Weeks had passed since Jaxon had nearly crushed Lucian’s throat in the dead of night, yet the tension still lingered.

  Lucian hadn’t retaliated—not yet—but Jaxon could feel it, an unspoken promise hanging in the air between them. Every glance, every smirk Lucian threw his way felt like a reminder that it was not over.

  Holt had mostly recovered from whatever had happened to him, though he was quieter now. He still cracked jokes, but something was missing. And he was pretending not to notice.

  Jaxon wanted to ask, but every time he opened his mouth, Holt would change the subject.

  Something was wrong.

  But whatever it was, Jaxon never got the chance to figure it out.

  Because that morning, everything changed.

  The klaxons screamed through the barracks like every other morning , dragging Jaxon from the haze of restless sleep.

  Groans and grumbles echoed around the room, but it didn’t matter. They were still going to get up. They were still going to do their drills.

  Then the door slid open.

  Legionnaire Makon stepped inside.

  The room went silent.

  Makon’s presence always demanded attention, but this time, it was different. There was something in the way he stood—the rigid set of his jaw, the sharp way his eyes scanned the recruits, as if he was searching for something specific.

  Behind him stood two men, dressed in the black uniform of the Mortal Legions, fully armed.

  That wasn’t normal.

  Jaxon’s stomach twisted.

  Makon clasped his hands behind his back. “Today,” he began, voice steady and unreadable, “marks a turning point in your training. The next phase of recruitment has begun. And yes, I know it has come a bit early. Ships have arrived to transport eligible children to their designated assignments.”

  A murmur rippled through the quarters .

  They had known this was coming. Their time in New Canaan had always been temporary—eventually, they would be divided up, sent to different branches of the Sol Imperium’s vast war machine. Some would go to infantry regiments, others to officer training programs or specialized fields like engineering and intelligence or even ministry work.

  But something about this felt… off.

  Then Makon continued.

  “The following fifty names will not be joining the standard recruitment.”

  Silence.

  Jaxon’s spine went rigid.

  Makon pulled out a data pod and began reading from it. One by one, he called out names.

  “Gideon Dregg.”

  Jaxon recognized that name. Gideon was one of the strongest boys in the barracks. Silent. Disciplined. He also hated Lucian.

  “Gin Severan. Hrolf Guthrie. Xandro Spinoza. Dain Nerife.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  More familiar names. They were some of the most physically capable children in the barracks. The ones who never faltered in drills, never showed weakness.

  Then there were other names—ones Jaxon barely recognized.

  Then—

  “Lucian Varik.”

  Jaxon gritted his teeth. Of course Lucian would be involved in something like this. At least he’d be rid of him. At least the constant worry about Lucian biting back would stop.

  Then—

  “Holt Darius.”

  Jaxon’s breath caught.

  He turned to Holt, who had gone completely still, his usual sarcastic mask nowhere to be found.

  It made sense. If this selection was based on physical ability, Holt’s name was bound to be called. His endurance was one of the best in the barracks, even better than those older than him.

  Jaxon felt a brief flicker of pride for Holt.

  Then—

  “Jaxon Vaes.”

  Something in Jaxon’s stomach dropped.

  The rest of the names blurred together. He barely heard them.

  Makon finished reading, then looked up. “You fifty have been chosen for a greater purpose.”

  The room shifted. Jaxon could feel it—the uncertainty, the whispered conversations about he and holt from those left behind.

  “They’re supposed to be at least fourteen.”

  “Why take them early?”

  “Even if it’s for something else, that doesn’t make sense.”

  Jaxon’s pulse quickened.

  He and Holt they weren’t old enough to be chosen yet.

  He could understand holt he had been here for almost 5 years now.

  But Why was he, he’d barely been here a year ?

  They were led out of the quarters, then out of the barracks, escorted by the armed men and several instructors.

  Was this standard procedure?.

  The children who had been left behind watched them go—some with envy, others with relief. A few looked… afraid.

  Holt kept his voice low as they walked. “Jax… this doesn’t feel right.”

  Jaxon nodded once. Barely a motion.

  He noticed how the men walking alongside them never spoke, never even looked at them. Just marched in perfect formation, weapons in hand.

  Something was wrong.

  By the time they reached the landing platform, Jaxon had counted six ships with the Imperium insignia docked, loading up recruits.

  But they were being led toward a different transport.

  Bigger. Sleeker. Unmarked.

  The inside of the transport was unlike anything Jaxon had ever seen.

  Fischer had taught them that most Imperium ships were cold, utilitarian, built for war or logistics-harsh metal interiors, exposed wiring, the constant hum of machinery thrumming through the walls.

  This one was different.

  The walls were smooth and seamless, deep gunmetal gray with faint blue lines of energy pulsing beneath the surface. The overhead lights glowed softly—not the harsh fluorescents Jaxon was used to.

  Even the air smelled different. Not like zeta fuel or recycled oxygen, but something… sterile. Artificial.

  Jaxon hesitated as they were herded inside, scanning the interior. The seating was lined in rows along the walls, each recruit given a designated spot.

  But unlike normal military transports, these weren’t regular seats.

  They were reinforced harnesses.

  Full-body restraints.

  His pulse quickened.

  “Sit,” one of the officers ordered.

  No explanations. No details. Just that single command.

  Jaxon sat. The moment he did, mechanized clamps locked around his wrists and shoulders, securing him in place. He tested them—no give. Not an inch.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  A few seats away, Holt grunted, tugging at his restraints. “This is a bit much, don’t you think?” His usual dry tone was there, but Jaxon could hear the unease beneath it.

  Holt turned to him, voice lower. “Jax… why do I feel like we’re prisoners instead of recruits?”

  Jaxon didn’t answer.

  Because he felt it too.

  Across from them, Lucian was perfectly at ease, reclining slightly, his smirk barely fading as the officers moved down the rows, ensuring each recruit was properly restrained. He caught Jaxon’s gaze and gave a slow, amused tilt of his head.

  Like he already knew something they didn’t.

  Then he looked at Jaxon and murmured, “Looks like we’re still stuck together, Jax…on.”

  The way he stretched out his name—weird. Off.

  Jaxon clenched his jaw.

  The doors sealed shut with a hiss.

  A voice crackled over the intercom. Not Makon’s—someone else’s. Calm. Detached.

  “Initiating launch sequence. Atmospheric departure in thirty seconds. Remain still.”

  Then the ship lurched forward.

  The force slammed Jaxon back against his seat, the flesh of his cheeks being usher back as if by invisible fingers, his bones rattling under the strain. The acceleration was brutal—far more intense than a standard military transport.

  Something about this wasn’t normal.

  The ship wasn’t just leaving New Canaan.

  It was leaving fast.

  Holt swore under his breath. His hands curled into fists, his knee bouncing slightly—nervous energy he wasn’t even trying to hide. “Where in Hel are they taking us?”

  No one answered.

  Then, after what felt like an eternity, the lights dimmed, and the voice returned.

  “Rest. You will need your strength for what comes next.”

  Jaxon swallowed hard.

  That sounded more like a warning than reassurance.