The Veil. A protective barrier created by the ancient Ruvos at the height of their power. The arcane technologies that conjure it transcend conventional science and are so advanced that, to the uninitiated, they appear to delve deep into the realm of magic.
Despite all their advancements in dozens of advanced scientific fields and centuries worth of research, the Runora scientific community was still completely stumped by the Veil’s inner workings.
The Runora could harvest a measurable percentage of a star’s energy output, considered travel between solar systems little more than a slight inconvenience, and were able to terraform planetary bodies within a single generation if they so desired. They were an advanced society indeed, yet the accomplishments of their ancestors made even their greatest works of engineering seem little more sophisticated than a mound of dirt.
Cai remembered a lesson he’d been taught back when he was in basic education: A science experiment that aimed to show them two things:
Firstly, it put the might of the ancient Ruvos in perspective to theirs.
Secondly, it showed that even primitive societies could adapt to complex circumstances beyond their ability to fully comprehend.
In the experiment, the students were shown an ant colony in a large terrarium. The ants lived carefree lives inside the glass box, able to go where they pleased with no predators or other threats to oppose them. The ants never even considered those aspects of life that were above their understanding, because they had reason nor ability to.
In the second phase of the experiment, the students had placed a small battery-fed shield projector on top of the colony.
Cai had watched as the insects curiously inspected this new addition to their nest. It was no food, it was no enemy, it was nothing that impacted any aspects of their simple lives. To the ants, it might as well have been a fancy rock, so they left it alone. They simply lacked the necessary context to understand what the device did, leave alone how it accomplished this.
Then, the third phase of the experiment started: All of the individual ants were selectively targeted with a constant beam of powerful X-rays. The only thing protecting them from the harmful beams was the shield generator, which created a safe zone around their nest.
Much like the energy shield, the concept of radiation was something the ants could never understand. Whenever the insects left their nest to scavenge for food or dig new tunnels, they were exposed to more and more of the invisible killer waves.
The effects of the radiation were devastating. Nearly all of the ants died in just a few days' time, yet the colony survived.  The remaining ants had learned that straying too far from their nest meant death and chose to stay put: They adapted. But the experiment wasn’t done yet. After the colony had rebuilt sufficiently, the students slowly moved the shield generator. A few centimeters each day. Little by little, the protective field was removed from the nest, forcing the insects to adapt yet again. And adapt they did. Once their siblings started dying inside the nest, the ants quickly evacuated. Cai had been so surprised when he saw the colony’s queen leave the supposed safety of the nest. The students began moving the shield generator across greater distances, but the ants had now learned that the strange rock helped them survive. They followed it wherever it went and even became increasingly aggressive when Cai and the other kids tried to move the device. Despite having no schools, no science, not even sentient thought, the ants had learned that something they couldn’t see, hear, or smell was out to kill them and also that a strange, alien rock somehow prevented this. When one of the kids pointed out that the Runora were a lot like these ants, young Cai’s worldview had been flipped upside down. When the Runora studied the Veil, they were like the ants studying a shield generator someone had placed in their hill. A device crafted by veritable gods, so far above their grasp that they couldn’t possibly hope to understand it in their current state. All the Runora knew of the Veil was that it kept them safe. None who ventured past the barrier survived, so the Runora were forever trapped: Stuck inside an area of space roughly 100 light-years in diameter. Two opposing powers. One trying to kill them, the other keeping them safe.  The Runora understood neither of these forces.

Cai recalled the excitement of his classmates. The sheer epicness of two invisible, godly powers clashing for their sake spoke to their imagination like few things could. It was an incredible story they would get to take part in!  But a question still gnawed at young Cai’s mind. There was something that didn’t quite add up:  If the Veil, the pinnacle device built specifically to keep the Runora safe, was so powerful…

Then why were his people still threatened from every angle?

It was a question that made sense. A simple conclusion drawn by a child’s mind, one that had seen too much at their age already. Cai had asked his teacher the question before he realized he hid.  “Good question Cai.” His teacher had responded. “See, as advanced as this shield generator is, it only has a very specific purpose. If we were to put rivals, let’s say a nest of wasps, in the terrarium. The shield would not protect the ants from these intruders because it’s not meant to. The wasps might threaten the ants, sure. But this is a problem they know how to deal with. Unlike the X-rays, the ants can fight this danger by themselves. “The same goes for us. We Runora are strong. We don’t need the Veil to protect us from alien threats we can see. Do you understand, Cai?” He nodded obediently in response, but in truth, he didn’t understand at all. Cai had been eight years old back then. He was skinny at that age, so skinny that he seemed too tall for his weight. Like he’d spent his entire life living in zero-g.  His eyes were sunken deep in their sockets, his skin an ashy gray. It had  stretched tightly over his body, like a sheet of conservation foil spread too thinly.  Cai was not the only one, nearly all of the kids in the classroom shared his ghastly appearance: Sunken eyes, thin hair, and hollow cheeks. Even the teacher seemed less than healthy, but that was to be expected. The famine had hit them all hard. The Arétemo Crisis had lasted for sixteen months. During this time, the perfidious race of alien zealots known as the Merizeh had pierced deep into the Arcel sector and laid siege to its core systems.  Istrum was but one of the planets under attack, but its loss hit the hardest. Before the Merizeh paid it a visit, the binary suns of Istrum used to shine upon the 3rd largest agricultural hub under Runoran rule, only surpassed by those in the home system. Nearly 400 billion people were once fed by the crops, meats and fungi produced there. 

These days, the twin stars casted their rays over a dead and barren ball of dirt, the radioactive fallout still snowing down over a decade later.
The Merizeh had nearly brought the Sindrion system to its knees without ever entering the neutron stars’ magnetosphere.  The hunger, the riots, the near-collapse of society as he knew it. These were among Cai’s most vivid childhood memories, serving as a grim reminder of the chaos the attacking alien races brought with them. Most of all, he remembered the fear. The mind-killing emptiness which gnawed at his body. He hated that fear. Fear was just the body’s irrational belief that something bad might happen, a belief that clouded judgment and only made a bad outcome all the more likely. Cai had once been paralyzed by fear, but he’d been a child back then. Too young to be in control of himself or anything around him. He liked to believe that he had conquered that fear now. That he was free from the oppressive darkness clawing at his heart.

Veriss’ words shattered that illusion. His fear had never left: It had simply hidden within him, ready to strike at any point.. “I would not recommend cadet Atreuna be allowed to continue his Academy career.” Veriss said, her words echoing through the tactical room. Cai’s chest tightened, if only for a moment. The fear sensed an opportunity, a small moment of weakness, and tried to take over. It crept through his body like mold spreading through a loaf of bread. Cai controlled his fear. He told himself he was the master of his fear, the master of his body. He was–. “I’m sorry, what?” He blurted and immediately regretted the outburst. Veriss and Captain Aduï both turned to face him, their respective faces painted with sadistic amusement and careful neutrality. The two kinds of expressions you could make when one of your friends did something highly embarrassing.  “Cadet Atreuna. Would you please be quiet so that Commander Bunshin may continue?” “Er, yes ma’am.” Cai said, his face flushing red. “My apologies.” “And that, captain, is but another reason why I don’t think cadet Atreuna is fit for active duty.” Veriss said, pushing the projection of her report to the side so it didn’t obscure her face. “His emotions have free reign over his actions. Cai is but one negative comment away from insubordination, as evidenced by this outburst, as well as the hallway fight.. “In my honest opinion, it’s a miracle that he has lasted as long as he has within the Academy.” She added, her every word cutting deep into Cai’s soul. He wisely kept his mouth shut this time so as not to prove her point, but found that his hands were unconsciously balling into fists. “I don’t recall asking for your honest opinion, commander. Please read us the next part of the report.” The captain said. She shot a half-second glance towards Cai, and he could’ve sworn her lips were curled up ever so slightly. “Of course, captain…” Veriss sighed, then pulled up her text again. When she resumed reading, her voice was back to the flat and neutral tones he’d heard before. But there was something else too. Something that made it sound like she dreaded the words that she was about to speak. Cai perked up, getting the impression that he might want to hear this part. “Despite the obvious shortcomings the cadet displays, they are offset by strengths the likes of which cannot be properly put into words. “There is a reason why the cadet has advanced through half a decade of curriculum in only two years: Their work-ethic and learning ability are beyond impressive, so much so that the cadet has been described as ‘so adept that it’s uncanny’, by their peers. “While this has resulted in some… unsavory rumors–” Veriss paused for a second and finally spared Cai a glance, the contempt dripping off her face. “–these accusations appear to be completely unfounded for the moment.”

Cai felt his chest swell with warmth. Whether it was relief about his report turning out positive after all or simply dumb pride in hearing about his own accomplishments he didn’t know.
Come to think of it, he also didn’t know why exactly Veriss had decided to commend him so much. She wasn’t exactly fond of him, and if she truly wanted to oust him from the Academy these evaluations were probably her best shot of doing so. Veriss wasn’t done yet, however, so Cai saved these questions for his future self.
“Overall, while few of cadet Atreuna’s peers would readily place their lives in his hands, all would have to agree that his abilities are noteworthy at the very least.
“In any other case, dishonorable disenrollment would be the preferred course of action, yet Cai ‘Dodger’ Tarin Atreuna shows sufficient latent potential that this might deprive the navy of a great asset later down the line. Therefore, my final recommendation would be to merely delay cadet Atreuna’s active duty.”
A long pause followed. None of them said a word as Veriss shut off her dome display and turned to face Aduï, waiting for her to give the next command. When she didn’t, Veriss cleared her throat and spoke again.
“Obviously, this report was written before the Baknian wormholes appeared within our solarium. The sudden need for additional voidsailors has overruled my advice, hence why…”
“Thank you, Veriss.” Captain Aduï interrupted her. "You may go now. Cai will be with you shortly”
Veriss bit her lip and swallowed her words, then nodded curtly and spun around 180 degrees on one heel before marching out of the tacticarium. She completely ignored Cai as she walked past him, not even giving him the usual ice-cold stare.
The thudding of her boots on the composite floor grew softer as the distance between them increased and cut out completely when the doors of the tactical room closed with a hiss behind her.
“Well then.” The captain said, and Cai shifted a little. Aduï stepped back onto her chair and let out a sigh, her eyes focusing on the cadet in front of her.
“What do you make of this situation?” She asked. The sheer simplicity of the question caught Cai off guard. He wasn’t used to speaking his mind freely against superior officers, so when Aduï offered something like this he had trouble letting his guard down.
“I’ll admit I’m confused, ma’am. I don’t know what to make of the commander and my team.” He said sheepishly, carefully choosing his words.
“And there’s the problem, Atreuna. They feel the same about you.” Aduï responded. She pulled up a small diagram of fleet movements in the system and quickly zoomed in on several points of interest. Cai could see the two densely-packed sets of ship icons representing the 6th and 11th fleets gathering in high orbit. They would depart around the same time he and his team would.
Cai wondered if Aduï wanted to bring attention to something on the map, but after about a minute she shut the diagram off and looked back at him.
“Why did you join the navy, Cai?” She asked him bluntly.