Making Game: CH 1-3

Chapter 1 – Pilot

"Bzzzt… M-Master Dorian… seventy-eight point three percent probability of… tardiness…"

The voice was a distorted buzz, swimming in the drowsy fog of a half-sleep. It was warm and safe in the dark. He didn’t want to leave.

*Nudge, nudge.

“Mmmph… five more minutes…” Dorian mumbled, rolling over and pulling the thin blanket over his head.

*Nudge. Nudge. NUDGE.

"Master Dorian! Wake up! At this precise moment, my projections indicate a ninety-two percent probability of you missing your transport, a one hundred percent probability of Lyra being grumpy, and a, oh dear, a sixty-seven percent chance that Marcus will attempt to wear his trousers as a hat again! It is imperative that you arise!"

The voice, now sharp and clear with anxious precision, finally pierced through the haze. Dorian groaned, peeling open his eyes. Hovering directly in front of his face was a spherical, white companion unit, its articulated panels shifting in a pattern of mild panic. The once-pristine shell was yellowed with age, covered in a network of fine scratches and one prominent dent above its primary optical sensor.

Dorian sat up, stretching with a grunt that made his back pop. He rubbed his eyes and caught his reflection in the cheap, mirrored surface of his closet door. The face staring back was sharp and sleep-rumpled, framed by a messy mop of black hair. On the left side, a distinct section of pure white hair fell across his forehead, a strange birthmark he’d carried for as long as he could remember. He brushed the unruly strands back with a practiced swipe of his hand.

“Okay, okay, I’m up, Leo,” he chuckled, his voice still rough with sleep. He reached out and patted the top of the Compadre’s smooth, spherical head. Leo’s panels shifted into a calmer, sky-blue hue. “Go wake the others. I’ll start making breakfast.”

"But my chronometer indicates that it is your designated morning to awaken the younger units," Leo stated, bobbing slightly in the air.

“Is it?” Dorian said, swinging his legs out of bed. “Well, I’m already halfway to the kitchen, so it might as well be you.”

"Your logic is fundamentally flawed," Leo retorted, its blue optical light narrowing. "That is the equivalent of saying ‘I am already halfway to the ground, so I might as well jump.’ It is a fallacious argument, Master Dorian."

Dorian paused at his bedroom door and looked back at the hovering sphere as it zipped towards his siblings' room. “Since when did you get so sassy?” he muttered to himself with a smile.

No sunlight pierced the windows of their small apartment; down here in the sunless depths of Nexus Prime’s lower levels, the only light was the perpetual, artificial glow of the city. After a quick breakfast of nutrient paste flavored to resemble oatmeal, Dorian knelt to help Marcus get dressed.

“Arms up,” he instructed, guiding his eight-year-old brother’s arms through his school tunic. As he fastened the clasps, he called out, “Lyra, you need any help in there?”

A muffled shout came from the other room. “I don’t! I’m a big girl now!”

Dorian laughed, a genuine, warm sound that filled the small space. Hearing him, Marcus giggled, perfectly mimicking his older brother’s laugh.

The starliner station was a chaotic hive of activity. The air smelled of ozone, recycled air, and the faint scent of street vendor synth-noodles. Dorian navigated the crowd with practiced ease, carrying a chattering Marcus on one hip while holding twelve-year-old Lyra’s hand with his other. Leo hovered dutifully behind them, a silent, spherical guardian.

Inside the rattling public transport, Dorian finally had a moment to himself. He let Marcus down and the ever-curious eight-year-old immediately pressed his face against the grimy window, trying to read the flickering neon signs that flashed by in the gloom. After dropping a surprisingly solemn Lyra at her middle school block, Dorian handed Marcus over to Leo. The Compadre would ensure he got to his own elementary school safely.

Dorian jogged back to the station. His next transport was different. Its destination wasn’t another sector of Nexus Prime, but another world entirely: Aethelgard. As he boarded the interstellar vessel, he paused in the open doorway, the ship’s internal lights casting a long shadow behind him. This was his favorite part.

He looked down, seeing the endless, shadowed canyons of his home, a world of permanent twilight. As the transport began its powerful ascent, he stretched a hand out into the open air. The ship climbed higher and higher, rising through the smog and the oppressive layers of the city. Suddenly, they broke through.

Sunlight, real, brilliant, unfiltered sunlight, hit his outstretched hand, warming his skin. For a moment, he was bathed in light as they soared past the gleaming, privileged spires of the upper levels. A genuine smile touched Dorian’s lips. He stepped fully inside as the heavy doors hissed shut, sealing him in. In moments, the transport cleared the atmosphere, and Nexus Prime became just another marble in the blackness of space.

The transport shuddered as it synchronized with the invisible hyperspace lane, a tightly regulated corridor of spacetime governed by the Accord. Ahead, a queue of vessels, hulking freighters, sleek military patrols, and other civilian transports like his, waited for their designated entry slot. Space travel was routine, but it was never fast.

Dorian found an empty seat by a viewport and sat down. Most of the other students heading to Aethelgard were already absorbed in their heliopads, holographic screens shimmering with lecture notes or the latest Stellarcast streams.

Dorian had one, a mandatory piece of academy equipment, but he rarely used it for leisure. He rummaged through his worn satchel and pulled out a physical, paper-bound sketchbook and a graphite pencil.

It was a rare sight, an anachronism in an age of digital everything. The heliopad’s creation suite was powerful, but its predictive algorithms and auto-smoothing features felt intrusive, a sleek, sterile assistant that tried to perfect every line he drew. It couldn't replicate the satisfying, raw friction of graphite on paper, a feeling his hands remembered with a certainty that defied this new reality.

And that was the crux of it all. He remembered. He wasn’t sure if he was reincarnated or transmigrated. He couldn’t recall a name from his past life, nor could he remember how he died. Maybe he never did die. There was no grand cinematic flashback, no single moment of revelation.

The memories had always just been there, a parallel stream of consciousness running alongside his fifteen years in this world. A Mnemonic Echo, he called it. The ability to perfectly recall not just facts, but the full sensory experience of a life that wasn't his.

His pencil began to move, the strokes confident and practiced. As he sketched, he idly flipped through the previous pages. A sleek mechanical figure with a distinctive V-shaped antenna, the RX-78 Gundam. A rotund, fuzzy forest spirit with a gentle smile, Totoro. A figure in tactical gear with a gas mask, one hand raised to his temple, Psycho Mantis. A silver-haired ninja mentor, Kakashi Hatake. Each drawing was a ghost, a fragment of a world that, as far as he could tell, had never existed here.

He wasn't sure what world this was. At first, he’d suspected it was a far-flung future of the Earth he remembered. But when he was nine, he’d spent weeks scouring the school’s digital library, searching for any mention of his home. The records were gone, wiped clean. The official history spoke of a cataclysmic “War of Many Races” centuries ago, an era of chaos that supposedly ended when the Stellar Accord rose to power.

Now, everyone lived in a peaceful era. Or at least, as peaceful as it gets.

Dorian knew better. The war had never ended. One side had simply developed a weapon so overwhelming it forced a stalemate. That weapon was the Accord itself, a coalition of races that had pooled their resources to create the Heliocore. With it, they became the undisputed center of the known universe, the sole arbiters of power and technology.

Their enemies, those who resisted their iron-fisted vision of order, hadn't been defeated. They had been scattered, pushed into the lawless Outer Rims, where they presumably still lurked. The peace was a lie. It was a cold war, held in place by the threat of absolute annihilation.

…

Dorian continued to sketch, his mind a quiet oasis amidst the low hum of the transport's life support. He finished the page with a final drawing: the unmistakable silhouette of a Mandalorian helmet and armor, complete with a dented cuirass and a jetpack. Boba Fett. A relic of a story that no one here would ever know. He closed the book just as the transport chimed, announcing its final approach.

The academy was not on the planet below, but was the planet's moon. Aethelgard. It hung in space like a perfectly polished pearl, its entire surface terraformed and sculpted into a sprawling campus of white towers, manicured gardens, and holographic lecture halls. It orbited the Accord's central academic world, a planet reserved for the galaxy's most brilliant minds and their top-secret research. Each of the planet's other moons was a similar, competing academy, each with its own specialty. Aethelgard, widely known as the Ivory Tower, was the most prestigious.

Dorian chuckled to himself. It always reminded him of the "Ivy League" colleges from his past life. A system designed to stratify the elite from the masses. It didn't matter. He was here on a full scholarship; he just had to play the game long enough to get what he needed.

He walked through the pristine, open-air corridors of his wing, the architecture a stark, clean contrast to the grime and chaos of his home on Nexus Prime. He glanced at the black band on his wrist, and a simple hologram of his class schedule flickered to life above it.

"Hmmm, let's see," he muttered, tracing a line on the hologram with his finger. "Compadres Introductory is in... Sector Gamma-7..."

"DORIAN!"

A sudden weight slammed onto his back, and arms wrapped around his neck, nearly sending him stumbling.

"Oh god, Juno, what are you doing?" he yelped, struggling to keep his balance.

A girl a year older than him, with vibrant platinum-blonde hair tied back in a practical but stylish ponytail, hopped off his back, landing gracefully. Her violet eyes, a popular and expensive genetic modification, sparkled with mischief. "Hehe, caught you! What're you up to?"

"I'm about to go to class," Dorian said, straightening his tunic. "What are you doing here? I thought your engineering courses were in the Delta wing."

Juno triumphantly held up her own wristband. An identical holographic schedule shimmered above it. "Tadaa! I'm in your class. Took it as an elective. Someone's got to make sure you don't get into trouble."

They walked together towards the classroom, falling into an easy rhythm born of years of friendship. As they found two seats side-by-side in the tiered lecture hall, Dorian looked around at the other students. "So, who's the professor for this?"

Juno shrugged, her carefree demeanor a perfect foil to his own focused intensity. "I don't know. The schedule still hasn't updated the info."

"Did you ask the faculty?"

"Why? We're about to see them anyway," she said with a grin. Dorian just shook his head and chuckled.

Just then, the main door slid open. A thin, disheveled man with dark, sunken rings around his eyes shuffled in, clutching a heliopad like a lifeline. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Trailing behind him was his Compadre, a sleek, chrome model that looked far more put-together than its owner. The man shambled to the front of the class, stared out at the students with a blank expression, and spoke in a monotone, listless voice.

"Good evening."

His Compadre's optical sensor flashed red. "It's morning, Hendrick."

The professor paused, blinked slowly, and looked at his heliopad as if to confirm. "Oh. Good morning. Today, we will... do our first class of introductory for Compadres."

Dorian and Juno slowly turned to look at each other, their faces a perfect mirror of bewildered disbelief. Their shared expression silently screamed the same question: Are we sure we're in Aethelgard right now?

Chapter 2 – A Cold Dose of Reality

Professor Hendrick shuffled to the lectern and cleared his throat with a dry, papery sound. "Let us begin."

At his side, his chrome Compadre whirred softly. Its primary optical sensor began to glow, casting a cone of blue light into the space above the lectern. A fully interactive hologram of the course syllabus materialized in the air. As Professor Hendrick spoke again, his Compadre’s hologram dutifully transcribed his words like a digital whiteboard.

"Compadres," Hendrick said, his voice devoid of any energy. "Does anyone know what it is?"

A hand shot up from the middle of the class. It was Dorian's.

"It stands for Companion Process Assist Digital Response Entities," Dorian said, his voice clear and confident. "They were designed for both assistance and companionship by the original inventors of the Accord."

Professor Hendrick squinted and pointed vaguely towards the far left of the room. "Correct."

Dorian, who was sitting almost directly in front of him, exchanged a confused glance with Juno. Several other students snickered quietly. The professor's Compadre took over, its synthesized voice picking up the lecture seamlessly.

"Compadres are created with a vast array of functions," it explained, as the hologram shifted to show different models. "While some, like myself, are equipped for high-level academic and protocol support, many serve more... standard issue roles. There are sanitation units, cargo-lifters, and models whose sole purpose is to serve as a mobile battery for starships awaiting maintenance in a hangar. From this class, you will gain the introductory knowledge to service, program, and interact with all of them."

Professor Hendrick stirred again, his gaze drifting across the sea of young, ambitious faces. "Some of you think this course is not necessary," he began, his listless tone suddenly carrying a new, sharper edge. "You are here because you want to be Solars. You want to Awaken."

He paused, letting the statement hang in the air.

"But think for a moment. The percentage of you who will actually Awaken your power is not big. Most of you will fail. And when you do, you will need anything you can get. The more things you know, the more... certain your life trajectory will be if you do not become a Solar."

A palpable chill swept through the lecture hall. The easy, privileged confidence of Aethelgard's chosen few evaporated in an instant. These students were the cream of the crop, the brightest talents from every corner of the Accord. They had been told their whole lives that they were destined for greatness. The raw fact that simply being here wasn't enough, that they could still fail, was a whip of cold reality.

Dorian’s jaw tightened. While others looked shocked or dismayed, his expression hardened into one of pure, unyielding determination. He saw his father’s exhausted face, the grime of Mord Tida 3 etched into his skin. He felt the sunless gloom of the lower levels. He couldn't go back to that. He needed to be a Solar. The wealth, the power, the freedom, it was the only escape he could see.

Professor Hendrick continued his lecture, his voice returning to its usual monotone drone, but the damage was done. His words had stung, and the students were now listening not with the arrogance of the elite, but with the quiet fear of those who had just been reminded of how far they could fall.

…

The rest of the lecture passed in a haze. Professor Hendrick and his Compadre continued to detail the inner workings of various maintenance droids and protocol units, but the class’s initial spark of elite confidence had been thoroughly extinguished. The air was thick with a newfound tension, the unspoken fear of failure now sitting in every chair.

When the class was finally dismissed, the students filed out in near silence. The usual postlecture chatter was replaced by quiet, contemplative expressions.

Juno fell into step beside Dorian as they walked out into the bright, open corridors of the academy. She nudged his shoulder, trying to break the somber mood.

"Well, he was a bucket of fun," she said with a forced cheerfulness. "I'm starting to think his Compadre is the one who's actually tenured."

Dorian didn't smile. He just stared ahead, his gaze fixed on the pristine architecture of the Ivory Tower. "He wasn't wrong, though."

Juno's playful expression softened into one of concern. "Hey, don't let him get to you. It's just a scare tactic. They do it to weed out the people who aren't serious."

"I am serious, Juno," Dorian said, his voice low and intense. "That's the problem. For you, this is one possible path. Your father is Alexei Park. Your family has connections, wealth. If you don't Awaken, you'll still be Juno Park, ship engineer, and you'll live a great life."

He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes holding a depth of seriousness she rarely saw. "If I don't Awaken, I'm just another body from the lower levels. My scholarship ends. My family... they're counting on this. It's not just a career path for me. It's everything."

Juno looked taken aback, the full weight of his reality settling upon her. She had always known his family wasn't wealthy, but she had never fully grasped the precariousness of his position.

"You'll Awaken, Dorian," she said softly, but with conviction. "You're the smartest person I know. You work harder than anyone. Of course you will."

Dorian offered a small, tired smile. He appreciated her faith in him, but he knew the truth. Awakening wasn't a prize for hard work or intelligence. It was a lottery, a biological fluke that no one understood.

"I hope you're right," he said, the simple words carrying the immense burden of his hopes and fears.

They parted ways at the main concourse. Juno headed towards the advanced engineering labs, while Dorian made his way back to the transport station. As the ship pulled away from Aethelgard and began its descent towards the shadowed bulk of Nexus Prime, Dorian pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the viewport. Professor Hendrick's words echoed in his mind. The more certain your life trajectory will be if you do not become a Solar. Certain, yes. A certain life of grinding poverty in the dark, just like his father's. He closed his eyes, his resolve hardening like steel. Failure was not an option.

…

Back on the starliner, Dorian settled in for the long ride home. He glanced around at the other passengers. A few older students from Nexus Prime were scattered amongst the seats, their uniforms bearing the insignia of higher semesters. He locked eyes with one of them, a stern looking young man, and gave a slight, respectful nod. The student’s gaze flickered over him for a second before dismissing him entirely, turning back to the glowing screen of his heliopad.

Dorian pulled out his own device. He briefly reviewed the day's lecture on Compadres, but the contents were sparse and he quickly grew bored. Instead, he opened Stellarcast. The video and streaming platform was heavily filtered through Accord regulations, of course, but it was still entertaining nonetheless.

He navigated to one of his subscribed channels: Ewron Life. The channel was run by a man named Ewron, a resident of Obelia II, a lush planet in a neighboring system dedicated entirely to agriculture. Dorian always found the videos relaxing. The ambient sounds of farming, the chirping of alien insects, and the gentle hum of technology meticulously blended with nature helped calm his perpetually racing thoughts. The channel had a unique aesthetic, a kind of solarpunk where gleaming tech worked in harmony with the natural world. Ewron had uploaded a new video about building a new coop for his flock of avian livestock. Dorian smiled and settled back to watch, the peaceful sounds of a distant, sunnier world filling his ears.

The transport eventually arrived at the upper levels of Nexus Prime. One by one, the other students disembarked, disappearing into the clean, well lit platforms of the privileged tiers. Soon, he was the only one left. He sighed, the quiet hiss of the transport’s recycled air suddenly feeling very loud.

When he finally stepped out at his station in the lower levels, he was greeted by the soft, steady drumming of water on metal. Today was the scheduled artificial rain, a weekly event to wash the accumulated grime from the city’s surfaces. Waiting for him just inside the station’s overhang were Lyra, Marcus, and Leo.

The scene struck him with a sudden, powerful pang of memory. A small family unit, huddled together, waiting in the rain. Satsuki and Mei waiting for their father at the bus stop.

Leo’s optical sensor flashed impatiently. "You should have been here fifteen minutes ago. My projections accounted for a standard transit time."

Dorian smiled, walking over and lifting Marcus into his arms. "Well, you should have told the Accord hyperspace lane officer to hurry then."

"That is not a logistical possibility when my operational matrix is located here on Nexus Prime," Leo replied, its tone impeccably logical and completely sassy.

"Then let's go," Dorian said, shifting Marcus onto his hip. "Or else I'll sell your charging port."

Dorian held Lyra’s hand and they started the walk home. Marcus, giggling, held a wide umbrella over both himself and Dorian. Lyra, clad in a bright yellow raincoat, broke away from them, gleefully splashing in the puddles that formed in the uneven street. 

Leo hovered anxiously after her, issuing a series of polite but firm directives about the dangers of waterborne contaminants and the statistical probability of slipping. It was a perfect, wholesome scene, a small island of warmth in the cold, rainy dark.

…

Dinner was a special occasion. It was the only time a lower income household like theirs could afford a real meal. 

For Lyra and Marcus, it was the highlight of their day, a moment of genuine culinary delight. For Dorian, it was a way to get by, a brief, fleeting connection to a life he once knew. It was not a gourmet meal by his past life's standards, but it was real food, something he used to enjoy at any given moment. In this life, three real meals a day was an impossible dream.

But Dorian, with his wealth of forgotten knowledge, always made something special. Even Leo, with its vast Accord database, had no record of the dishes Dorian would sometimes create from their meager ingredients. Tonight, he placed a bowl in front of each of his siblings. Pasta aglio e olio. Its simple nature, just noodles with garlic and oil, made it a perfect choice.

"Thank you, brother Dorian!" Lyra shouted, her eyes wide with appreciation.

"Thank you, brother!" Marcus echoed, already grabbing his fork.

Dorian smiled and ruffled both of their heads.

Leo’s optical sensor blinked. "Marcus, your mathematics homework requires completion. Lyra, you have a pending review of stellar cartography."

"Boo, stop being a buzzkillington, Leo," Dorian said without looking up from his own plate.

"Buzzkillington is not a recognized word in my lexicon," the Compadre replied coolly. "Therefore, I am unable to be offended by it."

Dorian laughed and began to eat. As the family settled into their meal, Dorian sighed and chuckled softly. Lyra and Marcus were both happily eating, their gazes fixed on the small heliopads propped up beside their plates, streaming cartoons.

Suddenly, Leo’s hovering form turned towards the door. "Welcome back, Master John."

John Kepler, their father, had arrived. He looked worn, the fatigue of interstellar travel and hard labor etched onto his face. Before Dorian could even stand, Marcus and Lyra were a blur of motion. They shot up from their chairs and ran to him, crashing into his legs in a flurry of ecstatic hugs.

"Dad! You're back!" Lyra cried, her voice muffled against the rough fabric of his work trousers.

John’s tired face broke into a wide, genuine smile. He knelt, scooping both of them into his arms. "I missed you two troublemakers." The reunion was pure, uncomplicated joy.

As John stood, his eyes met Dorian’s across the room. The boisterous energy of the moment seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet, awkward tension. An unspoken distance hung in the air between them.

"Dorian," John said simply. His voice was rough.

"Father," Dorian replied, his tone polite but formal. He stood from the table and picked up a clean plate. "Here. We just began our dinner."

The meal continued, livelier now with John's presence. Lyra and Marcus chattered endlessly, telling him about their school, their friends, and all the things they had done in the weeks he was away. John listened intently, laughing at their stories and asking questions, soaking in the family life he missed so dearly on Mord Tida. He tried to connect with Dorian, asking about the academy, but the conversation was stilted.

Finally, as the meal wound down, John looked at his oldest son. "The scholarship stipend," he started, his voice a little hesitant. "That will be coming in soon, right?"

Dorian met his father's gaze. There was no malice in the question, only the weary pragmatism of a man who was always thinking about the next bill.

"Yeah, I know," Dorian replied, his voice flat. "It's four days from now."

Chapter 3 – The Eve of Awakening

The last of the dinner plates were cleaned and stacked. Dorian walked out of the small kitchen alcove to find his father asleep on the couch, his head lolling to one side. The television was still on, casting flickering lights across the room as sleek, anti-gravity vehicles screamed through a holographic race track.

As Dorian passed by, he saw his father was completely exhausted. Leo hovered silently near the ceiling corner. "Master John is t-tired," the Compadre stated, its voice soft. "He expended significant energy reserves playing with Lyra and Marcus."

A small, genuine smile touched Dorian's lips. He walked over to the storage cupboard, pulled out a worn but clean blanket, and gently draped it over his father's sleeping form. John stirred slightly, then settled deeper into the couch's cushions.

Dorian turned, his expression shifting from quiet affection to focused purpose. "Leo," he whispered, "help me with my project, will you?"

The Compadre silently followed Dorian into his small bedroom. Once inside, Leo floated down to the center of Dorian's desk and with a soft click, powered down. Dorian tapped a specific spot on the desk's side wall. With a series of satisfying clicks and whirs, hidden panels flipped open one by one, revealing a compact, custom workshop of soldering irons, micro-drivers, and diagnostic tools he had collected and modified over the years.

He carefully connected a data cable from the desk directly into Leo's main service port. Pressing a final button, a complex hologram of cascading green code materialized in the air above the desk. Dorian's eyes scanned the lines, his fingers flying across a holographic keyboard. He had a knack for this, an intuitive understanding of logic and syntax that felt as natural as breathing. He suspected his past life had something to do with code, because the way he could navigate these systems went far beyond what the academy taught.

He did this every few weeks, refining Leo's code, adding new subroutines. But the most important part was the core modification he'd achieved months ago: the Accord jailbreak. Every Compadre was required to run a standard, locked-down operating system from the Accord, full of trackers and behavioral governors. Dorian had broken his wide open.

After a few final inputs, he disconnected the cable and turned Leo back on. The Compadre's optical sensor lit up. "Dorian..." it began, then paused. The internal fans spun a little faster. "It's good. I can connect to the net now."

"How does it feel?" Dorian asked, leaning back in his chair. "Your OS is still jailbroken, though. So I suggest you don't connect to the net too much until I figure out the kinks."

"K-kinks?" Leo's voice was filled with a newfound, almost human, anxiety. "Do-does that mean this is not the last update?"

Dorian laughed. "It will not be the last update until you're satisfied, Leo."

The Compadre floated higher into the air and began to spin, cheerfully singing in a familiar, off-key voice. "...Because I'm happy… Clap along… if you feel like a room without a roof…" It was Dorian's own voice, clearly recorded without his knowledge.

"Hey!" Dorian exclaimed, his face flushing slightly. "When did you record that?"

Leo stopped spinning and hovered. It remained silent for a noticeably long time before finally answering. "Bathroom."

Dorian tapped the desk, and the hidden workshop panels seamlessly flipped shut, returning it to a normal, unassuming surface. "You creep."

Immediately, Leo began to play another recording, once again in Dorian's voice. "...I'm a creep... I'm a weirdo..."

"Being funny now, are we?" Dorian shouted, a grin spreading across his face as he lunged from his chair, playfully chasing the spherical, music-blaring robot around the small room.

…

Time passed, marked by the steady rhythm of academy life and the slow countdown to the next Awakening Ceremony. This one was special. It was Juno's.

The ceremonies were always held in the middle of the year, a grand spectacle for every sixteen year old aspirant. Dorian watched from a lavish VIP box high above the arena floor, a position he never dreamed he would be in. The privilege came courtesy of Juno, who had insisted her father invite Dorian's family. John was still away on his three month rotation at the mines, but Dorian had brought Lyra and Marcus along.

They were in heaven. While Dorian stared in awe at the sheer scale of the ceremony, his siblings were making a determined assault on the complimentary snack bar, their eyes wide with a delight he hadn't seen in years. Attending an Awakening was a rare honor, usually reserved for the families of the participants or the wealthy who could afford a box like this.

Down on the arena floor, the solemn procession began. One by one, the aspirants were called forward to be tested for their compatibility. A cold, digital voice echoed through the massive space.

"Incompatible!"

A collective groan of disappointment rippled through the crowd. Dorian felt his own stomach clench with sympathetic nervousness, even though he wasn't participating today.

A heavy presence leaned on the railing beside him. "It is nerve racking, is it not?"

Dorian started, turning to see Alexei Park, Juno's father. The man was built like a mountain, with a calm authority that demanded respect. "Ye yes sir," Dorian stammered. "And I can't thank you enough for inviting us."

Alexei waved a dismissive hand. "It was not me. It was her that insisted." He nodded towards the floor, where Juno stood among the other aspirants, smiling with a carefree confidence that seemed almost unnatural.

"She is just like you, sir," Dorian said. "She does not even seem nervous at all."

Alexei chuckled, a low rumble. "Nonsense. She has always been like that since she was a kid. But she has been changing lately."

"Incompatible!" another shout echoed from below.

"What do you see down there?" Alexei asked, his gaze fixed on the arena.

Dorian considered the question for a moment. "A high stakes lottery."

"Compatible!" A roar of applause and cheers erupted from one section of the stands.

"You can say that," Alexei agreed. "But observe carefully."

"Incompatible!"

"Look," Alexei said quietly. "Even the adults who were once declared incompatible, look how hard their expressions are. They are tough on the newly failed."

Dorian followed his gaze and saw it. The quiet scorn, the bitter satisfaction. "A chain of suffering," he murmured.

"Compatible!" another cheer went up.

"Is it?" Alexei asked, turning his perceptive gaze on Dorian. "Is being a Solar the only way to happiness?"

"Incompatible!"

"Do not take it the wrong way, sir," Dorian said, his voice hardening with conviction. "But for people like me, it is the only way to crawl out of our situations."

"Compatible!"

Alexei looked at Dorian's determined face, then his attention was drawn back to the floor as Juno's name was called. Both of them watched as she stepped into the pod. A moment of silence, then the Channeller's voice boomed.

"Compatible!"

Dorian let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. "Congratulations, sir."

Alexei just smiled, a small, knowing expression. "You are quite an insightful kid. There is always a way for a clever kid like you. You just need to take a step back for a while, and you will see the whole picture." With that, he turned and left the box, presumably to meet his daughter.

Just then, Marcus and Lyra jogged over to him, their faces flushed with excitement. "Brother, brother, look!" Marcus said in a conspiratorial whisper, holding up a chocolate bar. "Keep this in your pockets. We will take more so they do not get suspicious."

Dorian laughed, the tension of the last hour melting away. He looked at the other stuffy, self important people in the neighboring VIP boxes, and he did not care about any of them. All he saw was the pure, unfiltered happiness on his siblings' faces.

"What do you say," he said, pulling them into a hug, "we get out of here with full stomachs, huh?"

…

Dorian, Lyra, and Marcus walked in a happy, skipping line towards the exit hall, their spirits high. Just as they reached the main doors, Dorian's wristband buzzed. A call. He tapped the receiver.

"DORIIAN!" Juno's voice exploded from the speaker, so loud that he had to pull his wrist away from his ear.

"I can hear you, Juno," he said, laughing.

"Aaaahhh, I'm so happy! I did it!" she shouted, her voice pure, unadulterated joy.

Dorian's smile was genuine. "Congrats. Sorry we had to leave early, but the other VIPs did not seem to want us there."

"Nonsense!" Juno shot back. "Since when do you care about anyone's thoughts?"

"I do not," Dorian admitted. "But I was still your guest. It would not be cool of me to ruin your name. And also, Marcus has already filled his pockets to capacity, hahahaha."

Juno laughed with him. "Oh, the closing ceremony is about to begin. Goodbye now, Dorian!"

"Yeah. Congrats, alright?" he said, ending the call. Today, with full stomachs and full pockets, was definitely one of their best days.

…

Time passed. A new semester began at the academy. For Dorian, it was his third, and the curriculum began to delve into much deeper topics, from the complex ethics of Solar deployment to the advanced mechanics of Compadres.

One fateful day, while riding the starliner back from Aethelgard, Dorian was browsing Stellarcast. He noticed that almost none of the channels he subscribed to had uploaded new content or were streaming. Bored, he tapped on a suggested video from the gaming category. As he watched, a slow, dawning horror crept over him. This game was terrible. Utterly, fundamentally, sucks-ass terrible.

Curious, he began to explore the gaming section of Stellarcast. He realized there barely was one. The most popular streams were Solar vlogs, where active duty Solars would stream combat footage from the Outer Rims. The people of this world did not have any good games.

His Mnemonic Echo flared. He could feel the phantom frustration of trying to beat Malenia, Blade of Miquella, for the hundredth time. He remembered how CJ's aim in San Andreas seemed to have a mind of its own during that one train mission. He recalled the spicy, button mashing of the Kratos quick time events he had tried to hide from his parents.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. Could he bring that joy, that frustration, that life to this world?

He immediately brushed the thought aside, his expression hardening. No. He needed to focus. He had to become a Solar. He could not lose sight of the objective. He needed to lift his family out of the dark, and that was the only way.

…

Time passed in a blur of study and quiet preparation. Without anyone quite realizing it, the day had arrived. Dorian was sixteen, and tomorrow, the Awakening Ceremony would be held.

He came home to a scene of controlled chaos. Leo, his spherical Compadre, was zipping around the small apartment, its articulated panels shifting in a rapid, festive light pattern, emitting a series of excited chimes. A handmade banner reading "GOOD LUCK, DORIAN!" was strung crookedly across the living room wall.

Dorian stood in the doorway, a bit shy and overwhelmed by the celebratory atmosphere. "Come on, guys," he said, a faint blush on his cheeks. "I have not even done the ceremony yet."

"Brother Dorian will be a Solar!" Lyra declared with absolute certainty from the kitchen.

"Yeahh!" Marcus shouted, running into the room. "You can blast energy from your punch tomorrow! Wosh! Woosh!" He threw a series of clumsy but enthusiastic air punches.

John, his father, stood leaning against the kitchen frame, a rare, gentle smile on his face. He let out an awkward chuckle. "It was all your siblings' idea. They are more hyped than you are, it seems."

Dorian chuckled and walked further into the apartment. The table was laden with food. Real food. By the standards of his past life, it was an ordinary dinner. A roasted avian, some colorful root vegetables, and a loaf of actual bread. But for them, now, it was a lavish feast.

"Where did you get all this?" Dorian asked, his first thought immediately going to the cost.

Leo floated over, its panels glowing a proud, warm orange. "It is your own recipe, Master Dorian. Master John, Lyra, and Marcus have been cooking since noon to prepare this for you."

Dorian looked from the food to the proud, hopeful faces of his family. He felt the tight knot of anxiety in his chest loosen, replaced by a wave of warmth. He smiled, a wide, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice soft. "Come on, let's eat."

They all sat down at the dinner table. The scene was perfectly, achingly wholesome. For tonight, he was not an aspirant with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was just a brother, and a son. He let go of his anxiety, pushing all thoughts of tomorrow away to savor the simple, profound joy of today.