The training hall was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of Orion's breathing. His hands clenched around the hybrid blade, its obsidian surface pulsing with crimson veins of power.
It didn't make sense. A week. Just a week, and Varun had already decided.
Orion had expected brutal training, had expected to be pushed beyond his limits—but he had never anticipated this.
His fingers traced the weapon's intricate surface, his thoughts spiraling. Varun wasn't the type to make decisions lightly. If he had chosen Orion, there had to be a reason. But what? Skill wasn't something that could be measured in a week. Prowess wasn't determined so quickly. Was it something else? Something deeper?
A voice cut through his thoughts.
"You're gripping too tightly."
Orion's head snapped up to see Varun watching him from across the hall, arms folded, eyes sharp.
Varun smirked, stepping closer. "You still think I chose you on a whim?"
Orion exhaled through his nose. "I think a week is too short to determine a warrior's worth."
Varun studied him for a moment, then reached out, tapping a finger against Orion's forehead. "You adapt. You push yourself beyond what's asked. You don't hesitate."
Orion rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache in his muscles. "That doesn't mean I'm ready."
Varun tilted his head. "Tell me. If I told you to walk away right now, would you?"
The answer was immediate. "No."
A knowing gleam flickered in Varun's gaze. "That's why I chose you."
Orion frowned, processing the words. His entire life, he had lived by a single principle—commit fully, or don't bother at all. No in-between. Was that what Varun had seen? The unyielding determination that refused to accept half-measures?
Varun clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You can spend all day questioning my choice, but it won't change a thing. The wraith is in your hands now, Orion."
Orion looked down at the weapon once more. The past week had been nothing short of brutal. Every muscle in his body ached from relentless combat drills, his reflexes honed to a razor's edge. He had fought, lost, won, adapted.
Orion tightened his grip again, but this time, it was different. He lifted the blade, testing its weight, feeling its presence.
"So be it." he muttered, meeting Varun's gaze with newfound resolve.
Varun's smirk widened. "Good. Now less thinking and more swinging."
After Orion's training, he headed for his private chamber, shedding the weight of exhaustion under a cold shower. The frigid water ran down his back, washing away the sweat and soreness, though it did little to quiet his mind. Every muscle ached, but the deeper exhaustion was in his thoughts, a relentless churn of possibilities and expectations.
Dressed in a simple robe, he walked barefoot across the sleek, polished floors, his damp long dark hair clinging to his forehead. He collapsed onto the couch, sinking into its embrace, exhaling as if he had been holding his breath for days. The private chamber was empty, save for the dim ambient lighting and the soft hum of the holo-displays. But the solitude did not bring peace—only the weight of his thoughts.
The Pythia Initiative. His father's grand plan.
A force of biologically enhanced warriors, honed to perfection through the Genesis Strain. A legion designed to rival the Dominion's monstrosities and the Confederacy's mechas alike. Orion had always known his father to be ambitious, but this was beyond mere ambition—it was a declaration, a challenge to the very balance of power in the galaxy.
What was the true purpose of this initiative? Was it meant for conquest? A safeguard against the unknown? Or was there something deeper, something his father wasn't telling him?
The Void. That wretched, uncharted abyss that had swallowed empires and shattered fleets. Was that what this was all leading to? His father's attempt to seize what no one else could?
Rylan stood at the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His presence was like a blade—controlled, poised, dangerous in its silence.
"You've been staring at those projections for hours," Rylan continued. "What's bothering you?"
Orion scoffed. "Take your pick. The fact that my father is assembling an army of enhanced warriors? Or the fact that no one seems to be questioning why?"
Rylan stepped forward, his gaze flicking over the displays. "You already know why. The Void."
Orion's jaw tightened. "You think he intends to conquer it?"
"I don't think so," he said, a shadow of contemplation crossing his face. "He never disclosed his reason. If I had to guess, it's a failsafe."
Orion leaned back slightly, before exhaling sharply. "Then that means he's preparing for something worse than the war we're already fighting."
A pause. Then, softly, "Maybe he knows something we don't."
Orion exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch. His mind still swirled with possibilities, but lingering here wouldn't bring answers. He ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking off the weight of his thoughts as he made his way to the dining hall.
Orion's mind raced. His father always played the long game, always calculated three moves ahead. If the Pythia Initiative was his answer, then what was the question?
Was it the Dominion? The Raptures? Or something even more terrifying?
The dining hall was a world of its own—a sanctuary untouched by war, politics, and the weight of duty. The rich aroma of expertly prepared dishes filled the air, a maddening blend of spices and slow-cooked perfection that made Orion's stomach tighten with need. He tried not to look too desperate, but gods, he was starving.
He sat beside his sister, Ren, his posture straight, his movements controlled—at least for now. Across from him, Rylan and their father, Cassian, were deep in conversation, while Valeria presided over the meal with her usual grace. Her unspoken rule loomed over them all: no talk of politics, no war, no outside concerns. This was family time.
He reached for a piece of seared meat, but Ren's fork shot out, stabbing it on the platter before he could grab it. She smirked at him, biting into it with exaggerated satisfaction.
"Really?" Orion deadpanned, pretending to remain composed even as hunger gnawed at him.
Ren shrugged, chewing. He leaned back slightly, tapping his fork against the plate, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You hesitated. "
"Maybe because I was trying to eat like a civilized person," Orion muttered, reaching for another dish.
Rylan chuckled, loading his own plate. "You? Civilized? You're two seconds away from ripping into the food with your bare hands."
Valeria, ever watchful, took one look at him and sighed. "Orion, eat. No one here cares if you inhale your food. You're clearly starving."
That was all the permission he needed.
Orion didn't quite inhale his food, but it was close. He managed to keep his movements graceful, but his speed increased noticeably. The rich flavors hit his tongue, and for the first time in a week, he felt like a human again rather than a half-broken training dummy.
Ren watched him with amusement, arms folded, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she leaned back slightly. "Varun really did a number on you, huh?"
"He calls it training. I call it legalized torture," Orion muttered between bites.
Cassian, who had been silent until now, let out a rare chuckle. "At least you're surviving. That's more than I can say for most who train under Varun."
Valeria shook her head, but there was the faintest smile on her lips.
For once, there was no talk of the Pythia Initiative. No looming war or impossible expectations. Just warmth, laughter, and the simple joy of a meal shared between family.
And Orion, for all his exhaustion, let himself enjoy it.