In their dorm room, Qiri was buried in a growing mess—half-packed bags, unfolded clothes, and accessories spread across her bed like a small market stall. She moved between items with frantic energy, holding one, then another, unsure what to keep.
Niri watched from her bed, her own belongings already packed into a small, neat bundle at her feet. She held the blue orb in her hands, turning it slowly, unconsciously.
She glanced at Qiri, deadpan. "You can pick a few things, you know. We're not going on holiday."
Qiri huffed, dropping a folded jacket on top of a half-zipped bag. "I can't help it. I panic if I feel unprepared."
Niri smirked faintly. "Three bags full of clothes and two types of sleepwear is your definition of prepared?"
Qiri groaned and flopped back into the pile. "Maybe."
A soft chime broke through the air.
Niri's watchpad lit up.
She blinked once, then sat up straighter, her fingers tightening slightly around the orb.
Qiri looked over. "Another update?"
Niri's eyes didn't move from the screen. Her voice was flat—but something in it had shifted. "No. It's from the Chancellor."
That made Qiri stop.
Niri turned the pad toward her, letting the notification speak for itself.
Qiri leaned forward, reading the short line of text. Her face changed.
"She wants to see you?" she asked, quieter now. "Personally?"
Niri nodded slowly. "Says it's immediate."
The humor drained from the room like air escaping a broken seal. Qiri sat back on the edge of her bed, bags forgotten.
"Is this about... what happened at the gates?" she asked carefully.
"I don't know," Niri said. But her voice didn't sound convinced.
She stood, slipping the orb back into the protective cloth and tucking it into her pack.
Qiri didn't speak. She just watched her roommate—a little warier now.
Niri paused by the door, glancing back over her shoulder.
"So, Qiri... I'll leave you alone for a while. I hope you manage to figure out what you're actually bringing."
Her voice was dry, but not unkind.
Qiri stood in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by piles of clothes, half-folded tunics, and scattered personal items. She looked around helplessly at the mess.
"I really thought I had a system," she muttered.
Niri closed the door behind her, leaving Qiri to wrestle with her overpacked chaos.
The hallway outside was quiet. Too quiet.
She adjusted the strap of her pack and started walking, boots echoing softly against the polished floor. The Academy's upper corridors were always cooler—sterile in a way that made her feel watched, even when they were empty.
She didn't rush.
The Chancellor's summons didn't ask for urgency, but it didn't leave room for delay either. And Niri had learned something since arriving here—when Yvith Korr asked for you, you went.
No questions. No excuses.
Just presence.
She stepped into the small transport lift, the door sliding shut with a soft hiss behind her.
A moment later, just before the cabin moved, another figure stepped in.
Professor Lu'Ka.
He didn't speak right away. Just gave her a short glance—a quiet acknowledgment, not surprise.
Niri met his eyes briefly, then looked ahead as the elevator began to descend.
Silence filled the space between them, the kind that wasn't awkward—but full of things left unsaid.
After a moment, Lu'Ka spoke, his voice calm and measured.
"She summoned both of us."
Niri nodded once. "I figured."
Another pause. The lights above flickered softly as they passed through each level.
Then Lu'Ka added, "Stay honest. But not loud."
Niri let out the faintest breath. "I'm not the loud one."
He almost smiled. Almost.
A few quiet seconds passed.
Lu'Ka glanced at her again—not as a professor, but as someone who had seen too much. "How are you doing? Really?" he asked. "We haven't spoken in a while."
Niri hesitated, eyes still fixed on the elevator doors.
"I... can't really adapt. Not fully," she said quietly. "It's too much. Too fast."
Lu'Ka nodded, not interrupting.
She added, almost to herself, "Even when it's quiet, it still feels like something's coming."
There was no correction. No reassurances.
Only a long pause, and then his reply: "You're not wrong."
He spoke again, softer this time.
"I remember when we first traveled together. When I found you..."
He paused, watching the floor numbers blink past.
"You've evolved fast, Niri. Even if you haven't noticed it yourself."
He looked at her—not to flatter, but to acknowledge.
"It's remarkable."
Niri turned to him.
"I don't know, Lu'Ka… honestly. I'm not sure if I preferred Dakun or this place."
She looked down at her hands, then back to the door.
"Dakun was brutal—but I knew the patterns. Even if it was unpredictable, it made sense."
Her voice dropped.
"Here… it's like I'm walking blind."
Lu'Ka didn't answer immediately.
Then, slowly, he lifted one hand—blue-skinned, steady—and placed it gently on Niri's shoulder.
It wasn't a grand gesture. Just quiet, deliberate contact.
A way of saying: I see it.
She didn't flinch, but she didn't lean into it either.
She just stood there—silent, holding still—like someone used to carrying weight that no one else acknowledged.
But Lu'Ka could feel it now.
The tension she buried. The anxiety she hid too well.
Too well.
He gave her shoulder a light squeeze before letting go.
"You're doing well, Niri," he said simply.
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a quiet corridor lined with dark alloy and dim blue lights.
Lu'Ka stepped forward. "Come on," he said. "Let's see what the Chancellor wants."
Niri followed without a word.
They crossed the short corridor, passing two Grounx guards who stood motionless outside the chamber entrance. Their eyes followed Niri with the same intensity they always did—calculated, unreadable.
The door opened.
Inside, Chancellor Yvith Korr stood beneath a canopy of flickering holographic projections. Multiple excavation scans floated in the air—rotating architecture, glyph fragments, and topographical maps of the high-gravity world. One projection pulsed with glitchy light, trying to stabilize.
She didn't turn to greet them.
"Cadet Niri. Human," she said instead.
Her voice was composed, distant. Formal.
"And Professor Lu'Ka."
Now she turned. Her four eyes assessed them both in silence for a moment.
"Stand there. We need to assess exactly what we're dealing with."
Niri approached slowly, falling into step beside Lu'Ka as they moved toward the center of the room.
The projections surrounded them—rotating fragments of buried structures, layered symbols, atmospheric scans. The main hologram pulsed with soft amber and violet tones, casting flickers of light across their faces as they stepped beneath it.
Niri's eyes scanned the central projection.
Then she froze.
Something shifted in her gaze. Her pupils narrowed, focus sharpening like a blade sliding into place. The structure wasn't just foreign anymore.
It was familiar.
Her breathing caught—just slightly—but enough for both Lu'Ka and Chancellor Yvith to notice.
She didn't speak. Not yet.
But her silence said enough.
Lu'Ka glanced sideways, his posture adjusting. Yvith's lower eyes narrowed, registering the change immediately.
Whatever these ruins were, Niri recognized them.
Yvith's voice cut through the silence—sharp, but composed.
"Miss Niri. I think you know what this is. Your reaction says as much."
Niri didn't answer right away.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I don't remember it clearly," she said, voice low. "But I recognize the forms. The structure. It feels... known."
She wasn't looking at either of them—just at the ruins hanging in the air. Like they were calling something back she couldn't fully reach.
Lu'Ka stepped a little closer, his voice low but steady.
"Can you tell us more?" he asked.
Niri didn't move, still locked on the rotating projection.
"I don't have names for it," she said quietly. "No words. Just... a sense. Like muscle memory. Like I've stood there before. Or something like it."
She shook her head slightly.
"It's not just the shape. It's the way the walls lean. The way the light bends around the entrance. It feels designed to pull you in."
A sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes—fast, blinding. Pressure built in her skull, like something waking behind her eyes. Her breath stuttered.
The projection flickered. The room felt wrong. Tilted.
She closed her eyes—too late.
Flash.
Stone corridors. Voices. Red lights. Shadows—moving, watching. Figures she couldn't name but had once known. Symbols burned into walls. The sound of something ancient waking up.
Her knees buckled.
Another flash. Sharper. Deeper.
She collapsed.
Professor Lu'Ka reacted first, reaching out to catch her before she hit the floor. But even as he did, he grunted under the unexpected weight—her petite frame suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
Without hesitation, he adjusted her gravity belt to zero. The tension lifted, and he lowered her gently to the ground. Her body eased into the floor, limbs slack, breathing shallow.
Her blue eyes were open—staring into something distant, unreachable.
She mumbled something—words in no language they recognized.
Her body trembled, just slightly. A soft, involuntary shake.
Chancellor Yvith moved fast, her voice steady but sharpened by urgency.
She tapped her watchpad with practiced precision.
"Mr. Rout. Medical override. Now."