rafn’s military training was a relentless gauntlet of iron and fire, a harsh baptism into a world that made the desolate lunar mines seem almost hospitable. The facility loomed over him, perched atop a jagged cliff on a planet whose terrain was as unyielding as the drills themselves. Unlike Gamma 4’s dusty, dry heat, this world was cold, rocky, and unforgiving. The rolling hills of green below seemed deceptively serene, but the sharp bite of freezing rain turned every step into a test of resilience.

  Rusted neon-lit signs buzzed faintly against the alpine backdrop, their flickering glow casting sickly green and red hues over the recruits as they marched. Above, dark clouds churned, their icy drizzle mingling with the sweat that soaked Hrafn’s fur, forming rivulets that froze against the tips of his ears and tail. The acrid tang of scorched metal and wet stone saturated the air, an alien scent that made the facility feel even more oppressive.

  Drill Sergeant Rykhar was both a terrifying reminder of Hrafn’s heritage and a living testament to brutality. His muddy red fur, streaked with gray, made him stand out among the typical Varagni hues, a distinction that did nothing to soften his imposing frame. Cybernetic enhancements traced jagged paths along his shoulders and spine, their metal plating built seamlessly over the dense Varagni musculature, reinforcing his frame rather than replacing it. His glowing red eye pierced through the recruits’ defenses as though scanning for cracks in their resolve. When he barked orders, his voice carried the weight of volcanic eruptions, reverberating through the facility’s metallic corridors."Move it, lunar rats! I’ve seen asteroids with more backbone than you lot!"

  Rykhar’s sheer presence loomed large in Hrafn’s mind, a force to push against and prove himself worthy of. Their shared species wasn’t a comfort but a challenge—a reminder of the expectations placed on him and the history he carried.

  For Hrafn, his days in the mines offered small advantages—his basic augmentations, designed for lifting and precision work, gave him strength and steadiness under pressure. But even they paled in comparison to the grueling ordeal he faced here. The drills pushed his body beyond its limits; the live-fire exercises made survival a game of instinct and wits. Nights were no reprieve either—psychological conditioning turned his mind into another battlefield, one where doubts whispered louder than the thrum of his aching muscles.

  The biting cold and uneven terrain added an extra layer of torment. The facility’s winding trails, carved into steep alpine cliffs, made even routine marches perilous. Recruits stumbled, slipping on icy paths or tripping over jagged rocks hidden beneath a carpet of vibrant grass. Hrafn’s breath steamed as he struggled to keep pace, his claws pressing deep into the wet soil to keep from slipping any time he'd stumble, each movement calculated, instinctive—the way miners learned to grip rockfaces in zero-g tunnels.

  The other recruits, a hodgepodge of species, brought their own challenges. A muscular Thyrran, her coat gleaming like polished mahogany, kept pace effortlessly during endurance drills, her powerful digitigrade stance giving her strides an unnatural ease on the rocky terrain. Beside her, a wiry Nivren with quick, darting movements aced obstacle courses, his clawed digits skittering over the metallic surfaces with an ease that made balance look effortless.

  "Hey, lunar rat! You sure you didn’t leave your tail back in the mines?" sneered a rusty-furred Varagni, his lean frame built more for speed than endurance, his molten-steel eyes flashing with cruel amusement.

  Hrafn gritted his teeth, his ears flattening as his tail twitched in irritation. He clenched his jaw, forcing the words to bounce harmlessly against the steel walls of his resolve. They don’t know me, he thought, his mind drifting to the memory of his mother’s fiery determination. Her sharp voice, laced with suppressed rage, rang as clearly as if she stood beside him now.

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  "Don’t let them break you, Hrafn. You’re worth more than this moon or any corporation claims."That memory kept him grounded, a spark of hope burning brighter than the facility’s furnaces. Every drill, every shout, every sneer became fuel for his resolve, his breaths coming sharp and steady even when his body screamed to rest. If he faltered, if he failed, he knew he wouldn’t just be letting himself down. He’d be letting his family’s sacrifices become meaningless.

  The live-fire simulation had begun like any other—tense, chaotic, yet with the illusion of control. But that illusion shattered when the malfunction struck. Warning sirens blared over the facility’s rocky terrain, their piercing wail swallowed by the groan of collapsing walls. The acrid stench of burning wiring and smoldering insulation filled the air, mixing with the tang of wet stone as debris rained down around the recruits.

  Hrafn’s pulse thundered in his ears, his vision narrowing as the world twisted into something terrifyingly familiar. The sounds of crumbling supports, the screams of trapped recruits—it wasn’t the simulation anymore. It was Gamma 4. The mines. The collapse.

  His augments flared in his back, the joints hissing painfully as hydraulic-like pressure surged through them. The deep, bone-aching strain radiated outward, locking his breath in his throat. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to run, but his instincts—honed through a lifetime of surviving cave-ins—drove him forward instead.

  "Get out of here!" he roared, shoving past the swirling chaos toward a buckling support beam. Muscle memory guided him, the motions automatic after years of drills in the mines. His claws curled instinctively, digging into the beam’s surface like a lifeline, refusing to let go.

  Behind him, a Nivren recruit, their slim frame twitching under the flickering flames, stumbled in hesitation. Their whiskers trembled, catching embers as their claws scraped uselessly against loose rubble. Hrafn recognized them as the kid from an orbital slum—skittish but quick, always darting ahead on the obstacle course. For a fleeting second, their wide, terrified eyes met his, and he felt an unspoken connection.

  "Move!" Hrafn bellowed, shoving the Nivren toward the exit as the ceiling groaned ominously above them. His joints hissed under the strain, pain flaring up his spine like a live wire, but he didn’t falter. He couldn’t. Not while someone else’s life hung in the balance.

  The sound of snapping supports echoed through the simulation chamber, followed by the deafening crash of a steel beam hitting the floor. Hrafn scrambled to his feet, fire licking up his arm and searing into his fur. His vision blurred, and in that moment, the lines between past and present dissolved.

  He was back in the mines, buried under rubble, the taste of copper thick in his mouth.

  His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and desperate:"Hold on, Hrafn. Don’t give up. We’ll get you out."

  But this time, no one was coming for him—or so he thought.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him forward with a strength born more of desperation than raw power. Hrafn blinked, his vision clearing just enough to see the Nivren recruit’s dirt-streaked face. Fear radiated from their wide eyes, but so did determination. Together, they stumbled through the debris-strewn corridor, slipping and sliding on the mud-slicked floor as sparks and flames erupted around them.

  The moment they cleared the wreckage, the entire section erupted in a blaze of sparks and flames. The pressure wave slammed into Hrafn’s back, sending them sprawling into the icy mud outside.

  Hrafn hit the ground hard, coughing as the cold muck mixed with the soot streaking his fur. The Nivren landed beside him, gasping for breath but alive.

  For a long moment, they lay there in silence, the simulation alarms fading into the background as exhaustion settled over them like a heavy blanket.

  "Thanks," the recruit finally muttered, their voice shaky.

  Hrafn turned his head to look at them, his chest heaving with labored breaths. The pain in his back flared again, a sharp pulse along his spine that made every breath feel heavier, but the memory of Gamma 4’s collapse began to recede, replaced by the cold, undeniable relief of survival.

  "Don’t mention it," he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady. As he sat up, the rain washing away the soot on his fur, he allowed himself a brief moment to catch his breath. Not everyone made it out that time, he thought grimly. But today… today was different.