Later that evening, after a blur of orientation maps, rule lectures, and a forgettable mess-hall dinner, Orin pushed the dorm door shut with his heel.
The noise of the academy dropped away in an instant. No crowds, no instructors, no clerks barking orders—just the muted hum of distant drills through stone and the quiet shuffle of his roommates moving around the room.
Wake and Starke both looked up.
Wake sat on the windowsill, one knee up, arms loosely crossed, staring down at the training yard like he was studying every movement beneath. Starke was on the floor again, mechanical parts and tools scattered in a loose circle around him like metal had exploded in place.
Kahn-Ra padded in beside Orin, brushed his flank against Orin's leg once, then hopped up onto the same bed he'd claimed earlier. He turned in a tight circle and lay down, tail flicking lazily.
Wake nodded toward them. "You survived the paperwork. Impressive."
"Barely," Orin said, rolling his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure one of those forms was designed to kill us."
Starke pointed a screwdriver at him. "If the forms don't, the scheduling grid will. I saw three people spiral into existential crises just trying to decode lunch breaks."
Kahn-Ra's voice drifted through Orin's mind. These rituals are inefficient.
"Welcome to school," Orin murmured.
Wake's eyes narrowed slightly. "Talking to yourself again?"
Orin rubbed the back of his neck. "Helps me think."
Starke nodded way too seriously. "Same. I talk to my gear. Sometimes we argue. I usually lose."
Wake stared at him. "That sounds right."
Starke grinned. "Thank you."
The room settled into something quieter. Not comfortable yet, but no longer on edge.
Orin crossed to his bed and sat, feeling the dull ache of a long day pulsing through his muscles. Kahn-Ra shifted just enough to press his side against Orin's leg, a silent weight that said I am here without needing words.
Wake's gaze followed the movement—not fearful, just measuring. "He really doesn't leave you, does he?"
Orin shrugged. "He likes to pretend he chose the bed, not me."
I chose both, Kahn-Ra said.
Starke scooted a little closer on his side of the room, curiosity burning through whatever nerves he had left. "Okay, real question: where'd he actually come from?"
Orin hesitated.
"He found me," he said at last.
Wake's brow lifted. "That still sounds concerning."
Starke leaned forward. "Like—you were just walking and bam, now you have a bobcat?"
"It was a forest," Orin said. "And there wasn't much walking. More… bleeding. And arguing."
Wake's gaze sharpened. "Monari?"
"Yeah." Orin's voice dropped. "One I shouldn't have survived without him."
Kahn-Ra's tail flicked once. You would have died. That is not the same as 'should have.'
"I'm aware," Orin murmured.
Starke's attention bounced between them. "So he saved you, you brought him here, and now he scares everyone half to death by existing. That's… honestly kind of heroic."
"Heroic is a strong word," Orin said.
Wake tilted his head. "The guards at the gate didn't look heroic when they were pressed into the wall."
Starke's eyes flared. "Wait—that was him?"
Orin sighed. "He reacted. I didn't tell him to do anything."
Kahn-Ra's thought slid through his mind, calm and absolute. They threatened what is mine.
Orin forced his shoulders to loosen. "He's not a threat as long as people don't give him a reason."
"That's a very small comfort," Starke said brightly. "But I'll take it."
Wake's gaze softened a fraction. "If Lox signed off on him, it means they'd rather have you two where they can see you than out there without training. That's usually his version of trust."
Orin's chest tightened at Lox's name—not in fear this time, but with something complicated and heavy. "Trust is a strong word too."
"Here," Wake said, "it's as close as you'll get."
A quiet beat passed.The lantern orb over their heads pulsed gently, dimming toward evening settings.
Wake shifted his weight on the windowsill. "You said earlier—you grew up with a mercenary crew?"
Orin's fingers curled against his knees.
"…Yeah."
Starke perked immediately, then caught himself, watching Orin's face more carefully this time. "Were they—"
"The Fangs," Orin said.
The name felt like broken glass rolling across his tongue.
Wake didn't pretend he hadn't heard of them. "They worked out of Drill City," he said. "Took high-risk contracts. A couple of my old instructors used their jobs as case studies—'This is how you move smart in wild zones.' They had a solid reputation."
"Had," Orin echoed quietly.
Starke's excitement died in his eyes. "They're… gone, aren't they?"
Orin stared at his hands.
Images rose whether he wanted them or not. Sonny's grin. Vince's reckless charge. Vice's quiet focus. Lisa's sharp smirk. Blood, earth, his own claws—
He swallowed hard. "Yeah."
Wake's posture changed. Straighter. Less relaxed. "I'm sorry."
Starke put the screwdriver down like it suddenly felt wrong to hold anything. "We didn't mean to drag that up. I just— I've heard their name since I was a kid. I didn't know they were…"
"It's fine," Orin said, though his voice sounded thin even to himself. "You didn't know."
Kahn-Ra lifted his head and pressed harder against his leg, not comforting exactly, but anchoring him to now instead of back there.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Starke, trying way too hard to be gentle, said, "If you ever… want to talk about them, we're here. Or if you don't, we're still here. Doing—uh—quiet support."
Wake dragged a hand down his face. "Starke."
"Stopping," Starke said quickly.
The corner of Orin's mouth twitched.
It wasn't much. But it was something.A sharp knock broke the moment.
The door swung open before anyone answered.
A second-year trainee stepped in—broad-shouldered, wearing a deep-red sash and the expression of someone who thought the floor owed him gratitude for his footsteps. His gaze swept the room once, passing over Wake and Starke before locking onto Orin… and then dropping to Kahn-Ra.
"You," he said. "You're the new kid with the monster."
Kahn-Ra sat up, ears tilting forward just a fraction.
Orin's jaw tightened. "He's cleared."
The older boy ignored that. "Name's Rikkon. This wing runs on order. No half-trained pets. No wild Monari that don't belong. Whatever that thing did at the gate? That doesn't fly here."
Wake slid off the windowsill, posture shifting without effort into something ready. "Rikkon. Don't start."
Rikkon smirked. "Relax, Ashfall. I'm being friendly. Giving our new guest the rules before the instructors do."
His eyes never left Orin.
"In West Wing," Rikkon said, "we don't endanger each other because we can't control what follows us."
Kahn-Ra stood.
He didn't grow or roar or flare. He just got to his feet.
The air shifted.
Not in a dramatic, visible way—no crackle, no glow—just a sudden, wrong weight in the room. Like a pressure front pushing inward. The tiny hairs along Orin's forearms rose.
Rikkon felt it too.His words stuttered mid-sentence.His back hit the doorframe before he registered that he'd moved.
"What—what's wrong with its eyes?" he whispered.
Kahn-Ra took one slow step forward. His golden gaze stayed flat, calm, bored—like he was looking at something that had already ceased to matter.
He barked because he could not bite, Kahn-Ra said quietly in Orin's mind. Now he remembers.
"Enough," Orin said under his breath. His hand dropped to Kahn-Ra's shoulder. "Don't."
Kahn-Ra didn't look back at him, but the pressure eased. The invisible weight in the room thinned. Starke exhaled like he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
Wake stepped fully between Rikkon and Kahn-Ra. His voice, when he spoke, was flat. "You made your point. Now leave."
Rikkon's jaw clenched. "You're siding with him?"
Wake didn't blink. "I'm siding with not being stupid in a room with something you don't understand."
Starke, from behind his bed, raised his wrench like a holy symbol. "Also the demon cat will absolutely stare through your soul if you keep yapping, so—door. Use it."
Kahn-Ra's tail flicked once.
Rikkon flushed—anger and something closer to fear mixing in his face. His glare cut across Orin once more. "Control your animal, Slain. Or someone else will."
He retreated into the hall and slammed the door behind him.
Silence followed, ringing louder than the impact.
Wake blew out a slow breath. "He's going to be a problem."
Orin rubbed his brow with his thumb. "Feels like the kind of problem that keeps coming back."
"Probably," Wake said. "He likes picking targets he can talk down to. You just complicated that for him."
Starke crawled out from behind his bed, hair sticking up, wrench still in hand. "On the bright side, no one died. And he didn't pee himself. I'm honestly impressed."
"Starke," Wake said.
"Stopping," Starke answered automatically.
Kahn-Ra padded back to Orin's bed, climbed up, and curled his tail around his paws again.
He was never a real threat, Kahn-Ra said. Only noise.
"Please," Orin whispered, "try not to escalate everything that barks."
If they threaten you, they volunteer, Kahn-Ra replied.
"That's not how friendships work."
Friendship is inefficient.
Wake glanced over. "You sure you're okay?"
Orin nodded once. "I've dealt with worse than loud boys in sashes."
Wake studied him for a moment, then let it go. "You'll want allies here, either way."
Orin met his gaze. "You offering?"
Wake shrugged a shoulder. "We share a room. And you didn't let your cat eat him. That's a decent start."
Starke plopped down on his own bed, tools clinking as they shifted. "Plus I'm terrified of Kahn-Ra and weirdly rooting for you, so that's two votes in your favor."
Kahn-Ra squinted at him.
Starke squeaked. "Respectfully!"
Orin couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped his chest. It was quick, quiet, but real.
Wake's expression eased a little. "We're going to have a long year."
"Yeah," Orin said. "We are."
Kahn-Ra leaned his weight against Orin's leg again—solid, unmovable. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just there.
Wake turned back to the window, watching the yard as evening drills wound down. Starke started tinkering with his half-built device again, muttering under his breath about screw sizes and balance weights.
Orin looked around their shared space.
Strangers.Almost-friends.People with their own ghosts and goals.
A new life under the ache and tension.