Orion stepped into his father's private study, the doors gliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. The room was dimly lit, the primary source of illumination coming from the holographic display of the galaxy that hovered above Cassian's desk. The deep amber glow of whiskey swirled in a crystal glass in his father's hand, mixing with the rich scent of polished wood and leather-bound tomes lining the walls. It was a room designed for contemplation, strategy, and, more often than not, cold deliberation.
Cassian Reyes stood with his back to him, eyes locked on the galactic display. His fingers traced along invisible lines—warfronts, supply chains, tactical routes Orion could only begin to decipher. His father had always seen the galaxy not as a collection of worlds, but as a board on which the fate of civilizations was played. Tonight, Orion suspected, was no different.
"You enjoyed dinner?" Cassian finally asked, his voice steady, measured. He didn't turn around.
Orion shifted his stance, feeling the weight of the question, the weight of the room itself. "I did," he said, though there was an edge to his voice. He knew his father well enough to understand that this wasn't small talk.
Cassian turned then, his piercing gaze locking onto Orion's. The faintest hint of a smirk played at the corner of his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Because moments like these will become rarer."
He gestured toward the holographic map, his hand sweeping across distant stars. "War doesn't wait for family time."
Orion's shoulders tensed. He had anticipated this conversation since stepping off the warship Krasnikov, but now that he stood before his father, the weight of expectation pressed down harder than he had imagined. "Then why insist on it?"
Cassian regarded him for a long moment, as if deciding how much of the truth to reveal. Finally, he spoke. "Why do you think we're fighting?" He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
Orion felt his pulse quicken. The Pythia Initiative—the supposed breakthrough that would stabilize the Genesis strain, the Confederacy and the Dominion's reluctant collaboration. He had suspected that he would be drawn deeper into it, but hearing it confirmed left a bitter taste in his mouth.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Because we don't have a choice."
Cassian took another measured sip of his whiskey, then exhaled softly. "We always have a choice, son." He set the glass down on the desk with a soft clink. "Power lies not in the choices we're given, but in our willingness to face what follows."
"Why are you so adamant about conquering the Void?" Orion asked, his voice quieter than he intended. "What drives you to this, above all else?"
Cassian studied him, the hard lines of his face unreadable. He looked away, staring at the glowing map as if it held answers. "Maybe it's opportunity. Maybe it's just necessity."
Orion let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the words settle over him. "And if we fail?"
Cassian's lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Then we were never the ones meant to do it."
Orion felt his chest tighten, a flicker of something sharp beneath his ribs. Not anger, not fear—something in between. He met his father's gaze once more and, despite the unease curling in his stomach, forced himself to hold it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Cassian picked up his whiskey again and turned back to the display, his attention already shifting to the grander scale of war. "Get some rest, Orion.
Orion lingered for a second longer, then gave a small nod. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, the doors sealing behind him with an airtight hiss.
The moment Orion opened his eyes, he regretted it. Every muscle in his body protested, a lingering gift from Varun's relentless training. He groaned, stretching his arms overhead, only for the sharp ache in his shoulders to remind him of every grueling session. He had barely swung his legs off the bed when his door hissed open.
Ren stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a smug grin already plastered on her face. "Rise and shine, little brother."
Orion groaned, rubbing his temples. "You know, I was hoping for a quiet morning."
"Too bad," Ren shot back, striding into the room without invitation. She tossed a training blade at him, the dull metal clattering against the bed beside him. "You're not the only one training under monsters. If I have to suffer, so do you."
Orion eyed the weapon, exhaling through his nose. "Fine. What's the challenge?"
Ren stretched lazily, rolling her shoulders as she sauntered toward the exit. "Survive."
Orion frowned, but before he could press her for details, she was already heading down the corridor. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the blade and followed.
The private training chamber was a stark contrast to the elegance of their family's estate—cold, metallic,. The walls hummed faintly with the power of built-in environmental modifiers, capable of adjusting gravity, atmosphere, and even simulated opponents. Orion's wariness deepened.
"Alright, what exactly are we doing here?" he asked, testing the weight of the training blade in his hands.
Ren merely smirked, stepping onto the circular combat platform. "Trust me, you'll figure it out."
The doors sealed shut with a hiss. Before Orion could question her, the chamber's gravity increased sharply. His knees buckled under the unexpected force, breath hitching as his body struggled to adjust.
"What the hell, Ren?!" Orion gasped, forcing himself to straighten under the oppressive weight.
Ren winked. "Family bonding."
A sharp whir filled the air. Orion's eyes snapped to the walls just as a series of mechanical drones activated, their sleek bodies unfurling into a deadly ring around them. Red targeting lights flickered to life, scanning the two of them with ruthless precision.
Instinct kicked in. Orion barely dodged a plasma blast, rolling to the side as a second drone lunged with an electrified baton. He parried on reflex, his training blade sparking against the drone's reinforced plating. Ren, on the other hand, was already moving with practiced ease, weaving through the onslaught as though the gravity shift didn't even phase her.
"You could've warned me!" Orion shouted, gritting his teeth as he locked blades with one of the drones. His arms strained under the pressure, muscles burning as he forced the machine back.
Ren laughed, flipping over a lunging drone and slashing it midair. "Where's the fun in that?"
Another blast forced Orion to duck. He twisted, using the momentum to drive his blade into the nearest drone's core. Sparks erupted as it collapsed, but there was no time to celebrate. Two more replaced it instantly.
Ren surged toward him, forcing him onto the defensive. Orion barely blocked her incoming strike, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks.
"Wait—what are you doing?!" Orion barely managed to parry her next attack, stumbling back under the weight of the gravity and her relentless blows.
Ren's grin widened. "What does it look like? You're not getting out of here unless you beat me."
Orion barely had time to process that before she came at him with a flurry of strikes. He could tell she was holding back—barely—but she was still faster, still sharper, her movements refined in a way that reminded him just how much she had grown. Ren was always ahead of him, always pushing further, training harder. And now, she was making sure he felt every ounce of that gap.
Another drone attacked. Orion pivoted, using the force of his turn to counter Ren's strike while simultaneously slashing the drone's sensor array. The machine spasmed and collapsed, but Ren didn't let up.
"Come on, Ori," she taunted. "You're supposed to be Varun's new golden boy, aren't you?"
Orion gritted his teeth. His body screamed at him to stop, to yield, to let exhaustion win—but he refused. He adjusted his stance, letting go of the rigid control he usually fought with, allowing instinct to take over. He had spent the past week surviving Varun's hellish training. Ren wasn't going to break him now.
He exhaled, then lunged.
Their blades met in a blur of motion, the clash of metal and the crackling energy of the drones filling the chamber. Orion struck faster, sharper, forcing Ren to take a step back—just one, but enough to tell him he was finally pushing back.
Ren's eyes gleamed with approval. "There it is."
The drones whirred, converging for a final assault. Orion didn't hesitate. He moved with precision, cutting through them with efficiency he hadn't possessed just a week ago. When the last drone fell, smoking and sparking, the chamber's gravity returned to normal.
Orion stood panting, sweat dripping down his temple. He turned to Ren, who was watching him with something between amusement and satisfaction.
"You're getting better," she admitted.
Orion rolled his shoulders, wincing. "Next time, I pick the training session."
Ren grinned, tossing her blade aside. "Sure. But don't expect me to go easy on you."