Naval Academy
Location: Imperial Center Naval Academy, Coruscant
Tags:
Ryn Trask
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Hannibal Daxos
Sleek gray shuttles, emblazoned with the black cog of the Galactic Empire, touched down one by one. From their ramps poured the chosen few: fresh cadets, some shoulders squared with pride, others trembling with nerves. Tess felt neither. Her gaze swept across the colossal spires of Coruscant, the horizon-spanning traffic streams, and the Naval Academy itself, right at the heart of the landing zone. The Academy stood as a cathedral to the Empire. Its black durasteel walls gleamed under Coruscant's endless day, banners of the Empire rippling from tall arches. It was a place built for precision, designed to forge perfection into flesh and bone.
Tess's heart hammered with anticipation, not fear. Sacorria's laws had fenced her in back home; here, the Academy seemed to fling its doors wide open. This wasn't just any class; it was the first since the Core's retaking, and not everyone made the cut. These cadets were the future, the spearhead of the Empire, destined to pilot TIE fighters and Star Destroyers into the stars.
A stern instructor, clad in Navy black and gray, strode to meet them. His voice, crisp and authoritative, carried across the assembly. "Welcome, Cadets. You've been chosen from among thousands. Today you begin the service that will shape your lives. Follow." And so, the first tour of the Academy began.
The tour led them through vast corridors, gleaming under white lights, their boots echoing on immaculate floors. First stop was the mess hall, a cavernous space with rows of tables stretching out. Holo-banners displayed the Empire's insignia above the serving lines, and Tess inhaled the faint, promising scent of ration stew and fresh bread. Cadets around her whispered; some already felt homesick, others giddy. Tess just grinned. To her, even the smell of processed air and institutional food tasted like victory.
Next, the dormitories. Coed halls surprised some recruits, but Tess merely smirked. Speeders didn't care about a pilot's gender, and neither would a TIE. Identical bunks lined both sides of the hall, each with a small locker at its foot. Tess traced the cold edge of a bed, already picturing how she'd claim it and make this sterile space hers.
Classrooms followed, lined with polished consoles, holo-projectors, and data screens. Tess paused at the simulators, their last stop. Dozens of pods filled a dim chamber, each sealed and ready to enclose a cadet within a mock cockpit. She imagined the roar of engines. Her fingers twitched, itching to take the controls and see how these machines compared to her patched-up Sacorrian speeder.
But the real thrill came at the end of the day: uniforms. Each cadet was measured, issued their standard kit, and given their dorm assignment. Tess turned the dark, spotless fabric over in her hands, heavy with expectation. She slipped into it like a second skin, the Imperial crest settling on her chest as a natural fit.
Dismissed to their bunks, the dormitory hallways buzzed with chatter. Some whispered of prestige, others swapped jokes to hide their nerves. Tess leaned casually against her doorframe, arms crossed, listening. Accents from across the Core mixed in the air; Alderaanian, Brentaalan, Corulag. But their origin didn't matter. In the Empire's eyes, they were all raw steel, ready for the forge.
Tess's grin was sharp, her eyes bright. Sacorria was behind her, its dirt clinging to her boots, but stars already gleamed in her gaze. This was the beginning she'd wanted: the risk, the speed, the chance to prove herself in the only arena that mattered. When one cadet muttered, half-nervous, "Reckon any of us will see the front lines soon?" Tess laughed aloud, the sound reckless and alive, shaking her head.
