“We did it. We finally did it.”

  Orin Bastion stood by the window of his room, staring up at the clear blue sky stretching over the academy spires. For once, there was no Verum haze, no stabilization grids cutting across the horizon — just open light.

  “Look at you, getting sentimental over the weather.”

  Ronan Hale leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with a grin.

  “If you keep staring at the sky, we’re going to be late,” Ronan added. “Come on. Graduation waits for no one.”

  Orin let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. “I’m coming.”

  Together they stepped into the corridor and joined the flow of final-year candidates moving toward the central ceremonial hall.

  The hall stood at the heart of the Interdimensional Rift Academy — a vast circular chamber of tiered stone and suspended banners, each marked with the insignia of research and exploration. By the time Orin and Ronan entered, most of the graduating class had already gathered, dark uniforms forming ordered rows beneath the high vault.

  As the last students settled, the murmur of conversation faded.

  At the front platform, the Head of Academy stepped forward.

  Julius Thad was older than Orin had expected when he first arrived years ago — not frail, but worn with the quiet gravity of someone who had seen too many rifts open and too many not close. The hall fell completely still as he began to speak.

  “Today,” Thad said, his voice carrying easily through the chamber, “you stand at the threshold of service to more than a single world.”

  His gaze moved across the assembled graduates.

  “The Interdimensional Rift Academy exists because knowledge cannot remain confined to one dimension alone. Within these halls you have studied Verum, stability, and the structures that bind realities together. You have trained beside peers born under different skies — from worlds familiar to your own, and from those profoundly unlike it.”

  A pause.

  “Yet here, you stand united.”

  He inclined his head slightly.

  “Graduates of this year’s cohort — the ceremony will now begin.”

  “Based on your performance at various levels you have been selected by various facilities and platoons . You will be joining as a Researcher or as an Explorer. Now when I call your names come forth to the stage.”

  The first names called were for the Research Division.

  “Darian Voss — Verum Structural Theory.”

  Darian stepped forward, composed as ever, offering a brief nod before taking his place among the research candidates.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Eryx Calder — Rift Mapping and Node Analysis.”

  “Tavian Ward — Relic Engineering.”

  “Lucan Vire — Dimensional Topology.”

  “Soren Vale — Stabilization Modeling.”

  “Caius Kade — Resonance Mathematics.”

  “Valen Rith — Verum Flow Dynamics.”

  “Marek Thorne — Containment Architecture.”

  Each name crossed the hall with quiet precision — minds destined for laboratories, observatories, and the delicate mathematics of interdimensional stability.

  Then the tone shifted.

  “Exploration Division.”

  The air itself seemed to tighten.

  “Kael Vire — Vanguard Scout.”

  “Ronan Hale — Field Support.”

  “Arden Kairo — Breach Specialist.”

  “Theron Vale — Heavy Containment.”

  “Ravik Sol — Hazard Response.”

  “Jarek Thorne — Close-Combat Stabilizer.”

  “Leorin Voss — Environmental Recon.”

  “Draven Calder — Assault Anchor.”

  These students stepped forward with different energy — steadier stances, measured confidence, bodies already accustomed to hostile terrain and unstable rift edges.

  A pause followed.

  Several instructors exchanged brief glances.

  Then the Head of Academy looked down at the final designation.

  “Orin Bastion — Hybrid Deployment.”

  For a moment, the hall was silent.

  Hybrid deployment was rare — reserved for candidates who had achieved exceptional distinction in both research and exploration. It was not a designation given lightly, and certainly not one expected in any given graduating cohort.

  Dozens of eyes turned toward Orin.

  Some held surprise.

  Some quiet approval.

  Others burned with unmistakable envy.

  Even among the instructors, a ripple of reaction moved through the front ranks.

  Orin felt the weight of it all at once.

  Embarrassment rose first — sharp and immediate — followed quickly by a surge of disbelief that threatened to break into something far less composed. He forced his expression steady, tamping down the giddy rush building in his chest.

  He stepped out from the formation and made his way toward the platform.

  The distance felt longer than it should have.

  When he reached the front, the Head of Academy handed him the sealed assignment document — the formal notice of hybrid deployment — along with a brief, measured nod that carried more acknowledgment than ceremony.

  “Serve well,” Julius Thad said quietly.

  Orin inclined his head in return and turned back toward the stands, the document firm in his grasp.

  The remainder of the ceremony proceeded without further distinction. Names were called, placements confirmed, and the final formalities concluded with practiced precision.

  By the time the proceedings ended, those gathered were no longer students.

  They were personnel.

  Representatives from exploration platoons and research facilities moved into position along the perimeter of the hall, each bearing the insignia of their respective commands. Graduates were directed to report to their assigned liaisons for immediate induction.

  Orin glanced once at the hybrid seal on his document — then stepped down toward the floor where his future unit awaited.