Chapter One: Evaluation Day

The air of the Aegis Academy didn’t circulate; it vibrated. It was the hum of ten thousand high-altitude turbines and the collective resonance of five hundred heartbeats, all turned to the same golden frequency.

Callisto stood at the edge of the sparring ring, her fingers tracing the edge of her practice blade. The weapon was forged from glass-steel, designed to channel innate Aether without shattering. Across from her, North was busy playing to the gallery. She tossed a wink toward the tiered seating where the High Olympians sat like marble statues draped in silk.

“Don’t look so grim, Callisto,” North called out, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling, “It’s just an evaluation. Try to make it look like you’re having a bit of fun. For the fans?”

Callisto didn’t answer. She didn’t have “fans”. She had a record of efficiency that was, according to her instructors, mathematically perfect.

“Begin,” a voice boomed from the rafters.

North moved first. She was a flare of light—aggressive, radiant, and loud. Her Aether manifested in concussive bursts, silver light exploding off her boots as she lunged. To the spectators, it looked like a star falling from the sky.

To Callisto, it looked like a waste of energy.

She stepped into her guard, her movement a blur a liquid silver. She didn’t explode; she flowed. Her innate Aether hummed beneath her skin, a warm, constant tide that she funneled into a single point of pressure.

Clang.

She parried North’s broadsword with a flick of her wrist, the vibration traveling up her arm and settling into the silver filaments woven into her radius. She pivoted, the world slowing down as her Aether-enhanced senses mapped North’s momentum.

One strike of the ribs. A sweep of the lead leg.

North hit the marble floor with a thud that silenced the crowd. Before she could draw a breath, the tip of Callisto’s blade was resting against the hollow of her throat.

“Yield,” Callisto whispered

North stared up at her, the blue glow in her eyes flickering with a momentary, sharp resentment. Then, the mask slipped back on, and she raised her arms in mock surrender.

“Yield, yield! Gods, Callisto, you’re a riot at parties, aren’t you?”

The buzzer sounded. The crowd erupted into polite, measured applause–the kind reserved for a job well done, rather than a loved hero.

***

The Genera’s sanctum was a forest of white stone and holographic starcharts. Artemis stood by the panoramic window, looking out over the clouds that hid the Underbelly from view.

“Come closer, Callisto,” Artemis said without turning.

“I hope the evaluation met your standards.”

“Your form is peerless. But your pulse is…agitated.” Artemis turned. She reached out and grabbed Callisto’s forearm. She pushed back the sleeve of the uniform, revealing the Silver Tracking.

The delicate silver veins looked like small tattoos etched into Callisto’s arms, and the skin glowed with a faint, rhythmic pulse. As Artemis brushed the metal with her thumb, Callisto felt a sharp tug on her Aether.

“The resonance is clean,” the general murmured, her eyes scanning the data-readout projected into the air. “You are staying within the parameters. Good.”

Callisto hesitated, “General…may I ask a question?”

“Speak”

“I talked to a logistics officer from the SCUTAX unit. He mentioned rumors of a Titan invasion. They said the Stabilizers are working overtime because the borders are thinning…”

Artemis cut Callisto off before she could finish talking.

“Your function is to do as I command. Do you understand?”

Callisto lowered her head further, the silver in her skin stinging now. “I understand, General. Forgive my overstep.”

“I do not want your apologies,” Artemis said, finally releasing her. “I want results. There is a cancer in the Underbelly—a clinic using 'artificial' means to mimic our gifts. Take a team. Excise it.”

Callisto stood, her Aether feeling sluggish and heavy. “Yes, General.”