Sunlight slants through the dorm window at the same angle it did yesterday.And the day before that.It hits my desk with surgical precision, catching the rim of the orange juice and casting soft shadows across my plate. Eggs, toast cut into triangles. Perfect. Predictable.My stomach twists.“Morning, Ez!” Marcus’s voice snaps through the air like a rubber band. He’s already dressed, shoes tied, hair combed, smile locked in place like it was painted on. “Sleep well? You were tossing a lot last night.”“Yeah,” I say, dragging my legs over the edge of the mattress. “Just dreams.”He zips his bag closed in one smooth motion. “What kind?”I pause. They’re already slipping away. The images dissolving like breath on glass.“I don’t know. Familiar. Maybe.” I rub the back of my neck. My skin still feels hot, like I’ve just come in from a fire I don’t remember being in.“Probably nerves.” He hoists his bag over one shoulder. “Ready for another fantastic day at Meridian Academy? Strategic

The headache starts in History of Strategic Warfare, a needle behind my eyes, sharp and sudden.Professor Zane’s voice drones from the front of the room, his cadence smooth and disinterested. Something about ancient flanking maneuvers. But the words warp as they reach me, like they’re traveling underwater. My vision pulses.I blink.The classroom glitches.Wooden desks flicker, replaced by cold metal slabs. Students taking notes become pale bodies, limp, tethered to tubes, chests barely rising. The warm sunlight spilling through the windows turns sterile, replaced by overhead fluorescence humming like a swarm.Then…It snaps back.Wood. Not metal. Students, not pale bodies. Zane’s lecture resumes mid-sentence, but my heart won’t slow. The bracelet around my wrist burns hot.“Ezren?” Zane’s voice cuts through. “You seem… distressed.”He’s staring at me now. The students don’t look up. Still scribbling.“I’m fine.” The words scrape out of my throat.He steps from behind the podium.

The screams overhead dissolve into silence, unnatural, mechanical, wrong. A sterile red pulse washes over Devon’s workstation, casting shadows like dripping blood across the concrete.Fingers flying across keys, Devon doesn’t even blink. “I’m using the chaos to breach deeper,” he mutters, sweat trickling down his temple, catching the strobe light. “Phase Two activated backdoors they never expected anyone to find.”On the screens, data blooms like a virus set free, schematics blooming out of nothing, layer after buried layer of the facility unfolding far beyond the neat lines of our so-called school. A labyrinth of steel and purpose snakes downward into the earth. The walls feel closer. Thicker.“This…” His voice falters, caught between awe and dread. “This isn’t just an academy simulation. Look, subsections here, here, and here. Combat scenarios. Resource control simulations. Leadership trials under artificial stress.”He leans forward, knuckles white against the keyboard. “We’re

The chamber hums with pressure before I even enter, like the walls are holding their breath. At its center, suspended midair, floats the construct. Concentric rings of energy crackle around it, anchored by emitters embedded in the floor, the walls, the ceiling. They pulse like a heartbeat. I feel it in my ribs. The object is manta-shaped and massive, its black surface folding over itself like liquid armor. Purple light breathes from beneath the skin, casting shifting shadows that move like they’re alive. “This is what we recovered from the crash,” Dr. Aveline says quietly. “A warning, and a weapon. We just never figured out how to use it without dying.” Devon steps toward the holographic interface. His fingers hover, twitching. The streams of alien code shimmer like tangled music, impossible to follow. His face shifts from fascination to unease. “It’s not… logic,” he murmurs. “It’s thought.” I frown. “Thought?” “Yeah. It’s thinking in real time. Every symbol, every

The connectors behind my ears ignite, no warmth, no pain, just fire. Thought fractures like glass shattering underwater. One moment, Dr. Aveline’s worried face hovers behind the pod’s glass seal. The next… I’m here. Boots sink into a surface that isn’t there. Stars hang low overhead, dozens of them, too sharp, too still. The sky burns violet and gold, smeared across a horizon that never curves. Space itself stretches outward like a lie. Weight settles in my palm, solid, familiar, alive. The blade hums before I can think. Blue plasma dances across its edge, lighting veins of geometric circuitry that feel… intimate. Like the weapon knows me. Knows what I’ve done. What I will do. “Neural interface established,” Devon’s voice murmurs, distant and underwater. “Consciousness transfer complete,” he adds. “Vitals?” Aveline again, tight, clinical. “Accelerated. But stable. The weapon appeared on its own… we’ve never seen that before.” A ripple tears through the silence. From abov