Yellow Jacket

They stepped from Imujin's sanctum into the courtyard, the air brittle and cold as if the Citadel itself sensed the gravity of what was about to unfold. The stone under their boots bore the weight of centuries of departures, of cadets marching out to trial and often to death, but never had it witnessed a class like this. Waiting for them in perfect formation stood the instructors, eleven veterans with Imujin at their head. Their presence was overwhelming, each one a legend in their own right, each one a pillar of the Citadel's legacy. The cadets approached in silence, sixteen shadows moving as one, Styll perched quietly in Vaeliyan's pocket, Bastard and Momo reduced to their compact house forms at the rear. Even the wind seemed to still, the world pausing in acknowledgment of this farewell that felt more like a consecration than a dismissal.

The instructors' eyes held no softness, no hint of leniency. Yet for once, there was also no test waiting. Only pride burned there, and beneath it, a reverence that was rarer still. They had witnessed this class broken apart again and again, reforged under conditions that would have shattered others, sharpened beyond what law or precedent should ever have allowed. They had bent rules until they splintered, ignored traditions older than nations, and committed acts that would never be spoken of beyond these walls. And yet, despite all of it, no one here could deny the result. What stood before them was more than a class. It was a force. It was a truth that could not be erased. For a heartbeat, it was as if the Citadel itself had risen to attention, recognizing its own finest creation.

Imujin stepped forward, each movement heavy with the weight of authority. When he spoke, his voice carried across the courtyard without effort, deep and resonant, like a hammer striking an eternal anvil. "You sixteen are the finest Legion candidates we have ever trained. Nothing will ever change that. You understand the stakes of what you are about to step foot in. Yes, your Shatterlight Trial will be different. High Commander Ruka herself has chosen to deliver your task personally when you reach Telapor."

He let the words hang, and in the silence that followed, the cadets felt the truth settle in their bones. Their bond pulsed with anticipation, each heartbeat resonating through all sixteen, sharp as a drawn blade. Imujin's gaze swept across them, unwavering, ensuring that none could mistake his intent. "Understand this: when you return from this trial, you will no longer be cadets. You will be Legionnaires. And with fortune, with precision, with everything you have carved into yourselves, you may return as High Imperators, bearing the rights and power of High Imperators as full Legionnaires. You will be remembered as the finest cadets this Citadel has ever produced. You have redefined what it means to be powerful."

None of the instructors shifted, but the weight of those words pressed down on all of them. The Citadel had never sanctioned this kind of evolution, never allowed such violations of its sacred traditions. To forge these cadets, they had broken rules until nothing recognizable remained, reshaping them with methods that would forever be denied in records. The price was immeasurable. Yet every instructor here knew the truth: if the Legion was to endure, it would endure because of these sixteen. They were the proof that survival sometimes demanded monstrosity.

Imujin's voice struck again, sharper this time, like steel slicing through flesh. "We are not human."

The cadets' response erupted as one, sixteen voices thundering in unison, a declaration that shook the air and reverberated against stone and sky: "We are Legion!"

Imujin's eyes burned brighter, pride and certainty entwined in a fire that seemed too large for a single man to hold. He bared his teeth in something between a snarl and a smile, and his voice rose louder, forged iron turned to living blade: "We are not human!"

This time the answer was not just the cadets. Every instructor joined them, their voices fusing into a single unbreakable roar that rattled the windows of the courtyard and carried through every archway of the Citadel: "We are Legion!"

And then, for the first time, all the instructors raised their left hands high in challenge, their right fists hammering into their chests in perfect rhythm. The salute cracked like thunder, sharp and final, a weapon striking stone. The cadets responded in kind, their salutes answering, their voices and movements locking into the same rhythm as their masters. In that moment, there was no line dividing teacher and student, no distance between the generations. There was only the Legion, unshakable, inhuman, eternal. A unity that could not be broken, a truth that would outlast stone, steel, and time itself.

Vaeliyan's estate was left in the hands of Isol and Roundy, with House itself ensuring its care. The Institute would watch over the property while the 90th was away, but unlike the others, Vaeliyan held true ownership. The walls, halls, and living nanite flesh of the estate belonged to him in law and bond. When he returned, he could claim it outright, removing it from Citadel grounds and moving it into his private domain. It was another reminder of how unusual he was, how his place among the Legion was always something separate from tradition, dangerous and unorthodox.

The other cadets from different years and tracks had already departed, bound for their own trials. The 90th alone remained, suspended in a silence heavier than armor, waiting for their summons. They knew the difference: their Shatterlight briefing was not to come from any instructor, nor from the Citadel's masters. High Commander Ruka herself had demanded to deliver it. That set them apart, isolated them, lifted them up in ways that were as much a warning as an honor. Their path would not mirror the others. They were to be carried directly to Telapor aboard High Imperator Kasala's personal skycraft, the kind of privilege cadets never received.

They entered the airfield at Kyrrabad, the hangars looming like steel canyons swallowing light. Legion craft stood in ranks, but Kasala's ship was unmistakable. It crouched in its bay like a predator, a sleek shape of black glass and folded wings, the surface rippling faintly with embedded plating. Kasala stood at the threshold with arms folded, his presence impossible to ignore. He gave them a nod, no wasted words, no ceremony, and motioned them aboard. One by one, they crossed the line. The Citadel was at their backs. The Legion lay ahead. The Shatterlight Trial waited, and there was no turning.

Inside, the cabin unfolded around them like a dream of air and horizon. Transparent glass curved into a dome, giving them a complete view of the world in every direction. The seats were fitted to their frames, locking them into place as if they were part of the craft itself. Bastard and Momo curled into their compact house forms, silent guardians. Styll clung close to Vaeliyan, fur bristling with unease. The engines hummed low, resonant, alive with promise. The skycraft rose without effort, a leviathan of steel lifting into dawn skies with grace that belied its size.

The cadets whispered, voices carried through their bond as much as their lips. What would Ruka demand of them? Why had they been separated from the others, singled out, carried in silence while the rest marched as one? The unspoken truth pressed between them: they were different, dangerous, something that the Citadel itself had failed to contain. They had hoped that truth would remain hidden behind stone walls. Now it seemed the world itself had taken notice.

That was when Vaeliyan froze, mid-thought, eyes widening. A ripple of horror split the bond. He pressed his hands into his face. "Oh fuck. The letter."

Fifteen heads snapped toward him, confusion curdling into shared panic. The realization bled out of him into them all, sharp and inescapable. He had never answered Gleck. Never sought his son. The High Chancellor of the Green had invited Vaeliyan to parley, and he had let the summons rot, forgotten, months buried in distraction and battle. Now they were gone, hurtling away from the Red Citadel. No chance to recover, no chance to make amends unless chance itself delivered the son into their path.

The bond flared with dread. Elian's voice cut through, calm but edged with bitter certainty. "If Gleck wanted you, he would have summoned you. The Shatterlight Trial would mean nothing. He would rip you from this ship mid-flight if he wished it. He doesn't want you yet. That means he isn't ready to see you. We probably fucked up, yes, but at least he isn't angry. Not yet."

He leaned back, eyes fixed on the horizon, voice cold. "Unlike my parents. They haven't stopped sending me messages since we left the Red. They want answers about Michael. About us. They want blood."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Every cadet felt it: their hands were already stained, their class guilty of an execution that no law could excuse. Unless they triumphed here. If they emerged as High Imperators, the deed would be sanctified. Legion law would bend to their survival. Power would rewrite the past. But if they failed, then it was murder, and Houses would come for them all. Even the strongest among them could feel the weight of that truth pressing in.

Vaeliyan let out a thin, humorless laugh. "And then there's Verdance. They probably understand we were on expedition. But ignoring Justinia? That won't be forgiven. She terrifies me. They all terrify me. Gleck. Justinia. Ryan. Elian's parents. I don't even know who I'm supposed to not be scared of anymore."

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The others shifted, uneasy, but said nothing. Fear was the quiet constant that had stalked them since they entered the Citadel. Now it had names, faces, powers beyond imagining.

Kasala, silent until then, finally spoke. His voice was steady, a blade pressed flat. "You all seem to have a great many troubles waiting for you. Houses. politics. debts. ghosts. But put them aside. None of that matters now. The only thing that matters is the Shatterlight Trial. The moment in front of you. You do not have the luxury of staring at future storms when the one before you is already breaking."

The engines surged, their hum rising into a roar. The skycraft tore free of the hangar and into open sky, wings unfurling like blades. Below them Kyrrabad spread in every direction, its towers rising like a forest of steel and psyro-glass. Roads and rivers traced silver lines through the sprawl, caravans inching like ants far beneath. The Red Citadel dwindled behind them, its scarlet bulk a distant wound on the horizon. Beyond the city's edge, the last sight before the horizon swallowed it was the ruins that lay just outside Kyrrabad: broken towers like teeth, shattered bridges strangled in vines, bones of the old world left to rot in silence. Then even those faded, the Citadel shrinking to a fleck of red in the distance, the megacity vanishing into haze. They pressed on into open sky, the 90th carried away toward their trial, the world waiting to judge them with every mile.

The skycraft drifted in silence, the Citadel a distant ember fading against the horizon. The glass walls gave them a view of the Green stretching endlessly below, rivers threading silver through fields, forests, and broken ruins. The last shadows of Kyrrabad shrank into the distance, the Red Citadel's towering bulk finally swallowed by the horizon. The cadets leaned close to the transparent walls, the hum of the engines the only sound until Jurpat pressed a hand against the glass and squinted.

"What the hells are those?" he asked, his voice low with awe. Far ahead, the land rose and dipped in great rolling swells, pale shapes like towers clustered in a valley. Their petals, vast and pallid, were slowly beginning to unfurl as the sun dipped lower, a slow-motion chorus of giants waking.

Roan sat straighter, reverence sharpening his usually blunt tone. "The Thryvak Bloom. One of the Hundred Wonders. They aren't just flowers. At dusk they open together, every single one, and the whole valley starts breathing. Inhale. Exhale. All night. The turbines on those ridges never stop spinning because the Bloom doesn't rest. You're looking at one of the most strategic resources on Hemera."

The others crowded closer, shoulders pressed to the glass. Even battle-hardened as they were, the sight arrested them. The flowers dwarfed fortresses, stalks thick as towers, petals broad as sails that sighed as they spread open. Each shift made the air tremble, rolling through the valley like the lungs of some unseen colossus. Wind turbines scattered across the ridges pivoted with each pulse, catching the reversal of air as the Bloom breathed in and then out again. The entire valley moved to a rhythm older than cities, steadier than storms.

Sylen leaned back with a scoff, arms crossed tight. "They're flowers. Just big ones. I don't see the point in gawking at plants."

Roan's gaze snapped to her, disbelief flashing sharp in his eyes. "You don't get it. Those 'plants' keep half the Green alive. Without them, the turbines die. The grids crash. Even the Citadel would choke. That valley's worth more than most cities. It isn't just pretty, it's survival."

Jurpat nudged her with a grin, trying to soften the edge. "See? Even the flowers are smarter than you. They've been running lessons longer than we've been alive."

Sylen rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile ghosted at her mouth. "Still just flowers."

The skycraft slid on, carrying them above the valley as the Bloom exhaled. The gust rattled turbines across the ridges, a tide of air so strong the clouds themselves seemed to shift with it. The cadets fell into silence. Even Sylen watched, her earlier dismissal forgotten as the breath of the valley rolled outward and pressed against the ship. The Bloom dwindled slowly behind them, its rhythm still echoing faintly in their bones as the horizon swallowed it whole.

The skycraft glided smoothly above the endless sprawl of Green territory, its sleek frame humming as it cut through the afternoon air. The cadets, still abuzz from the sight of the Thryvak Bloom, pressed close to the wide glass panels that wrapped around the cabin. The valley of flowers was fading into the distance, their colossal blooms now only faint shapes against the horizon, when Roan leaned forward suddenly, eyes catching on another stretch of land below.

"Look at this," he said, his voice rising with eagerness. His tone carried less awe than before, more like a boy desperate to share something that mattered only to him. His hand shot out, finger stabbing toward a plain valley rolling by far beneath their path.

The cadets followed his gesture, squinting down at the sight. From above, the place seemed entirely unremarkable. Fenn let out a short laugh through his nose. "It's a field of grass."

Roan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "No. No, it's way cooler than that. That's the Moonmilk Field. You're looking at another one of the Wonders, even if it doesn't look like it right now. During the day, it's just grass, tall, pale, silver-green blades waving around like any other field. But when Neru rises, when the eclipse moon cuts across the sky, it changes. The whole valley glows. The grass lights up like a million stars caught in the wind. It's like standing inside a galaxy that's alive. They say the ground breathes light."

Sylen tilted her head back against the glass, unimpressed. "Right now, it just looks like grass. Regular grass."

Roan turned in his seat, pointing at her with mock outrage. "That's because you're seeing it wrong. You're not looking at what it is, you're looking at what it seems to be. I've seen the holos. Even those are enough to give you chills. In person, they say it's beyond description, waves of light rolling like the sea, blue-white fire spilling across the valley as if the heavens decided to fall into the earth. And only Neru wakes it. Not the sun, not Deyra or the others, only Neru. An entire valley bound to a single moon."

Jurpat chuckled under his breath, both entertained and faintly intrigued by Roan's enthusiasm. "So basically, right now, we're staring at a field that might glow someday."

"Exactly," Roan shot back instantly, grinning despite the sarcasm. "And when it does, it'll be one of the most beautiful things any of us will ever witness. Just because we're not catching it in the act doesn't make it any less extraordinary. It's like seeing a sleeping giant, you know it's there, and you know what it can become."

The others exchanged glances, some curious, some rolling their eyes. To most of them, it was still just an empty valley, swaying grass under a pale sun. But Roan didn't look away. His eyes tracked the Moonmilk Fields until the horizon finally swallowed them, as though he could hold on to the wonder alone, even when no one else believed it was there.

The skycraft sailed onward, engines steady and low, a constant hum that resonated through the glass panels. Beneath them, the world spread wide into a rugged sprawl of red shale ridges, jagged peaks jutting upward like broken teeth gnashing at the sky. Sunlight slammed against their flanks, every edge catching the fire of the day until the entire range burned copper-red, a living furnace stretched across the horizon. The cadets pressed closer to the glass, reflections faint in its curve, their eyes locked on the spectacle below as the craft skimmed above the mountains at speed.

Lessa was the first to break the silence. She grinned wide, lifting her chin with a pride that only she could carry. "All right, this isn't one of those fancy hundred wonders of Hemera, but I think it's pretty damn cool." Her voice was loud enough to draw everyone's focus, a burst of confidence against the hum of the skycraft.

Vaeliyan raised an eyebrow, arms folding across his chest as he leaned closer to the view. "Cool? That looks like a death trap waiting to happen."

Lessa laughed, quick and sharp, the kind of sound that dared someone to argue. "Exactly. That's the point. Remember when we fought Alorna and we won?" Her grin widened, daring fate, but then she glanced over her shoulder. The others instinctively did the same, shoulders tight, half-expecting the terrifying instructor to be standing there. For a moment, the cabin held its breath, but when the space remained empty, they relaxed together, exhaling in a shared wave of relief.

She tapped the glass, the sound crisp, and a marker pulsed into place on the ridgeline below. "That's the spot. Right there. That's where I dropped the entire mountain on us and the instructors in the sim. One collapse, one strike, everything buried. And yeah, I killed everybody in that sim. All of us. Instructors included. But we won because I fucking dropped that mountain on all of them." Her eyes sparkled with the same reckless spark she'd had during the simulation itself. "Tell me that isn't fucking awesome."

The cabin erupted with laughter and cheers that rolled through the cadets like a wave. That impossible moment had been theirs; a victory carved out of sheer madness. They all remembered the shock, the awe, the wild surge of triumph as the sim collapsed around them, and even though it had killed every single one of them, it had been a clear, undeniable win.

Vaeliyan slapped his knee, booming with laughter. "Hells yes! We had no chance, and then you fucking flattened everything!!" He raised his hand like it was a toast, grinning wide. "You dropped a fucking mountain on us and we won. That's all anyone needs to remember."

Even Roan, who was still sulking from having his beloved grass field dismissed earlier, broke into a grin. "Fine, fine, I can't argue with that. This isn't just some random range anymore. This is one of my hundred wonders. Forget the scholars, I'll write it down myself."

Sylen smirked, tossing her hair back. "Yeah, all right. I'll admit it. That was awesome. You didn't just win, you rewrote the rules. I don't care if it was a sim, it still counts."

The rest chimed in, voices overlapping, laughter spilling out, a storm of agreement. They weren't just remembering, they were reliving the pride, the sheer thrill of the impossible made real. The red shale mountains glowed as if alive beneath them, fire dancing over every ridge, and for a moment the chatter quieted into something heavier. Sixteen cadets sat shoulder to shoulder, their reflections cast across the burning range, united in that memory. It wasn't a wonder recorded in books, but it was theirs: the mountain they had dropped, one of the first impossible victories they had claimed, and the shared conviction that they were, without question, destined for greatness.