CHAPTER 7: The Last Civil Year
The air in the Grand Hall of Argentis Secondary Academy buzzed with a mix of relief, anticipation, and a hint of melancholy. Hundreds of graduating seniors, Kai and Cloe among them, sat in orderly rows, dressed in dark blue graduation robes. The stage lights illuminated Director Valdés, a thin man with a neatly trimmed gray beard, as he delivered his closing speech for the academic year.
Kai barely listened to the director's words about "the future of Argentis" and "the responsibility of the new generation." His mind was elsewhere, torn between the solemnity of the moment and the impatience gnawing at his gut. Sixteen years old, about to turn seventeen. The end of school meant the end of waiting. In just a few weeks, he would report to the Recruitment Center. The thought was like a magnet, pulling him with an almost physical force.
He glanced sideways at Cloe, seated beside him. As usual, she appeared to be politely attentive, though Kai could see subtle tension in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the holographic program. The past year had been... strange for her. Her sessions with Dr. Thorne had grown more intense, more secretive. Sometimes she returned from them pale and exhausted, with a distant look that worried him. She had gained remarkable control over creating simple, stable geometric shapes and could even manipulate the density of certain materials.
Director Valdés concluded his speech with a call to excellence and service. Polite applause followed. Then, one by one, the graduates were called to the stage to receive their digital diplomas—certificates marking the completion of compulsory education in Argentis.
When "Kai Alenko" was called, he stood and walked to the stage, feeling the gaze of his parents and younger siblings from the audience. His mother smiled at him with tears in her eyes; his father, his polished metal prosthetic arm gleaming under the lights, gave him a solemn, proud nod. He shook Director Valdés' hand, accepted the data chip containing his diploma, and returned to his seat, the small device feeling strangely heavy in his palm. One chapter closed. Another about to begin.
When "Cloe Valerius" was called, a murmur rippled through the hall. The daughter of Commander Marcus Valerius. The girl who had stopped the walkway collapse. Her name now carried a mix of awe and curiosity. She walked to the stage with her usual quiet grace, but Kai noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she accepted her diploma. The weight of expectations was visible.
After the ceremony, the hall filled with the bustle of families congratulating the graduates. Kai was surrounded by his parents and his two younger siblings, Leo and Sara, who looked at him with a mix of admiration and their usual sibling rivalry.
"You did it, Kai!" his mother said, hugging him tightly. "Are you sure about... what comes next?" Her voice carried the worry that never fully faded.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm sure," Kai replied, trying to sound more confident than he sometimes felt.
His father placed a hand on his shoulder, grip firm. "We've talked about this. You know what's ahead. Train hard. Keep a cool head. Watch out for your comrades." These weren't empty words of encouragement—they were the creed of a man who had seen war up close and paid its price.
Liam approached, grinning, with his own parents in tow. "Well, Alenko, we made it. Free from the tyranny of Mrs. Aris and her essays on the False Peace economy."
"For now," Kai shot back, returning the smile. "Soon we'll have Sergeant Rex yelling at us for not cleaning our rifles properly."
"A refreshing change, I say," Liam said. "At least Sergeant Rex won't ask you to cite three primary sources."
They found Cloe near the exit, speaking quietly with her father and Dr. Thorne, who had discreetly attended the ceremony. Marcus Valerius looked as imposing as ever in his uniform, but there was a softness in his expression as he watched his daughter.
"Congratulations to you both," Marcus said as Kai and Liam approached, his deep voice resonating with authority even amid the noise. "An important milestone."
"Thank you, Commander," Liam said with a respect he rarely showed.
"Congratulations, Cloe," Kai said, meeting her gaze. Her green eyes held a depth that disarmed him. "How do you feel?"
"Relieved it's over," she admitted with a small smile. "And... a little nervous about what's next."
"We all are," Liam said.
Dr. Thorne, with her wise, penetrating gaze, observed the three young graduates. "The end of one stage is always the beginning of another," she said in her soft, clear voice. "What matters is how you choose to walk the new path."
In the weeks that followed, Argentis seemed to hold its breath. It was the brief interlude between the end of school life and the start of adult assignments—military service for most young men like Kai and Liam, advanced technical programs, industrial apprenticeships, or, for a select few like Cloe, a more uncertain and specialized path.
Kai spent those days in a kind of limbo. He trained even harder but also made time for his family, knowing these moments would soon grow scarce. He helped his father repair a damaged section of their small community hydroponic garden, work that required patience and precision—qualities Kai often struggled with outside combat contexts.
One afternoon, he found Cloe sitting alone on one of Argentis' upper observation decks, a quiet spot offering a panoramic view of the city's rooftops and the towering mountain peaks beyond, bathed in the artificial sunset's orange glow. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of genetically modified pine from the hanging parks.
He sat beside her in silence. She was sketching on her tablet—not equations or molecular diagrams, but an intricate, melancholic mountain landscape.
"It's beautiful," Kai said after a moment.
Cloe looked up, startled. "Oh, hi, Kai. Didn't hear you come in." She quickly put away the tablet, as if caught doing something forbidden. "Just... passing the time."
"You're good at drawing," he said. "Didn't know you liked it."
"It's nothing special," she shrugged. "Sometimes it helps me... think. Or not think." She paused. "Are you ready?"
Kai knew what she meant. "As ready as I can be."
"I'm scared for you," she confessed quietly, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the perimeter lights flickered.
"I know," Kai said. "I get scared too sometimes." It was an admission he rarely made. "But it's what I have to do, Cloe."
"I know," she echoed. She turned to him, and for a moment, the worry in her eyes was so intense that Kai felt a pang in his chest. "Just... promise me you'll be careful. No stupid risks."
"I'll do my best," he said with a half-smile. "But I can't promise zero stupidity. Think it comes with the uniform."
She laughed then, a genuine but bittersweet sound. "Guess so." Silence fell between them again, but this time it was different—closer, heavier with the weight of impending separation. The last civil year was ending, and with it, the final remnants of their shared childhood. The future was a blank page, terrifying and full of unknowns.
The weeks after graduation slipped by in a mix of routine and growing anticipation. For Kai, it meant doubling down on his already rigorous training. His mornings began before Argentis' artificial dawn, with runs along the residential sector's inner perimeter, the cold mountain air biting his lungs. He followed up with strength training at the premilitary facilities, where he often crossed paths with Liam, both pushing each other to their limits under the critical eyes of instructors who already saw them as future recruits.
"Alenko, O'Connell, think the Runners will stop for tea?" barked Instructor Rivas, a burly man with a thunderous voice. "Faster! Stronger! Your lives and your squad's will depend on every ounce of effort you put in now!"
At Depot RM-7, Kai had gone from a mere cataloger to a valued technician's apprentice. The NCOs, recognizing his aptitude and relentless curiosity, let him perform more complex diagnostics on incoming Aegis II suits for maintenance. He learned to identify common failure points, interpret system error codes, and even perform minor repairs under supervision. Every component he touched, every circuit he analyzed, was a lesson. He saw firsthand the brutality of the insect attacks—cerametal plating pierced like paper, servos shattered by kinetic impacts, optical systems blinded by corrosive fluids.
One afternoon, while helping Chief Technician Gus dismantle a damaged Aegis II leg, the older man pointed to a deep gash in the thigh armor. "See this, kid? Stalker claw. A big one, judging by the angle and depth. Pilot was lucky to walk away with just a compound fracture." Gus wiped sweat from his brow. "Aegis IIs are good for training—teach you to feel the weight, respect the machine. But out there... against what's waiting... you'll need every edge the Mark III can give. And even then, sometimes it won't be enough."
These doses of reality kept Kai grounded. They stopped his impatience from curdling into arrogance. He knew that no matter how much he trained, the real learning would begin on the battlefield.
At home, the atmosphere was a mix of pride and apprehension. His mother, Elara Alenko, a botanist in the community greenhouses, tried to maintain normalcy, but Kai saw the worry in her eyes whenever he returned late from training or the depot. His younger siblings, Leo (12) and Sara (10), watched him with a new mix of admiration and a little fear. To them, their big brother was about to become one of those imposing soldiers patrolling the streets.
His father, Corbin Alenko, now overseeing logistics in the same greenhouses as his wife, spent more time with him. They didn't talk much about war itself, but about discipline, responsibility, the importance of camaraderie. One evening, sitting on their apartment's small balcony overlooking Argentis' lights stretching across the mountain valley, Corbin showed Kai the stump of his left arm where the prosthetic connected.
"This," Corbin said quietly, "was from a stupid mistake. Overconfidence. A lone Runner I thought I could handle while repairing a conduit. Taught me the hardest way that you can never let your guard down. Not for a second." He met Kai's eyes. "Remember that, son. The moment you think you're invincible is when you're most vulnerable."
Cloe, meanwhile, was diving deeper into the world Dr. Thorne was unveiling. Their sessions were no longer just about control but understanding. The doctor taught her deep meditation, how to sense the subtle energy flows that, she claimed, permeated the universe and fueled her power. They studied ancient texts recovered from before the Fall—fragments of Eastern philosophy, forgotten quantum theories, anything that might shed light on the mind-matter connection.
"Your power isn't just a tool, Cloe," Dr. Thorne explained one day as they observed a delicate crystal Cloe had managed to materialize for nearly a minute. "It's an extension of your consciousness. To shape matter, you must first shape your mind, your emotions. Fear, doubt, anger... they're like storms disturbing the ocean of energy. Calm, clear intent, acceptance... these are the winds that can guide your sails."
Cloe began noticing changes. Small but significant. The fatigue after using her power lessened slightly. She could maintain simple forms longer. She even started experimenting with altering object properties—making an energy shield denser or a light brighter. But fine control remained elusive, especially under stress.
Tension in Argentis spiked a few weeks before Kai's recruitment date. An outpost in Sector Zeta, on the border with the infested wastelands, suffered a coordinated, alarmingly sophisticated attack. Not just Runners—reports mentioned Stalkers moving in sync and, most worryingly, possible Praetorian involvement. General alert sirens wailed across Argentis for hours, a chilling reminder of their fragile safety. Rapid response forces, including several Gifted, were deployed.
Kai and Liam, along with other premilitary cadets, were assigned to support roles in the inner defense levels—distributing emergency supplies, guiding civilians to secondary shelters, maintaining comm lines. From his post at an auxiliary comm center, Kai overheard fragmented, static-laced reports from the front: explosions, screams, desperate orders. A wave of frustrated helplessness hit him—being here, far from the real fight—but so did a cold fear for the soldiers fighting and dying right then.
The attack was eventually repelled, but with casualties. Official statements called it "acceptable losses" and praised the "heroic perimeter defense." But the rumors circulating through back channels were grimmer. Whispers said one of the younger second-generation Gifted had been severely injured.
The incident cast a shadow over Kai's final civilian days. The war, so long a distant threat or training simulation, had drawn near, baring its fangs. The night before reporting to the Recruitment Center, he found Cloe at their usual spot on the observation deck. The artificial "sun" had set, and Argentis' lights glittered like fallen stars in the valley, the perimeter towers blinking in the distance.
"Tomorrow," Kai said, breaking the silence.
"I know," Cloe replied. She had wrapped herself in a light shawl despite the controlled temperature. "How do you feel?"
"Impatient. Nervous. A bit of everything," he admitted. "But ready. I think."
She turned to look at him, and in the glow of the artificial stars dotting the dome above, he saw the determination in her eyes—but also a new shadow, a seriousness that hadn't been there a year ago. "Be careful, Kai," she whispered. "Please."
"I will," he promised. "And you too. With... everything."
They stayed like that a moment longer, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on them. The last civil year was over. The threshold stood just ahead.