The heavy landing gear of the massive Imperial flagship engaged with a deep, thundering metallic roar that shook the valley. The reinforced boarding ramp descended steadily toward the blackened soil, hissing as atmospheric pressure equalized.
Dozens of heavily armed Imperial soldiers marched down in synchronized formation, their polished energy rifles raised as they spread across the perimeter with flawless military precision.
Then, the ambient tension in the air shifted dramatically.
A tall, imposing figure stepped out onto the open ramp.
Major General Raevor Veyr.
At thirty-five years old, he was officially the youngest Major General in the long history of the Empire, a legendary 3S Sentinel whose very name commanded absolute obedience across star systems.
His dark blue military uniform remained immaculate despite the harsh, dust-choked environment, its silver medals gleaming brilliant under the battleship’s blinding floodlights.
His expression was frozen in a cold, unreadable mask as his dark, piercing eyes swept silently across the scorched, body-strewn crash site.
Every surviving cadet instinctively straightened their posture, frozen in place by his overwhelming presence. Even the arrogant elite students who had mockingly dismissed Rhaevia earlier quickly lowered their heads, not daring to make eye contact with the legendary commander.
The senior field instructors scrambled forward, halting before the ramp to offer crisp, trembling salutes.
"Major General!" the chief instructor barked.
"Sir!" his assistant echoed, bowing his head.
Raevor acknowledged their gestures with a single, slight nod of his head.
"Report," he commanded flatly. His deep, smooth voice carried an unquestionable authority that easily silenced the murmuring crowd.
The lead instructor wiped sweat from his dirt-caked brow, stepping forward nervously.
"Major General, the academic transport shuttle suffered a catastrophic navigation system failure shortly after entering the upper atmosphere. We completely lost communication with the central academy grid, and upon landing, the Zerg population proved to be far beyond the expected safety parameters for this designated training world."
Raevor’s cold eyes shifted away from the man, locking onto the twisted, burning wreckage of the shuttle.
"Casualties?" he asked briefly.
"Several cadets sustained physical injuries, sir," the instructor reported hastily. "Thankfully, due to immediate intervention, most of the surviving cadets were successfully recovered."
Raevor’s dark eyes narrowed.
"Most?" he repeated, catching the subtle hesitation in the man’s tone.
The chief instructor opened his mouth, stammering as he tried to construct a proper administrative response.
Before he could speak, one of the rescued cadets near the front line blurted out, "It was Rhaevia!"
Raevor slowly turned his head toward the voice.
The entire surrounding crowd instinctively followed his gaze, parting to reveal the slender girl standing at the edge of the elevated ridge.
Rhaevia stood several meters away, looking completely out of place among the cowering nobles. Her academy uniform was torn at the shoulder and heavily stained with dark soil, dried alien blood coated one sleeve, and several thin scratches marked her pale, delicate face.
Yet, she stood perfectly straight. She was calm, composed, and utterly unshaken by the arrival of the imperial fleet.
Raevor studied her in silence.
Unlike every single cadet and instructor surrounding him, she was not trembling in fear. She was not bowing her head in submission, nor was she desperately attempting to draw attention to herself to gain political favor.
She simply stood there, her dark eyes looking directly back into his.
So this is the infamous E-rank Guide, Raevor thought, his analytical mind cross-referencing her face with the orbital data feeds.
He had already personally reviewed the satellite surveillance footage high above the clouds. He had seen the slender girl who had casually walked away from the burning crash site. He had seen her ruthlessly execute a mutated Zerg using a piece of scrap metal.
He had watched her organize a chaotic mob of panic-stricken survivors into a disciplined military unit. He had witnessed her single-handedly engineer a landslide to rescue six trapped cadets.
And most inexplicably, he had seen the planet-wide diagnostic scan that registered a brief, 3S-class mental power signature directly from her coordinates.
Raevor stepped off the ramp and began walking slowly toward her.
With every heavy step of his polished military boots, the surrounding cadets grew increasingly terrified, backing away to clear a wide path.
Rhaevia did not move a single inch, remaining completely still as he approached.
He halted directly in front of her, his imposing height casting a long shadow over her slender frame.
For several seconds, neither of them uttered a word. The quiet valley seemed to freeze as the cold wind blew dust between them.
Then, his deep, icy voice broke the suffocating silence.
"Name?" he asked.
"Rhaevia Rythundeir," she answered smoothly, her tone entirely flat.
The exact microsecond her clear voice spoke those words, Raevor’s dormant 3S Sentinel instincts violently, uncontrollably reacted.
His dark pupils contracted sharply into tiny points. A sudden, overwhelming pressure surged through his mental pathways, instantly accompanied by an unfamiliar, intoxicating warmth that spread rapidly through his chest.
His breathing abruptly stilled, his heart skipping half a beat as his physical body recognized her as a compatible Guide long before his logical mind could comprehend why.
Raevor’s military training kicked in instantly, and he ruthlessly suppressed the physiological reaction before it could show on his face. His stoic, icy expression remained perfectly composed and detached.
None of the surrounding cadets or instructors noticed the split-second fluctuation in his aura.
Except Rhaevia.
Her dark eyes narrowed slightly as her hardened commander instincts picked up on the subtle, micro-fractional shift in his posture and the brief tremor in his gaze.
Raevor took a deliberate step back, restoring a formal military distance between them.
"Were you injured during the engagement?" he asked.
"No," she replied simply.
A brief, heavy pause lingered in the air.
"The reports state you killed a mutated Zerg with improvised equipment," Raevor stated, his eyes searching her face. "Is that true?"
"Yes," Rhaevia confirmed without a hint of boastfulness.
"How did an E-rank cadet manage such a feat?" he pressed, his voice cool and probing.
Rhaevia looked directly into his piercing eyes, her expression utterly unreadable.
"Experience," she stated flatly.
The surrounding cadets gasped softly, horrified by her blunt, borderline disrespectful answer to a Major General.
Raevor’s face remained completely unchanged, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.
Yet, deep within the dark corridors of his mind, something long-dormant suddenly stirred with violent force. A cold, precise, mechanical sensation radiated through his neural pathways.
A bright, unyielding system notification flared clearly across his mental interface:
[Guide resonance detected.]
Inside his mind, the youngest Major General in the Empire froze completely, entirely speechless for the first time in his life.