THE BLACK CORE

Parents and lovers drifted away, some choking on sobs, tears streaking their faces, others wearing tight, hopeful smiles despite the trial's brutal odds. Aldrich stood among the candidates, heart thudding, watching Muna and Mr. Holoran vanish into the crowd. 

The field emptied, leaving thousands of young fighters, a tense mass under the morning sun. Aldrich, flanked by Herman, Bernard, and Julia, felt a faint movement in his palm, the orb's hidden mark stirring. He scanned his surroundings, as red-core combatants closed ranks, their visored helmets masking any hint of mercy, laser rifles glinting in the light.

A sudden whir jerked every head upward. A flat metal platform hovered above, steady and ominous. On it stood a man, his yellow armor sleek and suffocating, covering him from neck to boots. A massive sheathed blade hung strapped to his back, its edge catching the sun. Bald, with a face carved from stone, his gaze swept the candidates like a predator sizing up a herd. 

His silence was louder than any shout, his presence a threat that tightened every chest. This was Commander Astrolak, yellow core combatant, and Chief Security Commander in charge of the Eastend. 

Commander Astrolak's silence hung heavier than a quarry hammer, his yellow armor radiating menace that gripped every candidate's chest. Aldrich didn't know him by sight, but even a fool could guess, especially from the common tales from those who had met him.

"Plenty showed up this year," Astrolak said, skipping any greeting. His voice boomed, deep and unnaturally clear, maybe amplified by some tech woven into his armour. No smile cracked his bald, stone-carved face. "Good. Very good." He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes raking the thousands below like a predator picking targets.

"I'm Commander Astrolak," he continued, voice carrying to the field's edges. "Some know me, some don't. Doesn't matter. What matters is what you are about to do." His tone left no room for doubt. "I'm not here to waste time. For centuries, the combatant trial has run every four years, an important ritual to sift out talent for the Akagi empire. The trial does not care if you are of low birth, or you carry the name of one of the great families, you're all the same during this trial. For Highlanders, it's a rite of passage, a chance to prove their worth. For you, it's a way out," Astrolak said, his yellow armor glinting. 

"A chance at a life you can't even imagine, wealth, power, freedom. It all depends on how well you perform. Do well enough and even the great families would be stumbling upon one another to give you a contract." The metal slab beneath him hummed, dipping closer to the crowd, its shadow sliding over the candidates.

"However, can you grab that chance?" His voice sharpened. "Some of you may just want a core, blinded by the need to just escape this hole. Small thinkers. The Akagi empire isn't just this planet. It spans across the system, its reach vast. We are a conquering nation, one not limited by the vastness of space. Dream big and who knows, you may own a fleet one day." He paused, a faint smirk curling his lips, barely softening his stone-carved face. "You may have heard the words fly around. I definitely have. The game is not fair towards the lowlanders. Maybe. You coreless will struggle to survive, let alone win. So what? Will you roll over? Let fate crush you? Or will you stand and fight for a life that matters?"

His scream tore through the field, raw and thunderous, shaking the air. "Will you fight?!"

A surge of fire hit Aldrich's chest, his palm tingling where the orb hid. Around him, thousands roared back, fists punching the sky, voices ragged with defiance. Herman bellowed beside him, eyes alight. Bernard's massive frame shook as he shouted, his gray disease forgotten for a moment. Julia's cool mask remained uncracked, he could not tell what she was thinking. 

The trial wasn't just survival. It was Aldrich's step towards unraveling his father's death, to understanding what the small orb inside him may be. It was several hours since it crawled through his palm, into him. Yet, he had not noticed any significant change, aside from feeling lighter and a bit stronger. There were secrets he didn't yet understand.

The commander's eyes swept over them, unreadable, as the slab steadied. The candidates' cries echoed, a fleeting wave of courage before the unknown swallowed them. Astrolak's words left the candidates buzzing, their shouts fading into a restless bustle as they formed snaking queues for registration. 

Aldrich hung back, watching Herman and Bernard trade banter nearby. Julia stood apart, as she so often did now, a solitary figure cloaked in silence, her presence a quiet storm. Every now and then, her eyes would flicker toward him, meeting his, for a heartbeat before skittering away, a fleeting collision that left him hollow. She was a stranger now, her spirit altered, perhaps weighed down by the gnawing dread that her feet might never move swift enough to outrun her father's fading life. To deny the sting of her distance would be a lie, a sharp pang that nestled deep in his chest, unvoiced but persistent.

He could still summon the memory of their first encounter, vivid as a painting etched in time. It was at the academy, where Mr. Holoran had strode in, a man as hale and vital as a warhorse, his daughter's small hand clutched tight in his. They'd come from the Northend, seeking roots in the Eastend. Julia had clung to his finger as he spoke with their teacher, her trust a fragile thread. When he left, her tears had fallen like rain.

He, Bernard, and Herman had rallied around her, their boyish efforts clumsy but earnest, coaxing laughter from her lips until her warmth bloomed, her eyes aglow with a joy that felt like sunlight. And it continued like this for years. They would call the four of them the wolf pack, just because they never do anything without one another. 

Then, Mr Holoran became sick, and Julia became a stranger, cold and reserved.

Aldrich's eyes roamed the field, observing the crowd. He spotted Beebee and Aiden from his dojo. Aiden was a scrawny kid just like Beebee. However, he was way less of a fighter, barely knew a kick from a punch, but Aldrich saw him fight like a cornered animal once. It left an impression on him.

Aldrich's gaze shifted to some Snakepit members, their smirks sharp. They had not seen him yet. Not like they would do anything if they did. The red core soldiers were here for a reason.

A scuffle broke his focus. Two red-core guards hauled a screaming man off the field, his brown hair wild. Too old, Aldrich figured. He was probably past thirty, which was the maximum age. The trial's rules were clear. Sixteen and not more than thirty. No weapon. No combat core. White core users could join, a loophole likely carved for Highlanders. They argued the white core was not a combat core, which was true. However, everybody knew it upped their chances of survival. It had healing properties and restored stamina fast.

Aldrich glanced at his palm. The orb's faint feeling had gone still, leaving only a ghost of last night's pain. "What are you?" he muttered, half-expecting an answer. Nothing came. He wondered if it was a core, but he laughed. Cores were surgically inserted. They do not just crawl into your skin like they had a mind of their own. This had to be something else.

"Next!" a red-core at the registration desk barked. 

Aldrich snapped to attention. Herman, Bernard, and Julia were done, waiting beyond the queue. He stepped up, and the guard grabbed his hand, jabbing a small cylinder into his finger. A sharp pinch drew blood, making him flinch. The guard dripped it into a petri-like device, which fed data to a glowing holo-tab. 

"Aldrich Alderman, sixteen, orphan, coreless," the guard read, voice flat.

"Yes, sir," Aldrich said.

"Take a watch. Move." The guard waved him off. "Next!"

Aldrich grabbed the sleek, cold watch, its screen dark, and joined his friends. Aldrich clutched the watch. It was nothing like the cracked relic his dad left behind. He strapped it on, and the screen flickered to life, booting with a slight vibration. 

Around him, Herman, Bernard, Julia, and other candidates watched their own devices spark awake. After a tense few seconds, a scanning light pulsed from the watch, prickling Aldrich's wrist. His details flashed up.

 "Aldrich Alderman. Points: 0." 

The screen was linked to the empire's database. Curious, he scrolled. Images of alien creatures filled the display, each with dense text and point values. Some are worth more than others. 

The trial's objective appeared below. Kill and gather as much points as you can. It was quite straightforward. 

He opened his mouth to clue in his friends, who were still squinting at their screens, but a familiar whir cut him off.

Astrolak's metal slab rose above the field, his yellow armor catching the sun. "You're all registered now," he said, voice booming. "Guard that watch on your wrist like it's your heart. It's your guide, your map, your way to and from the trial. Keep it on you at all times." His eyes swept the crowd. "This year's trial is on Mako, a planet in our system, 908 million kilometers out. Home to twenty major races, eight of which are humanoids."

"In an hour," Astrolak continued, "your watch's teleportation chip will kick in, dropping you at random spots on Mako. In one month, you'll be pulled back. Your job: kill the creatures listed, take their points. For the empire!" He slammed a fist against his chest, the red-core guards echoing the gesture with a unified thud. 

The Eagle Grounds simmered with frayed nerves as registration ended, an hour's weight pressing on the candidates. Aldrich stood among thousands, his pulse a steady drum in his chest. 

He glanced at Julia, folded cross-legged on the cracked earth, eyes shut as if the chaos couldn't touch her. "You nervous?" he asked, voice barely cutting the crowd's murmur.

Her eyes opened, green. "Not really."

He nodded, but his body betrayed him, heart racing, a caged thing clawing to break free. Nearby, Herman prowled like a restless dog, boots scraping dirt, while Bernard's heavy feet thudded in a restless beat, his worry carved in every stomp. He strutted towards them. 

"Brothers," he said, his face serious. "We may end up in different locations but I promise I will make my way to you." 

"And so will I," Herman nodded.

"Stay safe until then," Bernard said.

The three locked in a bear hug, saying their temporary goodbyes.

Time crawled, thick and merciless, until a cold, mechanical voice shattered the hush. 

"Candidates, brace. Departure in five, four, three, two, one…"

The watch on Aldrich's wrist buzzed, its glow sharp against his skin. Herman froze, Bernard's feet stilled, and Julia rose, her calm a blade's edge. The field held its breath, a thousand souls poised for a leap into the void.

The Eagle Grounds fell silent in a heartbeat, the crowded field emptying as all the candidates vanished, leaving only the core combatants behind. Commander Astrolak vaulted from his hovering slab, landing with a predator's grace. The red-core guards snapped fists to their chests, a sharp salute. 

"Good work," Astrolak said, striding past, his yellow armor catching the last of the morning light. He unhooked the massive sheathed blade from his back and sank into a chair, laying the blade across his crossed legs.

A red-core stepped forward, voice low. "Sir, the representatives want a meeting date."

Astrolak's tongue clicked, irritation flickering across his stone-carved face. "Trial's barely started, and those vultures are already circling."

"It's not just them sir, even the ten great families, sir," the guard pressed. "They're pushing hard this time."

Astrolak rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing. "Let them scheme. The military gets to go first. It's law." He leaned back, the chair creaking under his armored weight.

Another red-core rushed up, breathless. "Commander, Lieutenant Shakin's airship's been sighted heading for Valley Mouth. He's coming here, sir."

Astrolak's eyes drifted shut, as if the news was a passing breeze. Then, a slow exhale, heavy with unspoken weight. He rose, sword in hand. 

"Get ready, boys. A big shot's about to roll in." 

With a single, fluid leap, he was back atop his slab, its hum cutting the air. The platform glided toward the barracks, red-core guards trailing behind, boots kicking up dust in the now-empty field.