Varos let the silence stretch just long enough for the weight of his words to sink in.
"Today," he continued, his voice echoing through the hangar, "you stop being trainees."
He turned and began walking deeper between the towering machines. The recruits followed instinctively, boots sounding small and insignificant against the vast metal floor. From this close, the orbitons felt less like machines and more like slumbering giants. Heat radiated faintly from their frames, and the low hum of standby reactors vibrated through the air, settling into bone and muscle.
"You have trained in simulators," Varos said, stopping between a LEX and a Minerva unit. "You have memorized procedures, emergency protocols, and combat doctrine. But none of that matters if you cannot synchronize with a live core."
He looked back at them.
"Orbitons are not vehicles. They are extensions of the pilot. Hesitation, fear, or arrogance will be reflected instantly."
Aiden's jaw tightened. Kess swallowed. Youri's eyes never left the machines.
Varos raised a hand, and the hangar came alive.
Service drones detached from the ceiling rails, gliding down with soft mechanical precision. Platforms extended from the floor beside each orbiton, unfolding into access scaffolds that rose toward the cockpits embedded deep within the torsos.
"Each of you will be assigned one unit," Varos said. "This is not a competition of speed or aggression. Your performance will be evaluated on control, synchronization stability, spatial awareness, and response under stress."
His gaze sharpened.
"Failure will not be forgiven."
Presley emerged from one of the side corridors, a data-slate in hand. He began calling out names.
"Kess. LEX Unit Three."
Kess exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and nerves crossing his face. He stepped out of line and approached the massive machine, craning his neck upward.
"Aiden. Minerva Unit Two."
A subtle murmur rippled through the recruits. Aiden's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a confident smile. He nodded once and moved toward the Minerva, clearly pleased.
Presley's voice continued.
"Youri Kronos. Minerva Unit Five."
For the briefest moment, the world seemed to tilt.
Youri felt it before he thought it—a tightening in his chest, a sudden awareness of his heartbeat. Minerva. Not a LEX. Not a training downgrade.
A Minerva.
He stepped forward without a word.
The Minerva Unit Five stood slightly apart from the others. Its armor gleamed faintly under the hangar lights, gold accents tracing its frame like veins of restrained power. As Youri approached, the unit's visor flickered once—just a pulse of light—before going dark again.
He stopped at the base of the access platform.
"Take your time," Varos called out. "Rushing is how pilots die."
The platform lifted smoothly, carrying Youri upward. With every meter gained, the noise of the hangar faded, replaced by a growing awareness of scale. The cockpit hatch was set deep into the chest of the unit, armored panels sliding aside with a hydraulic hiss as he approached.
Inside was darkness.
Then light.
The cockpit illuminated automatically as Youri stepped in. The interior was compact, cocoon-like. Cables and neural interfaces lined the seat, coiling like dormant serpents. The pilot chair adjusted itself to his frame with a soft mechanical whir.
Youri hesitated for half a second.
Then he sat.
The restraints locked gently but firmly across his shoulders, waist, and legs. A thin halo of light flickered in front of his eyes as the interface engaged.
NEURAL LINK INITIALIZINGPILOT IDENTIFICATION: KRONOS, YOURICLEARANCE: PROBATIONARYSYNC THRESHOLD: UNTESTED
His breath slowed.
"Easy," he murmured to himself.
A sharp sensation pulsed at the base of his skull as the neural link connected—not pain, but pressure, like a hand pressing against his thoughts. For a split second, disorientation washed over him.
Then—
He felt the machine.
Not as weight or metal, but as presence. Limbs that were not his, yet responded as if they were. A vast body waiting for instruction.
Across the hangar, other units began to stir.
LEX units powered up with deep, resonant hums. Minervas responded more quietly, their movements controlled, deliberate. One by one, the orbitons straightened, servos flexing, reactors climbing to operational levels.
Varos's voice came through the cockpit comm.
"All pilots, this is a basic mobility and control test. You will proceed through the designated course outside the hangar. Weapons are locked. Shields are passive."
A pause.
"Maintain formation. Any deviation beyond tolerance will result in immediate disqualification."
The hangar doors ahead began to open again, revealing the open training field beyond—vast, scarred terrain marked by towering pylons, artificial obstacles, and suspended platforms.
Youri flexed the Minerva's fingers.
The massive hand responded with terrifying precision.
A slow smile touched his lips.
"This," he thought, "is real."
The Minerva took its first step forward, the ground trembling beneath its weight.
And the test began.