By sixteen-thirty, after two straight hours of emergency packing, shouted instructions, missing formal gloves, and one deeply emotional argument about collar symmetry, the Helius Prime docks had officially transformed into controlled chaos.
Military transports roared overhead through layered docking lanes while cargo drones zipped across Platform Seven carrying garment cases, datapads, luggage containers, supply crates, and enough paperwork to psychologically damage weaker civilizations.
Every few seconds the metallic flooring vibrated beneath everyone's boots from departing shuttles, and overhead announcements continued repeating calm professional boarding notices nobody was actually listening to anymore.
Somewhere farther down the platform, a maintenance alarm started screaming.
Nobody reacted.
Compared to the cadets currently occupying Dock Seven—
the alarm sounded emotionally stable.
And naturally—
the center of the disaster was Adrian Alejandro Torres.
"…formation matters," Torres announced dramatically while standing on top of a cargo crate like a revolutionary leader moments away from declaring independence from common sense itself.
Little Bean stood beside him clutching his stuffed shark tightly against his chest.
"…formation matters," he echoed with identical seriousness.
Hana Sato stared at both of them with visible regret.
"Why did Major Volkov think this was a good idea?"
Viktor Hale answered immediately.
"She said morale exercise."
A pause.
"…I think this counts as psychological warfare."
Honestly—
fair.
The younger cadets gathered near the docking rails looked wildly out of place compared to the disciplined military movement surrounding them.
Not because they lacked composure.
Because they were trying extremely hard to have composure.
And failing catastrophically.
The Torch at least maintained partial dignity.
Hana stood near the front with her arms crossed while quietly reviewing boarding confirmations on her datapad. Jun Park remained beside her observing shuttle routes, security drones, personnel movement, and environmental exits with the same calm focus he used during tactical exercises. Lila Navarro bounced lightly on the balls of her feet every few seconds like her body physically could not contain excitement anymore. Tomas Ibarra looked one engineering question away from spiritual combustion.
And Viktor Hale—
Viktor Hale looked like someone about to meet actual legends.
Nearby, Valerie Walsh adjusted her formal academy sleeve for the twentieth time while Ophelia Vale watched her with growing exhaustion.
"You already fixed it," Ophelia said flatly.
"What if it folded weird?"
"It's military fabric."
"…you don't know that."
"I absolutely know that."
"…but what if THIS fabric folds weird?"
Camille Mercier leaned against a nearby cargo rail watching the entire dock unravel with the patience of someone spiritually exhausted by humanity.
"That sentence physically hurt me."
Jack Mito stood beside her looking calm, which only meant he was screaming internally instead of externally.
The Cracks weren't helping the atmosphere either.
Ren Sato had quietly drifted beside Hana at some point like younger siblings naturally migrated toward emotionally stable people during disasters. Cynthia Tate watched the platform with sharp analytical focus while Marty Paulson muttered probability calculations under his breath regarding "Great House interaction survival percentages."
Rita Brown remained near the outer rails quietly observing everything.
Always observing.
Then there was Octavian Vale's crew.
Which immediately lowered the emotional stability of the entire dock another twenty percent.
Seren Drake adjusted his sleeves for the fifth time while Brax Iron leaned over Velen Kross's shoulder staring at a datapad with growing concern.
"…nothing?" Brax asked.
"I mean literally nothing," Velen answered while flicking through another search layer.
Still blank.
No estate schematics.
No public architectural scans.
No social feeds.
No satellite previews.
Nothing.
Brax looked disturbed.
"How does a villa disappear from the network?"
Caelis Vorn answered calmly without looking up.
"It belongs to House Benton."
"That is NOT an explanation."
"That IS the explanation."
Octavian folded his arms slowly.
"…wait, seriously?"
Velen nodded once.
"I found classified fleet maintenance requests."
Another pause.
"I found Senate catering invoices from fifteen years ago."
Then—
"I cannot find one clear image of the Benton Estate."
That somehow made everyone more nervous.
Valerie blinked rapidly.
"…that feels illegal."
"It feels expensive," Jack corrected quietly.
Torres overheard immediately.
Which unfortunately gave him an audience.
"Oh," he announced dramatically while hopping off the cargo crate. "You people don't know the stories yet."
Every nearby cadet looked over.
Which was their first mistake.
Mei Tanaka adjusted her glasses calmly from nearby.
"There are several urban legends."
Valerie immediately looked distressed.
"Urban legends?"
Torres pointed dramatically toward the ceiling like a conspiracy theorist exposing state corruption.
"THE Benton Estate."
Little Bean lifted the stuffed shark solemnly.
"The estate."
Camille closed her eyes briefly.
"Oh no."
Aria Kestrel crossed her arms nearby.
"Why do I already regret this conversation."
Mei ignored her completely.
"One rumor says there's an underground combat maze beneath the estate."
Tomas physically straightened.
"…what?"
"Another says House Benton built private simulation chambers directly into the mountain."
Octavian frowned slightly.
"…into the mountain?"
Mei nodded calmly.
"There are also stories about hidden training sectors."
Torres inhaled dramatically.
"AND THE GHOST."
"There is no ghost," Rafe Mercier said immediately.
"You don't KNOW that."
Little Bean gasped softly.
"…there's a ghost?"
Mei looked thoughtful.
"Technically the rumor says there's an old training AI somewhere in the lower sectors."
The younger cadets noticed something deeply concerning then.
The Elite Twelve were not denying things fast enough.
That was horrifying.
Mei continued calmly.
"Supposedly it insults people."
Torres pointed dramatically.
"THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW IT'S REAL."
Lysander Forest folded against Sylas laughing already.
Valerie looked increasingly alarmed.
"…why would someone build a mean artificial intelligence into their house?"
Lucian Valerius adjusted his cuffs calmly.
"I stopped questioning Great House engineering decisions years ago."
The younger cadets immediately dissolved into overlapping panic.
"Wait—what if the AI grades people?"
"I would fail emotionally."
"What if there's actually a combat dungeon?"
"That sounds illegal."
"That sounds Benton."
"Fair."
"There are definitely hidden tunnels."
"STOP SAYING DEFINITELY."
Meanwhile Torres had fully ascended into storytelling mode.
"LISTEN TO ME."
Hana muttered immediately—
"Oh no."
Torres spread both arms dramatically.
"The Bentons are old military money."
"That already sounds threatening," Jack admitted.
"You know what rich military families build?"
Nobody answered.
Torres looked offended.
"WEIRD THINGS."
"That's not a category," Lucian replied.
"IT SHOULD BE."
Little Bean raised the shark plushie proudly.
"Weird things," he echoed solemnly.
Nearby, movement farther down the docking platform caught Camille's attention.
Several incoming transports crossed through the evening sky above Helius Prime.
Not civilian.
Private.
Military.
House vessels.
The first descended through the upper flight lanes carrying elegant black-and-gold markings across the hull.
House Mercier.
Farther above, another transport cut cleanly through the clouds.
White.
Silver.
Valerius insignias glimmered briefly beneath the docking lights.
Then another.
Dark green escort craft.
Forest markings.
The younger cadets slowly noticed the incoming traffic one by one.
And the atmosphere shifted slightly.
Because suddenly—
this wasn't just them going to dinner anymore.
More ships continued arriving through designated approach corridors surrounding Helius Prime's upper docks while escort drones coordinated landing sequences between military lanes.
Lila stared upward openly.
"…that's a lot of important people."
"That," Rafe said calmly, "is what Great House gatherings usually look like."
"That feels emotionally expensive."
"It is."
Another vessel descended slowly through the lower cloud layer.
Heavy armored hull.
Old Federation military markings.
Even Jun's eyes tracked it carefully.
"…that's not ceremonial escort traffic."
"No," Mei agreed softly.
"It isn't."
The younger cadets exchanged glances.
Because now the scale of tonight felt different.
Bigger.
Older.
Important in ways they couldn't fully understand yet.
Not because anyone explained the Hope's Isle discussions to them.
Nobody did.
But military instinct still existed.
And instinct told them powerful people were gathering tonight.
Then Torres ruined the mood instantly.
"If I accidentally insult a Supreme Commander tonight," he announced dramatically, "tell my family I died bravely."
Little Bean gasped.
"WE CAN'T LET YOU DIE."
"THANK YOU LITTLE BEAN."
"You're emotionally unstable."
"That'S LEADERSHIP."
Hana rubbed one hand slowly down her face.
"We are never recovering from this."
"No," Mei agreed calmly.
"We are not."
At that exact moment Torres nearly stepped backward off the cargo crate again and windmilled violently trying not to fall.
The entire dock watched him recover with shocking athleticism.
Silence.
Torres slowly straightened.
Then immediately pointed at Little Bean.
"He destabilized the platform."
Little Bean's eyes went huge.
"WHAT?"
The dock exploded laughing again.
Even Jun looked one sentence away from smiling.
Nearby, Ethan Walsh arrived carrying three garment bags, two datapads, and what looked suspiciously like emergency snacks.
He stopped after seeing Torres elevated above everyone again.
"…why is he taller now?"
"Authority complex," Camille answered immediately.
"VISION requires HEIGHT," Torres corrected proudly.
Little Bean nodded with absolute sincerity.
"Height."
Then the overhead announcement systems chimed softly.
"Aurora Fleet transport inbound. Docking clearance confirmed."
The entire platform froze slightly.
Just slightly.
Because suddenly—
this was real.
The Aurora shuttle was actually coming.
Valerie immediately fixed her collar again.
Ophelia closed her eyes like she was preparing for death.
The Miller twins aggressively adjusted each other's sleeves simultaneously.
Ethan started redistributing lint rollers.
Camille looked toward the ceiling like she wanted divine patience personally delivered.
And Torres—
Torres inhaled dramatically like a man preparing to ascend into another plane of existence.
Little Bean grabbed his sleeve instantly.
"…don't."
Too late.
"HELIUS PRIME," Torres declared loud enough for nearby personnel to physically turn around, "WE RIDE."
Hana pointed immediately.
"No speeches."
"THIS ISN'T A SPEECH."
"It sounds like a speech."
"IT'S A HISTORICAL MOMENT."
"That's worse."
Above them—
lights finally appeared through the layered docking traffic.
Silver.
Blue.
Sharp Aurora Fleet markings cutting through the evening sky.
The incoming shuttle descended smoothly through the docking lanes while the hull reflected golden evening light spilling across Helius Prime's upper platforms.
And suddenly—
the younger cadets forgot how to breathe properly again.
Because this wasn't civilian transport.
This was Aurora Fleet.
Supreme Commander Serena Benton's fleet.
A military shuttle from one of the strongest families in the Federation had personally arrived to retrieve them.
Little Bean stared upward in awe.
"…we're really going."
Beside him, Torres looked unusually quiet for one whole second.
Just one.
Then he pointed dramatically toward the descending shuttle.
"IF I DIE INSIDE THE BENTON ESTATE—"
"You won't," Camille interrupted immediately.
"—DELETE MY SEARCH HISTORY."
The entire dock collapsed laughing again as the Aurora shuttle descended toward Platform Seven.