I Evolve 10,000 Times Faster

Morning came gray and cold.

The mess hall was a long, low building made of scrap iron and recycled ship hulling. The benches were scarred with knife marks from soldiers who had nothing better to do during quiet shifts.

Team Soup had claimed a table near the back. Renna was eating some kind of protein bar while simultaneously trying to braid Maeve’s hair. Emric was reading a tactical manual. Lyra was sipping tea. Holden was working through his third cup of coffee and enjoying the fact that nobody had tried to kill him in the last twelve hours.

That peace lasted until the door banged open.

Captain Venus marched in with a piece of paper in his hand, looking profoundly disgusted. He looked around the mess hall, spotted Team Soup, and marched straight over.

He dropped the paper on the table in front of Lyra.

"This landed in the courtyard ten minutes ago," he said. "Delivered by a mechanical bird. The kind of tech that only comes out of the Capital."

Holden looked at the paper. It was thick, cream-colored, with a heavy wax seal stamped on the back. The seal was red and gold, pressed with the image of a crown surrounded by laurel wreaths.

The Royal Family’s personal seal.

And next to it, pressed into the same wax, was a second symbol. A sterling silver shield with a cross motif.

House Sterling.

Lyra’s hand trembled as she picked up the letter. Her fingers found the edge of the seal and cracked it open.

She read it once.

Then she read it again.

Her face went pale.

"They are trying to corner us," she said, her voice tight and controlled but barely holding together. "It’s a royal decree. The Capital is hosting a National Champions Gala to honor the winners of the Academy Wars. By direct order of the Crown, Team Soup is mandated to attend and receive our medals in person."

Renna stopped braiding Maeve’s hair. "Okay, a party? That doesn’t sound so bad, I mean free food is always nice and maybe they’ll have those little pastry things with the cream filling that I love, but why does your face look like someone just told you we have to take a math exam?"

"Because if we refuse to attend," Lyra continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "we will be formally charged with military desertion. The penalty is immediate expulsion from the Academy and the revocation of all legal protections we get as enrolled students."

The table went quiet.

Holden set his coffee cup down slowly.

"The legal fallout is pretty terrifying," Emric said, his voice careful but strained. "Being in the Academy gives us a special kind of immunity. It stops nobles from sending private armies after us, makes it way harder for them to issue sneaky arrest warrants, and keeps us under the Academy’s court instead of some corrupt local lord. If we lose that protection..."

"Then Holden is fair game," Maeve finished quietly. She wasn’t looking at the letter. She was looking at her brother. Her eyes were sharp, reading him the way she always did.

Emric nodded. "Exactly. The Royals could not send an assassin into a heavily guarded military zone like this outpost because the political backlash would be too big. But if they can trick us into heading back toward the Capital, we walk right into their territory. They have the Royal Guard, the City Watch, and private thugs loyal to House Sterling. From a tactical view, it is a brilliantly built trap."

Renna’s mouth fell open. "So the party isn’t a party. It’s a... it’s a fake party. Like a fake birthday party where instead of cake they try to murder your brother. That is so messed up. That is genuinely the most messed up thing I’ve ever heard and I once watched a guy trip into a pit of venomous newts."

Lyra set the decree down on the table. Her hands were flat against the paper, like she was trying to hold it still even though it wasn’t moving.

"The wording is very specific," she said, her noble upbringing giving her an instinct for reading between the lines of political documents. "It mentions Holden by name. Twice. The Crown wants him there. My parents want him there. This is about paralyzing Prince Oscar. They can’t arrest him openly because it would expose their own corruption, so they’ll do it quietly at the gala."

She looked at Holden.

And she was scared. Lyra, who had faced down a Warlord without blinking, who had disowned her own parents at the risk of losing everything, who carried herself with the unshakable composure of someone born to rule. She was scared.

Because this wasn’t a monster she could freeze. This was politics. And politics didn’t care about frost spears or tactical formations.

Everyone at the table looked at Holden.

Waiting.

Maeve’s eyes were soft with worry. Renna had stopped fidgeting entirely, which was a sign of genuine alarm. Emric had closed his manual, his mind already running through defensive scenarios. Lyra was searching Holden’s face for some sign of stress or fear.

Holden picked up his coffee cup.

He took a long, slow sip. Then he set it back down, leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

A genuinely amused smile that didn’t match the gravity of the situation at all.

"They sent an invitation," he said. "How polite."

He reached up and touched his chest, just below the collar of his jacket. Through the fabric, he could feel the Sovereign’s Pendant.

"Let’s go crash another party."

Renna blinked. "Wait, really? Just like that? We’re just going to walk into the trap? The dangerous trap that Emric just explained with graphs and numbers and that whole thing about jurisdiction?"

"We are," Holden said.

"But it’s a trap!"

"I know."

"And they want to kill you!"

"I know that too."

"So why are you smiling like that? That’s the smile you make when you’re about to do something that gives me anxiety!"

Holden looked at her. "Renna, a hired assassin put a dagger in my chest back in the Capital. That was their best move." He shrugged. "I’m still here. They’re not."

He let that sink in.

"I spent the last two weeks hiding in the mud and pretending to be weaker than I am. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of running from these people. They hired an assassin to kill me."

His smile widened. It was sharp now, edged with something cold.

"They sent me a fancy letter with a wax seal. They think they’re being clever. They think they’re pulling me back into their territory where they have all the advantages."

He stood up from the table.

"They forgot one thing. I don’t play by their rules. I never have."

He looked at Lyra.

"Pack your bags. We’re going to the capital."

Lyra stared at him for a long moment. The fear did not vanish from her eyes, but something else joined it. Something much fiercer. She gave a single nod, set her jaw, and picked up the decree with steady hands.

Emric adjusted his glasses. "If we depart within the next twelve hours and maintain optimal travel speed, we can reach the Capital in approximately two days. I would recommend formulating a contingency plan for the gala itself. Multiple exit routes, concealed weapons, and a communication protocol in the event we are separated."

"Already on it," Holden said.

Maeve hopped off the bench and straightened her glasses. "I’ll radio Vespera and let her know we’re leaving the outpost. She’ll want to arrange transport."

"Good. Do that."

Renna threw her hands up. "Okay, fine, we’re doing the trap thing, we’re walking into the murder party, I guess that’s just our life now, but I want everyone to know that I called it. I called that this was a bad idea. When we’re surrounded by guards and I’m shooting arrows at people in fancy clothes, just remember that Renna said this was a bad idea."

"Noted," Holden said.

He walked out of the mess hall and into the morning light. The courtyard was muddy and battered, still marked by the scars of the battle. Soldiers were working on the gate, hammering scrap metal into a temporary barrier.

Holden touched the pendant under his shirt one more time.

The Capital thought it was luring in a victim.

Instead, it was about to learn what happens when you invite a wolf to dinner.