[Inside the Academy – Headmaster's Office]
The low hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound in the room. Papers lay scattered across the desk, half-covered in red markings and notes.
Adam sat slouched in his chair, brown hair slightly unkempt, his beard looking like he'd attacked it with a razor in a rush.
His sharp, tired eyes flicked through the latest performance reports, his mind already thinking ahead to the upcoming unit tests.
The first-year results were due any minute, and for once, he found himself almost eager to see how they'd done.
He leaned back with a sigh, tapping his fingers against the armrest in quiet rhythm—until the office door burst open so violently it nearly tore off its hinges.
"Colonel Adam, sir!" an instructor gasped out, chest heaving. His face had gone completely pale.
"We've lost contact with the testing ground control room! It's been over an hour since the last update!"
Adam's body went still. His eyes narrowed, the lines around them deepening. "No…" he muttered under his breath, the word slipping out like a quiet plea.
Before he could even rise, the door slammed open again. Another instructor stumbled in, panic etched across his face.
"Sir! We just received a distress beacon from the control room. It's bad—urgent priority!"
That was all Adam needed to hear. He shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, his commanding presence snapping into place like a drawn blade.
"Assemble a rescue unit—now," he ordered, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Ready an airship. We're wheels up in ten minutes."
"Yes, sir!" both instructors barked, already sprinting out the door.
Adam reached for his phone, fingers steady despite the storm rising in his chest. The call connected instantly.
"Gear up," he said flatly. "We're moving out." He ended the call before the other voice could respond, sliding the phone back into his pocket as he strode toward the door.
His boots echoed down the empty corridor, each step heavier than the last. The testing ground was supposed to be safe—sealed, monitored, completely isolated from outside interference.
If communication had gone down and a distress signal was sent… there was only one explanation.
Fantasians.
His jaw tightened. He could already picture the scene—the chaos, the smoke, the panic.
Those kids were still out there. Fresh recruits with more guts than experience. They were strong, yes, but still learning what war really meant. They weren't ready for this. Not yet.
He cursed under his breath, a low growl of frustration. He should've pushed for tighter security, and backup.
He should've known something like this could happen. If any of those cadets were hurt—if even one of them didn't make it back—he'd never forgive himself.
No time for that now. Regret wouldn't save them. Action might.
By the time he reached the hangar, the rescue team was already assembling.
The air was thick with urgency—the hiss of steam valves, the clatter of boots on metal, the bark of last-minute commands.
The academy's airship loomed over them, a steel beast humming with energy, its engines already spinning up for launch.
Adam didn't slow down. He climbed aboard, his presence cutting through the noise like a blade through water. Every soldier straightened instinctively.
"Status report," he said, his voice level but commanding.
One of the officers stepped forward, saluting crisply. "Sir, the airship is prepped and fully armed. The rescue team's geared and ready for immediate departure. We're waiting on your go."
Adam's gaze swept over the assembled soldiers. They were among the academy's best soldiers, but even they couldn't hide the unease in their eyes.
Everyone knew what it meant when communications went dark at a test site.
He gave a single, firm nod. "We're moving now," he said. "If something's gone wrong, we fix it. And if anyone's still alive down there…" His eyes hardened. "We bring them home."
The engines thundered to life, the hangar floor trembling beneath them. As the massive airship lifted off, the academy shrank into the distance—its towers swallowed by clouds.
Adam stood at the front, arms crossed, gaze locked on the horizon ahead. His reflection flickered faintly in the glass, the faintest trace of worry shadowing his features.
'Hold on, kids,' he thought grimly. 'Just hold on a little longer.'
He didn't pray often, but as the airship cut through the morning sky, he found himself doing exactly that.