“What the—” Tate mutters, his voice echoing off the cold walls as we survey our surroundings.
A suffocating sense of wrongness hangs in the air. The long, narrow hall is cloaked in an unyielding darkness, a chill rattling my bones that has nothing to do with the temperature here. I glance toward the adjoining rooms, finding them empty, their doors ominously ajar as if everyone had left in a hurry.
As we make our way to the control room, we find that it, too, is empty. The air inside the room is frigid, enough to have a bite even through our heavy winter gear. Outside the building, the wind continues to howl like a restless spirit, sending goosebumps racing across my skin.
“Well, this is new,” Trysten states, pulling out his Hallo. I follow suit, gripping the familiar sleek frame. Behind us, Tate and Ciara press together, their backs flush and expressions full of anxiety.
Something about this feels wrong, making my stomach swirl with unease. I approach the control panel, my breath catching in my throat when I see everything shut down. A fresh wave of panic courses through me as I look out over the launch pad. There should always be at least two personnel stationed here for emergency landings. The stillness around us feels unnatural.
“Are we at the wrong one?” Ciara whispers, her voice trembling, teeth chattering, probably more from fear than the cold.
“No,” Trysten and I reply in unison, our voices hushed. I can feel the weight of the darkness pressing in around us.
“Let’s go,” Trysten insists, an urgency creeping into his tone. “Something is off, and I’d rather not stick around to find out what. We’ll call the school as soon as we’re free.”
We exchange nervous glances, each of us agreeing with a slightnod. Our footsteps become frantic as we retrace our steps back toward the exit.
Then, just as we approach the door, a whisper slices through the silence, sending chills crawling across my skin—“Soraea.” My heart races, and fear grips me as I spin around, searching the eerie shadows for the source. But there’s nothing there.
Trysten pushes me forward, urging me out the door. As we burst into the open, the merciless wind and cold are overshadowed by an overwhelming instinct to flee and get off this planet as quickly as possible. Without thought, we sprint across the blanket of snow, no longer huddling together.
Ciara stumbles, but Trysten is already there, reaching back to grasp her arm and pulling her along as we race toward the ramp already lowering at our approach. Once inside, I don’t even bother to shed my coat or gear. All I want is to escape this nightmare of a planet.
“Get us out of here, Raea,” Trysten commands.
I nod and hurriedly activate the emergency launch sequence. The ship hums to life around us as I brace for the violent jolt of the thrusters engaging. With a shuddering roar, we ascend, our backs pressed into our seats, the force holding our breaths captive until we break free from the grip of Cresnigan’s gravity. In under two minutes, we’re free.
Once clear, I stand and peel off my heavy coat and boots along with the others. Adrenaline courses through us all, leaving us all trembling.
“Ciara, you need to warn the other transports. We can’t let anyone else risk landing. Send out a message as soon as possible. Trysten, can you contact the school and notify them of the situation? And Tate, find us a clear path to Cidal. We still have a few planets to go before we’re in the clear,” I instruct, my voice steady despite the unease running rampant within me.
As I take a moment to collect my thoughts, my mind races, replaying the events that just transpired. We had received clearance to land; I remember that clearly. There was a voice, authoritative and unmistakable, granting us permission. Then, there was that othertransport—its insignia flashing on my screen, unmistakably linked to the academy.
“I’ve already sent the message to Professor Brendn and Chancellor Xara,” Trysten replies, his ever-calm demeanor a welcome comfort. I nod, grateful he’s here, and retake my seat, trying to focus.
“Can we look into getting clearance for the recording from the landing? I can’t be the only one who heard the transmission,” I suggest.
Trysten shakes his head slowly, his brows pinching together. “We don’t have direct access to that data; the school does. And to answer your question more directly, I didn’t catch it, but I wasn’t exactly focused. I was trying to coach Tate on delivering the weather report,” he admits, a hint of regret in his tone.
I turn to Ciara, hoping she heard it. She shrugs, admitting she was focused on their conversation, too. Frustration bubbles beneath the surface, but I remind myself to breathe. There’s no point in worrying about permissions or recordings—not right now.
Cidal is a planet I’m intimately familiar with, and perhaps the familiarity will ease this gnawing anxiety inside of me. I scan the navigation system for a clear path before engaging our reactor, initiating the hyperjump sequence. The distance from Ateria to Treon is quick but not without its challenges. We will need to thread our way around Mori and Thirik, skirting the edges of the Storm Nebula before entering Treon’s airspace. With hyperjump, we have a little more than an hour. I plan to use every minute to reorient myself.
As the transport begins to decelerate, the vibrant hues of Cidal emerge from the darkness of space. From this vantage point, the planet appears as a translucent, mint green hue, brushed with wispy white clouds that dance across its surface, interspersed with wide bodies of glittering blue water. Instantly, my nerves start to settle.
“Ciara, please clear us for landing,” I instruct, my eyes fixed on the planet’s surface. As we approach, Cidal’s diminutive moon, Zaria, comes into view, peeking out from behind the planet.
Its small size is overshadowed by its stunning features—swirls of vibrant pinks and purples intertwined with cobalt rings. Though Zariais beautiful, its waters are toxic, and gas emissions from vents prevent habitation. Instead, the moon serves as a storage site, repurposed for our waste materials before they are recycled.
“Cidal, pad twelve, this is Academy Transport Five. We are requesting access to land for a brief period of five minutes,” Ciara communicates through the console, her tone professional yet smooth. I hear the all-clear echo in my headset, confirming that the others also received the message.
As the green light flashes, I prepare for atmospheric entry. Pad twelve is situated in the heart of the city, the location chosen for this exact exercise.
I notice Trysten holding back his instinct to take over the controls, his fingers twitching above the flight console. I glance at the ink swirling on his hands, wondering if it’s just for art or if it has meaning. Shaking off the distraction, I redirect my focus to the landing pad. The stakes are significantly higher here, and it would be deadly if I made a mistake. Even with computers managing most of the landing procedure, I need to be ready for any shift that could pull us off course.
I steadily reduce our speed, expertly guiding the transport until we touch down seamlessly on the designated pad. The sense of relief that washes over me is palpable.
“Nice job,” Trysten sighs, and I see his body visibly relax. “Gods, why is this so much harder on this side?” He chuckles as he brushes his hair back.
