that light, after everything he had done for her, felt… wrong.
But the voice inside of her, now strong enough to truly fight against her self-doubt in equal measure, refused to back down. ‘This isn’t about Corvus right now. This is about you. You took the reins when it mattered, made the calls, and got results. That’s what matters.’
By the time the recordings ended and Major Quinn turned to address her directly, Thea forced herself to focus, the conflicting emotions still swirling within her but tempered by a growing sense of pride.
‘That’s right… I might not have been the best Squad Leader; I might never be… but I was the best that had been available at the time. And that’s why I’m here. That’s why I deserve this Medal…!’
Once more shaking Major Quinn’s hand, Thea accepted the One-Star Gold Medal and its corresponding rewards: 4,500 Credits, a 50% Sales Voucher, and yet another Skill Voucher.
The weight of the medal in her hand felt lighter this time—not because it meant any less to her, but because she was slowly becoming accustomed to the idea of earning these accolades. It felt right, downright expected, to hold them all in her hand like this.
With steady steps, she descended the podium.
The oppressive heat of so many eyes on her still crawled up her neck and into her cheeks, but it didn’t shake her footing anymore. She no longer felt the compulsion to rush back to the safety of Alpha Squad’s seats.
Instead, her strides remained deliberate, her posture firm.
Her eyes met those of the watching crowd more easily now, a quiet defiance simmering beneath her gaze. Once, twice, thrice—she stared back, challenging anyone who might question her right to be there. She wasn’t keeping count anymore, only moving forward.
By the time she reached her row, the exertion caught up with her.
Her head drooped slightly just as she slipped into the seat beside the rest of her squad, the effort of holding herself steady finally demanding its toll.
Before she could dwell on her exhaustion—or worse, the possibility of meeting Corvus’ gaze and finding resentment there—she was suddenly pulled into a crushing bear-hug.
“Fantastic fucking work, Thea,” Corvus said, his voice warm and full of genuine pride right next to her ear. She froze, too stunned to respond. “I never doubted your capabilities as a secondary squad leader even for a second—and neither did the UHF, as is clearly apparent. Well done. Thank you for taking care of the squad while I was indisposed, Thea.”
When he finally released her, Thea blinked up at him, her mind still trying to catch up to the unexpected moment of praise; having instead expected enviousness, maybe even full-on resentment.
Corvus stepped back slightly, his sly smile growing wider as he added, “Next time around, I’ll be taking that Medal though, alright? No more Forward Leadership Awards for you, as long as I’m around!”
Thea couldn’t help but crack a grin at his playful challenge, the tension in her chest easing markedly. Once again, she realized just how completely she had misjudged Corvus’ likely reaction.
“You’ll have to actually be around to do your job for once, then,” she shot back, her voice steadier and laced with humor than she had thought possible moments before.
Corvus mimed getting shot in the chest, stumbling backwards with exaggerated drama before slumping into his chair, chuckling all the while. His over-the-top antics earned a round of laughter from the rest of the squad, cutting through any lingering formality.
Alpha Squad didn’t hesitate to pile on their congratulations once more, short and to the point, but no less genuine for it. By now, the initial novelty of somebody winning awards, especially Thea, had long worn off, replaced by a growing, matter-of-fact pride in her accomplishments.
“So,” Karania began with a familiar smugness, sliding into her usual seat beside Thea and seamlessly offering her hand for Thea to latch onto and recharge, “you want to tell me something?”
Thea raised an eyebrow, having no real idea where this was going.
“Maybe something along the lines of: ‘I’m sorry, Kara, for doubting your genius. You were completely right, and I behaved like a petulant child, whining and worrying for no reason that I wasn’t going to win anything.’ Or,” Karania continued, her grin widening, “should I wait until you add the last two Medals to your collection before I can expect an apology?”
Thea rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She could feel the warmth from Kara’s hand, steadying her nerves as she leaned back in her seat.
“Fiiiiine,” she muttered, half-jokingly. “I’m sorry for doubting you, oh great and allmighty. You’re clearly some kind of psychic genius who can see the future, or even more likely, probably manipulate the very fabric of the universe itself to make me win Awards.”
“Damn straight,” Karania said with a wink, clearly reveling in the moment.
Thea chuckled, shaking her head as the banter between her and Karania slowly fizzled out, replaced by a companionable silence. She leaned back in her seat, still clutching her medals, the cool weight of them grounding her in the present.
Major Quinn meanwhile, ever the efficient one, transitioned seamlessly to the second-to-last category of the awards.
“Now, we come to the Ace Squad Awards,” Major Quinn announced, her tone laced with anticipation.
Thea felt her squad tense around her, even Corvus straightening slightly in his seat.
This was one of the big ones.
Alpha Squad hadn’t earned one during the Sovereign Awards, so they were bound to be called up for either one of the Recruit or Assessment Awards—there was no doubt in anybody’s mind inside the squad that they had earned one; Thea didn’t even need to ask.
Time seemed to blur as Major Quinn began listing off the lower-tier awards, each announcement punctuated by polite applause and ripples of excitement among the assembled Recruits.
None of the Sovereign’s squads were called for any of the Recruit Awards—not a surprise, except for the complete absence of Sovereign Alpha’s own name. The best squads outside of Alpha Squad, however, like Beta Squad itself, had already claimed their share of the spotlight in this category, but the omission of Sovereign Alpha only added to the tension simmering in the hall.
As Major Quinn transitioned into the Assessment Awards, the atmosphere grew electric.
The Two-Star Platinum went to a squad aboard the Hegemony of Dusk, their victory earning a respectable amount of applause.
The Two-Star Palladium followed, awarded to a team on the Ascendant of Flames, their victory met with mostly murmurs and whispers; accompanied by a bit of polite applause.
By this point, the anticipation in the room was almost unbearable.
The murmurs swelled, defying even Major Quinn’s typically commanding presence. It was as if everyone knew what—or rather, who—was coming next, though the idea seemed ludicrous.
A Recruit Squad winning a Two-Star Crysium Award was practically unheard of.
Yet despite the improbability, even Thea couldn’t shake the certainty settling over her like a quiet storm.
Between the six of them, Sovereign Alpha had amassed a truly unreal collection of medals, and their actions during the assessment had gone far beyond what could be expected of even an Alpha Squad.
Not to mention; this category wasn’t even about completing predefined objectives or following strict orders, something Sovereign Alpha had only been somewhat-successful at—instead, it was about creating a seismic shift, a game-changing event that turned the tide of the battlefield.
And Sovereign Alpha had done exactly that.
It was almost like the category had been specifically created for their circumstances, having been unable to complete their first Major Objective due to the presence of the Psyker Duo and the enemy Ace as well.
Thea’s grip tightened on her medals as Major Quinn’s voice rang out over the restless crowd, commanding silence at last.
“And now,” the Major began, her voice cutting through the silence with a triumphant edge, “for the Two-Star Crysium Award in the Ace Squad category, I present to you the singular squad that performed the most surprising, unlikely and improbable upset in the entire Assessment…”
She dragged it out for a few long, agonising seconds, before breaking into a big, toothy smile and announcing with a level of cherubic enjoyment that was thoroughly unlike the Major, “It is, naturally, none other than our very own Sovereign Alpha!”
The announcement hit the room like a thunderclap.
It was as though the entire hall had collectively forgotten how to breathe for those tense few seconds, the silence hanging precariously in the air before it finally shattered under the weight of the crowd’s reaction like a sheet of ice being forcibly smashed onto the ground.
Cheers erupted like a tidal wave, rolling through the assembly with a ferocity that completely dwarfed any previous response. Applause thundered from every corner of the hall, punctuated by astonished gasps and disbelieving murmurs.
Recruits leapt to their feet, some clapping wildly, others shouting Sovereign Alpha’s name or cheering specific squad members or their nicknames that had been circulating amongst the Recruits since the end of the assessment.
Thea’s brain struggled to keep up, her Perception’s filters utterly failing to try and keep out the symphony of chaos around them, her heart pounding as the realization slowly sunk in.
‘The Two-Star Crysium. The highest award possible. We just won that…’
She glanced around, catching glimpses of the mixed reactions among the crowd.
Some Recruits wore broad, genuine smiles, their applause filled with admiration for what Sovereign Alpha had achieved. Others seemed stunned into immobility, their expressions a similar mix of disbelief that Thea herself felt, and begrudging respect.
Thea’s eyes darted towards Rachel Masters, seated just a single row back. Masters clapped, but there was a sharpness to it, her eyes fixed on Sovereign Alpha with an intensity that Thea couldn’t quite place.
But the subtle tension in her posture betrayed at least some of her feelings and Thea couldn’t help but crack a predatory grin in her direction, earning herself a murderous glare.
‘That’s fucking right, you bitch. This is what a real squad looks like,’ she thought as she turned back towards the rest of Alpha Squad, barely in time to see them start their way up towards the Podium.
Corvus, with a broad grin on his face, that even his stoic self couldn’t hide, led the squad’s movement. He gestured for the squad to rise with a steadying hand, his calm, authoritative presence grounding them in the face of the overwhelming response.
“Come on,” he said, his tone positively suffused with pride. “This is our moment. Let’s fucking own it.”
Thea found herself standing almost on autopilot, her grip on her medals tightening as she tried to ground herself amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside her.
Lucas gave her a reassuring nod as he gave Desmond a hand, Isabella flashed her a grin that practically radiated “We showed ‘em, didn’t we?” and Karania squeezed her shoulder gently, her ever-calm smile carrying more warmth than words could.
The squad moved as one, making their way towards the podium under the weight of countless eyes.
Thea felt the energy in the hall shift, a palpable wave of awe and respect washing over the crowd as Sovereign Alpha ascended the stage together.
The lights above cast a sharp brilliance, illuminating them as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder.
The thunderous applause didn’t waver, but amidst the clamor, Thea’s sharp ears picked up fragments of muttered disbelief:
“Unbelievable.”
“Holy shit… They actually fucking did it…”
“A Recruit Squad actually won… Our Recruit Squad.”
Major Quinn extended her arms in a welcoming gesture, her smile wider than Thea had ever seen, and her voice carried effortlessly over the crowd as she addressed them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let us witness the impossible.”
She gestured toward the massive screen behind them, which flickered to life with the recordings of Sovereign Alpha’s harrowing encounter at the Control Station in Nova Tertius.
The footage began with their initial frantic attempts to respond to the ambush that had trapped them in a crumbling civilian building. The screen showed their growing confusion as their tactics unraveled under the influence of the Stellar Republic Psyker Duo.
Thea flinched at the vivid replay, her muscles tensing as memories of the chaos resurfaced.
The screen displayed the disorienting effects of the Psykers’ Powers: Auditory hallucinations that made orders impossible to trust, the subsequent, complete breakdown in verbal communication, and the eerie precision of echolocation attacks that turned their every movement into a deathtrap.
“Psykers,” Major Quinn’s voice narrated, “are one of the—if not the—most unpredictable and dangerous enemies a Marine can face. Their capabilities are rarely covered in pre-assessment training, as Recruitment Drives are often too closely aligned with new Assessments. Entire classes—multiple classes—are dedicated to understanding how to fight them. Yet, for most Marines, this information remains theoretical. The average Marine at Tier 1 or below rarely, if ever, encounters a Psyker during their entire career.”
She let that information ruminate for just a second, enough time for the Recruits in the hall to take in the information, but not enough for them to lose focus and start whispering to each other.
“For our Sovereign Alpha, however, this encounter was far from theoretical,” Major Quinn continued. “Meeting even one Psyker is an extraordinary challenge. Statistically, the chances of a Squad of Marines at Tier 1 or below surviving such an encounter, even with prior training, is a mere 3%. Without that training, the odds plummet to below 0.02%. Facing two simultaneously? The difficulty increases exponentially.”
Major Quinn paused once again, letting the gravity of her words and the statistics presented settle over the room before delivering the verdict:
“It is no exaggeration to say that for a fresh Recruit Squad—Alpha or otherwise—this scenario represents a practically guaranteed death sentence. And yet, against every conceivable odd, our Sovereign Alpha prevailed. Without prior knowledge. Without preparation. Without backup. They stood, adapted, and overcame. This victory is a clear showing of not only their training and talent but to their sheer, unyielding resolve and ability to rise to the challenge when it truly matters most. Without any further talking on my part, pay close attention to this master-class of small-scale warfare; it will undoubtedly be studied in future classes and included in future tests,” Major Quinn declared, her tone brimming with pride and even a hint of something unexpected—reverence.
The screen shifted, cutting to Sovereign Alpha’s desperate, chaotic improvisation in the face of overwhelming odds.
The footage slowed to show Thea shoving Lucas out of the way just before an air-implosion detonated, the concussive force ripping a chunk out of the grav-locked Stalwart atop the stairs’ landing.
The screen then captured Desmond in his last moments before another implosion tore through him a mere moment before he could follow Thea’s desperately gesticulated attempts to tell him to dodge, as his body was brutally split apart. Karania was at his side in an instant, her arms already working to stabilize him despite the abruptness of the moment.
The camera shifted to Isabella, her massive rotary gun spinning furiously as she prepared to unleash destruction at the behest of the Psykers’ manipulation.
The recording slowed further as the next pivotal moments played out.
Thea, bleeding profusely and with only one arm remaining after another air-implosion, gestured furiously toward the rest of the squad, rallying them for an all-out assault.
Her command wasn’t elegant—it was raw, instinctive, and left much to interpretation—but it conveyed a single, desperate message: Use the shield. Explode the floor. End this.
Trusting in Karania’s genius to decipher the specifics, Thea turned and stumbled toward the window, the Icicle clutched tightly in her last remaining hand.
The footage sped up, showcasing the remnants of Sovereign Alpha—Isabella, Lucas, and Karania—executing Thea’s improvised plan. They blasted their way through one floor after another, the structure groaning under the onslaught, the Stalwart cracking and breaking apart underneath them, until they reached the same level as the Psyker Duo.
As the apartments’ doors exploded outward, the recording slowed again.
Lucas and Karania opened fire from one side, grenades and precise bursts of bullets ricocheting off walls and killing Stellar Republic Soldiers and Clones where they stood, while Isabella surged out from the other, her rotary gun discarded in favor of her devastating melee strikes.
The screen captured the ensuing chaos in vivid detail:
Lucas’s massive form was lifted and flung through the air like a ragdoll as one of the Psykers unleashed a Psychic Scream, the force smashing him into the wall with a sickening crunch.
Karania, caught in the fringes of the attack, crumpled to the ground as her armor caved in almost entirely on one side, her helmet cracked and buckled-in under the immense pressure.
Yet, even as her squad fell around her, Isabella was relentless.
Wielding her Decimator with both hands, she tore through the Psykers’ protective squad with rabid abandon. Each enemy she faced left her with a new injury, yet she pressed on.
The recording focused on a grenade that Lucas had fired just before the Psychic Scream had hit him; thrown off-course and landed just below Isabella and the rest of the enemies.
The explosion rocked the corridor, scattering shrapnel and disorienting the last of the enemy guards. Using the blast as a catalyst, Isabella activated her [Kinetic Redirection] Ability, unleashing a cleaving attack that felled the final line of defenders with a single devastating sweep, cutting the last remaining enemies in half at the waist.
The camera zoomed in on the Psyker Duo, now exposed.
One turned toward the hallway, but before they could react, the footage slowed to a near stop, capturing a pinhole opening in the window behind them.
The Icicle’s deadly projectile pierced the glass from the outside, traveling with unerring precision. The screen showed the bullet boring straight through the first Psyker’s head in artistic slow-motion, the shard’s explosion inside the enemy’s head captured in all its gorey-glory, dropping them instantly.
The recording sped up again to show a one-armed Thea, bloodied, battered, and beyond exhausted, crashing through the shattered window.
With an almost eerie calm, she raised the Icicle once more and fired the final shot, executing the second Psyker with cold, calculated efficiency at point-blank range.
The hall was utterly silent for a beat as the footage faded.
Major Quinn’s voice, heavy with pride and awe, broke said stillness:
“It is downright unheard of for a fresh Recruit Squad to defeat a single Psyker that catches them off guard. For them to defeat a trained Duo of Psykers under such conditions? It is quite literally unprecedented.”
Thea felt a shiver run down her spine as the recording played out the final moments of the battle, the screen freezing on an image of a thoroughly battered and beaten version of herself.
For a moment, the hall remained silent, even after Major Quinn’s words; the Recruits still taking in the scenes they had just witnessed. She glanced at Corvus, who gave her a nod of approval, and then at the rest of her squad, who were clearly affected by seeing that desperate struggle once again; their faces tense and serious as they stared up at the screen.
The silence didn’t last long.
A moment later, the hall erupted into an uproarious wave of applause, cheers, and shouts that rivaled the earlier celebration when Sovereign Alpha had first been announced as the winners.
Recruits stood, their hands slamming together with renewed energy, and others leaned into the aisles to cheer more directly toward the stage.
Shouts of “Alpha Squad!” and individual names like “Isabella!” and “Lucas!” mixed with whistles and hollers. Even the more reserved sections of the crowd joined in with nods and polite claps, a rare acknowledgment of sheer, undeniable accomplishment.
Major Quinn raised her arms, signaling for calm, and the crowd obeyed—albeit slower than usual, their excitement taking longer to simmer down. As the hall finally quieted enough for her voice to carry, Major Quinn’s smile broadened.
“And now,” she began, her voice infused with pride, “it is my distinct honor to present the Two-Star Crysium Ace Squad medals to each member of Sovereign Alpha.”
She gestured to the podium beside her, where an attendant brought forward a sleek display case, housing the glowing, light-blue medals that seemed to radiate a sense of cosmic importance.
“As you may already know, this Medal represents the pinnacle of squad-based achievement, rewarding not only individual skill but also cohesion, ingenuity, and sheer grit. However, the rewards, naturally, don’t stop there.” Major Quinn turned to the crowd.
“Alongside this medal, Sovereign Alpha will receive a squad-wide reward of 30,000 Sovereign-Store Credits, usable exclusively for squad purchases aboard the Sovereign’s many facilities. While the System does not allow shared accounts, this is the best solution the UHF has devised to reward a collective victory at this scale without breaking its rules.”
She paused as murmurs rippled through the crowd, the enormity of the reward dawning on them.
“Additionally,” Major Quinn continued, her tone steady but carrying a clear undercurrent of pride, “the squad will receive six Skill Vouchers, to be distributed as they see fit amongst themselves.”
Thea’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the mention of the Skill Vouchers. Six was a substantial number for a single squad to receive at once—although, with her already considerable collection of seven of them, the magnitude didn’t fully land for her.
Still, she understood the significance, especially for her squadmates.
Her gaze drifted toward them, taking in their varied reactions.
Isabella’s eyes widened, the rare display of shock on her typically brash face saying more than words ever could. Next to her, Desmond leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the rest of the squad, his lips moving as he mouthed, “What the fuck?”
Even Karania tilted her head slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing her features before she gave Thea a knowing glance—one that clearly said, “Well, we earned this, didn’t we?”
“And lastly,” Major Quinn said, her smile shifting into something more personal and genuine, “as a personal reward from myself, as the leader of this Recruitment Drive and the Proprietor of the Kuigon Star-Sector, each member of Sovereign Alpha will be granted a claim to any non-owned celestial object within the Kuigon Star-Sector. This includes stars, planets, moons, or any other space-bound body of your choosing. These claims will remain reserved for you until such a time as you retire from the UHF Marines, whereupon they will become fully yours to own.”
The hall fell into stunned silence.
The weight of the last reward hit like an artillery shell, and Thea could feel the ripple of disbelief passing through the crowd.
Corvus, always the composed one, finally broke character with a wide-eyed blink, his usually stoic expression giving way to unguarded surprise.
“Did she just… offer us a fucking planet?” Isabella muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not just planets,” Desmond said, his tone laden with equal parts disbelief and awe. “Fucking stars too.”
Lucas glanced at Thea, his brows furrowed in stunned bewilderment. “I… I don’t... Do we… Can she even do that? How does this even work…?”
Even Karania—usually unshakable, her sharp mind often eerily predicting future outcomes with unsettling precision—stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape, eyes wide as if she were trying to process an impossible equation. For someone who always seemed to have an answer, seeing her so visibly stunned was enough to make Thea’s head spin even more.
Thea, still gripping the medals in her hand, felt their weight pressing against her palm, grounding her in the moment. But any sense of stability ended there.
Words, thoughts—anything resembling coherent reasoning—evaded her entirely.
Her mind tried to race, but every attempt at forming a logical conclusion hit an insurmountable wall of disbelief.
The idea of being given a celestial object—a planet, a moon, a star, something that only governments and the most powerful entities in the galaxy usually laid claim to—was so far beyond anything she’d ever considered possible that it felt like her brain refused to process it.
‘A celestial object…? Me?’ she thought, the words circling endlessly but finding no anchor.
It was a reward so far removed from anything remotely reasonable that her mind buckled under the sheer weight of its absurdity. Thea glanced toward Corvus, who, for once, looked just as stunned as the rest of them, his stoic composure cracked by an incredulous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“This can’t be real,” she murmured softly, the words barely audible even to herself.
Major Quinn’s voice cut through the stunned murmurs of the audience and the incredulous whispers of Alpha Squad. “The achievements of Sovereign Alpha are, without question, deserving of these rewards. They have not only set a new example for what a Recruit Squad can accomplish but have done so under circumstances that would break even the most seasoned Marines. Let this be a reminder to all of you—your potential knows no bounds.”
The applause started hesitantly, a few scattered claps punctuating the stunned silence that hung in the air like a held breath. Then, as realization spread through the crowd, the sound swelled, building momentum until it became a roaring wave of cheers and celebration.
Thea, however, was barely aware of it.
The thunderous noise faded into the background as her mind remained stuck on the sheer absurdity of the reward.
A star. A planet. A celestial object.
The words echoed over and over, each iteration feeling no closer to reality than the last.
How could someone like her—someone who grew up fighting for scraps in the underbelly of Lumiosia’s Undercity—be given something so incomprehensibly vast?
She stared blankly ahead, clutching her medals tightly, their weight a constant reminder of the bizarrely surreal circumstances she now found herself in.
It wasn’t until Major Quinn stepped in front of her, her imposing presence commanding Thea’s attention, that she snapped back to reality.
Major Quinn extended her hand, the blue-hued Crysium Medal in the other.
For the fifth time today, Thea found herself standing as the center of attention in the hall, her nerves jittering as the Major leaned in slightly, her voice low enough to be heard only by Thea.
“I told you, you should get used to being up here, didn’t I?” Major Quinn whispered, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, punctuated by her now-familiar wink.
Thea blinked, momentarily startled by the casualness of her words amidst the formality of the ceremony.
Before she could even think of a response, the Major’s attention shifted seamlessly to Karania, leaving Thea standing there, the medal now cool and solid in her hand.
Thea stared at the medal in her hand, its blue-hued brilliance catching the overhead lights.
For a moment, she couldn’t move, the applause and cheers from the crowd blending into an indistinct roar.
Slowly, she stepped back, following her squad as they began their descent from the podium. Her legs felt heavy, her movements mechanical, as if her body was still catching up with the reality of what had just happened.
They filed back to their seats together, but the usual air of camaraderie was absent.
No jokes from Isabella, no quiet reassurances from Karania, not even the subtle, grounding presence of Corvus’ leadership. They were all lost in their thoughts, their minds reeling from the enormity of what had been offered.
The UHF’s rewards—Credits, Skill Vouchers, and the satisfaction of achievement—felt tangible, practical. But Major Quinn’s personal reward? A celestial object?
Thea turned the idea over in her mind, trying to grasp its implications.
‘A star, a planet, or a moon…‘
What was she even supposed to do with something like that?
It wasn’t like she could just pack up and move there after retirement.
Most celestial objects weren’t habitable—no atmosphere, no terraforming, nothing. Even a planet was essentially a barren rock without extensive, and likely incredibly expensive, work.
And a star? That was an even more absurd concept.
What did it even mean to own a star?
Despite the endless questions, one undeniable truth kept cutting through the chaos of her thoughts: It was still one of the coolest fucking things anyone could ever own.
They reached their seats, the weight of the medals in her hands now matched by the weight in her chest. The cheers from the other Recruits grew louder as they passed, congratulations and shouted names echoing around them.
Yet Alpha Squad barely noticed.
Each member was caught in their own head, struggling to process the enormity of it all.
Thea noticed it particularly with Corvus.
Normally, he would stop to acknowledge the congratulations or offer a polite nod, but he simply kept walking, his expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief. He even ended up sitting down before her, something that rarely happened in this kind of circumstance, his usual social graces seemingly absent as he stared blankly at the floor.
By the time Thea lowered herself into her chair, the noise around them felt like it belonged to a different world.
She glanced at her squadmates—Isabella, slack-jawed and still shaking her head with a massive grin on her face; Desmond, muttering quietly to himself; Lucas, absently stroking the blue-hued Medal; and Karania, her wide-eyed expression betraying just how deeply the announcement had rattled even her.
‘This is utterly fucking insane,’ Thea thought, looking down at her own medals. The UHF’s rewards were one thing, but this… This felt like something out of a dream.
Major Quinn reclaimed control over the hall with a commanding raise of her hand, her presence cutting through the din of cheers and applause like a knife.
The energy in the room dimmed to a low murmur, and soon, silence fell once again.
Thea shook herself from her thoughts, snapping her focus back to the podium as the Major began speaking.
“And now,” Major Quinn declared, her voice carrying an air of finality, “we come to the last and perhaps most anticipated category of the evening: the Most Valuable Marine Recruit and Assessment Awards...”
The rest of the Chapter is in Arc 1 - Finale - Primum (2/2), which will be available 30 minutes after this Chapter here is live.
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