“Fayn.” Temora jumped up from her desk with a type of anxiety she rarely experienced. Brimming with excitement, muted by intrusive thoughts telling her that she somehow failed. The Rector, handed the certificate out pinched between his thumb and index finger creating a resistance that prevented Temora from taking the page without looking at him. As she did, he simply nodded and released the certificate to her. It was sealed with a blue stamp of the school crest, the highest possible grade; a bluemark.

This meant that at most two of her answers were incorrect. She was so excited she let out a sharp audible chirp before her reflexes shut her vocal cords. A couple of the students who were still testing looked up. Albe was giving her a vibrant smile that matched her energy. She responded to this kindly with a wave, before exiting the lecture hall.

After taking an exam, students were not to linger. They left the classroom immediately after, and this had been true since the earliest school years. They would usually go to their next class or to the cafeteria. For Temora, this would be the mess hall. Today, she had only eaten a small cup of highly sugared multigrain porridge and tea just after brightset.

The mess hall was serving a slow-cooked mutton dish, reserved for memorable occasions. That kind of livestock wasn’t common to this region, so it had to be specially imported. She enjoyed it immensely, as it was in a heavily spiced sauce over rice. Temora had food like this out of a vendor cart before. She didn’t know what it was called. Albe apparently did.

“This Biriaq smells fantastic.” He sat down next to her at the table, with Cole in tow.

“Is that what this is?” speaking as a trowel full of rice and sauce entered her mouth.

“Yes. We would make this on the ways between Nsolani and Iri Des. Rice and spice keep well. Warbird, not so much. So we would make Biriaq the day after buying the poultry... but... ah this is not bird though.” Albe was amazed to find meat that wasn’t warbird, and he’d never had a creature on four legs prepared like this.

“What did you score on the exam?” Temora firmly poked the towel into the rice and leaned in as she questioned him, in what she envisioned to be dramatic effect.

“Blue, my father will be happy. He gets to frame this certificate up. In his office, I would wager high.” He waved the thick certificate paper over the mess hall table, but well away from the plates of food.

Cocole was perplexed by the Biriaq, which was heavily spiced and sweetened lightly with brown sugar. It was far outside of his normal comfort zone of breaded fried foods and grilled warbird steaks. He seemed to enjoy it, albeit slowly, as he dissected its contents.

The group finished the remainder of their meal largely in silence. They were in no true hurry, but still picked up the speed they were eating. Cocole put the rest of his meal into a paper cone, eating it on the way back to the platoon compartment. Their training period came to an end today. This meant clearing out of their personal effects and packing them to board a ship tomorrow; a process everyone was ill-prepared to undertake.

The military supplied each person with a dedicated rucksack, blue and silver in color just like the uniform. They were told the color helped them blend into the sky on the horizon from a distance, but she felt it was too bright a blue for that assessment to be accurate.

It held everything, including the rolled mattress atop it, with room to spare. She figured she might even be able to shove some personal items in there. A list of allowed items was in one of her handbooks, but she had already spent weeks arguing with herself about what she would bring with her.

Temora bid a temporary farewell to the platoonmates she was acquainted with, and said a goodbye to the platoonmates were were getting cut from their program. The exam was multidisciplinary and difficult to complete. Despite being given the time between fullbright and dimset; a few didn't finish. They would still go on tour, just not with the others. Shuffled around to different units where they were still better trained than their equivalents would be. Perhaps even given provisional rank, additional pay, or more than likely... tuition credit.

The sirens sounded, and the sky snapped into darkness as she started her walk back home from the academe. She stared up to watch the source go black today. It was fitting to do so, in her current state of mind. It was at one moment too bright to look into directly. An inaccurately timed blink of her squinting eyes left the sky dark, and the twinklers showing.

“Damn.” She looked toward the street where nobody skipped a step as the sourcelight vacated. They all went about their business as busy as the moments before. The streets wouldn’t start to empty for another four beats or so. The source siren sounded just before beat zero. She kept a mental note that she would need to buy a pocket watch at some point. Her regimented schedule would quite literally, go with the wind.

She continued walking over the naturally colorful stonework back to her front door and flipped its knocker. Her mother answered the door after an uncharacteristically long time. Holding both a mixing bowl and pitcher of fresh milk in the same arm.

“I didn’t expect you to be back until later hun.” Her mother was clearly busy preparing a good meal for the both of them. It was good for Temora that it would not be done for a while, as she just finished eating. She would have overeaten to prevent her mother from worrying about her health.

“The packing didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” Temora motioned to the backpack as she laid it onto one of two futon-styled long seats in the living room. “You making this just for us huh?” She glanced at her frantic mess of baking ingredients in the kitchen, as they were open and visible to the main room.

“Mostly for my dear daughter who will be leaving for who knows how long.” Her mother playfully quipped. She had already given up trying to convince Temora to stay. It was now just banter.

“Thank you.” She over-leaned toward her mother who was still carrying a bowl and pitcher single-handedly, and hugged too tightly. With plausible deniability in hoping she would drop one of them.

“Hey. Hey! I need to get this into the pan.” Parele broke free of her daughter’s grasp and returned to the kitchen to prepare a mocha milk cake. Chocolate and coffee, both enjoyed both. They were ingredients that were not impossible to find by any means, but pricey.

While her mother was finishing the prep for their dinner, Temora returned to her room to finish packing for the tour. In went only essential items. She decided against perfume, a pair of plain civilian clothes, and some light reading material. Instead, she brought a leather-bound personal notebook, a silver folding mirror engraved with a picture of the family, some high-quality small-diameter climbing rope, six pitons, a skyhook, and heavy reading material. The extra heft of the bag was worth bringing the books along. At worst, she could give it to someone else when she was done.

She peeped out of her window to watch the dockworkers and their lanterns. In that far distance, they were on the deck of the aeroship she would be boarding when she woke up. Temora spent so much time looking out into the sourcelit night that food was ready for her downstairs.

After eating a meal, watching her mother cry, consoling her with the promise that she would soon be back home, and talking later into the night with her than she should have. Temora returned upstairs to her bed, undressed, and laid down. Staring into the darkness of her bedroom until she actually fell asleep.