There were more than a dozen major military sector headquarters scattered across Azuran Prime, each towering over its assigned domain.
But there was only one official New Recruit Induction Facility for the entire planet.
The facility before her looked less like a building and more like an artificial mountain — a colossal cylindrical structure plated in white-gold alloy, its surface studded with holo-banners and ceremonial crests. The crown of the cylinder vanished into a veil of clouds, catching the sunlight like a blade.
Renvall Erythra Cael·Kaede stood on the open-air deck of the shuttle, gaze climbing the impossible height.
Even after a year in Azuran space, she still had the reflex of comparing everything to Earth's scale. There was simply… no contest. No pyramid, tower, or stadium had ever come close to this — the thing looked like the Pyramid of Khufu, magnified a hundred times and engineered to launch starships from its roof.
The shuttle banked smoothly toward a yawning aerial gate lined with silver beacons.
Inside was a vast receiving hall large enough to swallow an entire district. The air smelled faintly of engineered ozone, and the polished floor reflected shuttle traffic like a mirror.
A bionic escort ushered her down the ramp — and immediately, a tall woman in a deep-azure military coat strode toward her.
Golden hair, eyes the color of icewater, expression perfectly composed. She did not look like she belonged to Cael·Kaede's home Sector.
The woman stopped, tapped her data band, and rattled off without a breath:
> "Renvall Erythra Cael·Kaede of Sector Aurelia, registered combatant for the Azuran War Game, Aurelia Academy Cadet Division—correct?"
It came out like an announcement at a ceremony — quick, precise, and formal.
Cael·Kaede's posture snapped straight, an old reflex she could never fully suppress.
"Yes, ma'am."
The woman's eyes widened in something like delight.
"Oh—oh! That bearing! That focus! Military background?" She tilted her head as if she had just spotted a rare animal in the wild.
"…No," Cael·Kaede answered, clipped but polite.
The officer made a small, pleased noise, folding her arms as though savoring the moment.
"Yes. Concise, decisive, unflinching. You're the most promising arrival I've seen all week."
Azurans, Cael·Kaede had learned, were gifted in the art of praise. It wasn't empty flattery — it was delivered with such conviction that it could make even the most seasoned veteran blush.
In a society where individuality was treasured to the point of idleness, any edge — discipline, elegance, raw energy — was magnified into legend.
"So, Cael·Kaede—"
"You can just call me Kaede," she said quickly.
The officer nodded. "Very well, Kaede. I'll have you escorted to your quarters."
She hailed a transport unit, and a four-wheeled drone glided over. They boarded with Kaede's single travel case.
Azuran culture's reliance on automation was impossible to ignore — here, no one walked farther than they had to. If a machine could carry you, it would. If it could carry your thoughts, it probably would too.
Her assigned room was a spacious single with a panoramic wall-screen of Aurelia's coastline — her home sector, rendered in loving simulation.
"You'll have your New Recruit Assessment tonight," the officer said. "Until then, you're free to explore. We'll meet again."
She left without giving her own name.
---
Kaede stood in the center of the room, letting the words sink in.
Assessment? Tonight?
Her Earth memory balked. New recruits weren't usually tested the moment they stepped off the shuttle — unless the "test" was more about spectacle than actual evaluation.
She requested a tour bot from the local CloudNet, and one zipped in within seconds — all polished metal curves and soft blue eye-lights.
"Welcome, Kaede," it chirped. "I've prepared an optimal exploration route based on your registered preferences."
She followed it into the facility's artery-like walkways.
This place wasn't just a training base — it was a self-contained city. Towering residences, holo-malls, leisure domes, simulation arenas. At its core lay an enormous Transit Well, a vertical shaft hundreds of meters wide. Traffic drones streamed up and down its airspace in neat lanes, each carrying sealed containers of equipment, munitions, or god-knew-what else.
Somewhere far below, Kaede suspected, was a fully automated production complex — factories, power cores, and a quantum mainframe wired into the planetary Cloud.
On one high-arch bridge, a recruitment holo played in endless loop:
A dazzling officer in ceremonial armor posed mid-salute, hair whipped by invisible wind.
The caption shimmered:
> "You could be the next Star of the Game."
Kaede had seen these ads all over the planet. She doubted they worked on most Azuran youths — but then again, maybe that was the point. In a culture that adored heroes but loathed tedium, war as sport was the perfect lure.
She kept wandering. The corridors were mostly patrolled by errand-bots, though she spotted a few fellow recruits.
One, in particular, caught her attention — a tall girl with long, straight black hair and a silk scarf over her collarbones. Her eyes were unfocused, pale with blindness, but she moved with measured confidence, hand lightly resting on her guide drone.
Beside her was another recruit, speaking in a hushed rush about how terrifying tonight's assessment was. The blind girl only smiled, listening without a flicker of worry.
That, Kaede thought, was unusual. In a civilization that could rewrite genetic code in the womb, permanent disability was nearly unheard of. Anyone who carried one was… different.
Her gut told her to go back and prepare.
---
Back in her quarters, she dropped to the floor and began push-ups — fifty in steady, controlled rhythm — then rolled into sit-ups. Sweat soaked through her thin training shirt.
Her current body was lean and honed — not the bulky, sculpted "show muscle" of fitness enthusiasts, but the efficient lines of someone who valued function over display. The kind of strength you could hide under formal dress until the moment you needed to strike.
After a few shadow-boxing drills, she cooled down with stretches. No overtraining — not today. She needed to be at her peak by nightfall.
A quick shower. Fresh athletic wear. And then —
Her communicator chimed.
ASSESSMENT: NEW RECRUITS — REPORT TO DESIGNATED HALL
It was time.