The day began with rain.
Rain wasn’t unusual in New Cascade. The neon city bathed in its own glow, layered in perpetual twilight from towering structures scraping the stratosphere and the ever-present swirl of smog clouds. But rain on Graduation Day? That was rare.
Haley Cormac stood before her reflection in the mirror, a wavering image caught between the blue flicker of her dorm light and the red hue of the sunrise trapped behind black glass. Her cadet uniform was crisp. It always was. Her hair was braided down one side, the way Lira liked it.
She swallowed hard.
Today was the end of everything familiar. And the beginning of everything unknown.
The Unity Cadet Program accepted only 1.2% of applicants. Cybernetic augmentations, neural-link reflex testing, survival metrics, psychological depth scans. And even after three years of rigorous training, not all cadets would be selected for the Rift Expedition—the exploratory mission that would send some of them to the edge of known space, through the artificially stabilized wormhole called the Ether Rift.
Haley hadn’t expected to make the cut.
But she had.
Lira hadn't.
The amphitheater was a marvel of transsteel and smartglass, perched high above the skyline of New Cascade. Drones buzzed above, broadcasting the graduation ceremony to billions across the solar network. The air shimmered with augmented overlays, projecting holographic banners of past missions and cadet insignia.
Haley sat rigid in her seat. Around her, classmates whispered. Some excited. Some anxious. Lira sat two rows behind her, laughing softly with Ryker. Her laughter was like static on an old record—familiar, but distant.
Chancellor Mire stood at the podium, his voice deep and modulated by a resonance mod that made him sound ancient and wise, though he was likely younger than Haley’s father.
“Cadets,” he said, “today you become something more. You become emissaries of our species. Architects of tomorrow. As the Ether Rift awaits, some of you will journey beyond our stars. Others will hold the line here at home. Both are essential. Both are honorable. Both are Unity.”
Applause. Flashes. Floating camera drones spun above like slow-motion fireflies.
Then came the list.
Names, dozens of them, were read aloud by an AI voice with perfect diction. Each name meant one more chosen to leave. One more to cross the Rift. One more to never return home.
“Cormac, Haley.”
Her breath caught. She stood. Straight-backed. Controlled.
But when she turned and met Lira’s eyes—her best friend, her more-than-friend, her heart—she almost faltered.
Lira looked back at her, eyes wide but proud. She clapped first. She clapped the loudest.
That night, the world below New Cascade pulsed with life. The skyway pubs buzzed, streetlights blinked through the mist, and graduation parties spilled across every district.
Haley and Lira wandered into one of their old haunts, The Fracture, a retro synth-bar hidden beneath layers of rusted scaffolding and augmented graffiti.
Ryker danced on a table. Someone threw neon confetti into the air. Haley drank synthwine that buzzed at the back of her skull.
But the night wasn’t about the party.
It was about goodbye.
“When do you leave?” Lira asked as they slipped onto the rooftop, where the hum of turbines blended with the low rhythm of synthbass from below.
“Two days.”
Lira nodded. Her eyes were glassy but dry.
“Say something stupid,” Haley whispered. “Make me laugh.”
Lira smiled. “You ever wonder if space farts are louder in zero-g?”
Haley burst out laughing, nearly choking on her drink.
“You asked,” Lira said, leaning back on her elbows.
A beat passed. Then two. Then silence.
“I should be mad at you,” Lira said finally. “But I’m not.”
“You should be.”
“I’m proud of you. You were always the brave one.”
Haley shook her head. “No. I was always the one pretending not to be scared.”
Lira reached for her hand. Fingers intertwined.
“Same thing,” she whispered.
The farewell ceremony was held at the Rift Gate Terminal, a colossal ring structure orbiting high above Earth, tethered by an orbital elevator visible from space. One by one, the chosen cadets stood before the delegation and the thousands watching across the system.
Haley stood last.
She stepped up to the podium, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. A camera drone hovered, live-streaming her every breath. She looked out at her classmates, at the faces she’d trained with, bled with. At Lira, seated in the front row, holding a small glowing sphere—a keepsake they’d once promised to only give away if they truly meant forever.
Haley took a breath.
And began.
Haley’s Farewell Speech:
“I remember our first day at Unity Base. We were scared. Confused. Some of us tried to act like we weren’t. Some failed miserably.”
[Laughter. Soft. Nostalgic.]
“We didn’t know then how much we would change. How much we would grow. How much we would lose. We became warriors, scientists, engineers, explorers. But we also became something more: we became family.”
She paused. Her throat ached.
“Today, some of us go beyond. Beyond the stars. Beyond the comfort of Earth. Beyond each other. We will not all travel the same road. That truth hurts more than I can say.
But this I know:
Distance doesn’t dissolve love.
Silence doesn’t erase memory.
And endings?—they are just the start of a new kind of beginning.”
She looked at Lira then. Directly.
“To those staying behind: keep the home fires burning. Keep the stories alive. Because we’ll need them, out there in the dark.
And to those crossing the Rift with me: be bold. Be kind. Be human. Even when it gets hard to remember how.
We leave with heavy hearts, but we leave with full ones.
This goodbye is not forever.
It’s just...‘til starlight brings us home.’”
The crowd rose.
A standing ovation.
But Haley only saw one person.
Lira stood too. Not clapping.
But crying. And smiling.
That night, as the Rift Gate flared open and the selected cadets walked onto the embarkation deck, Haley turned once.
One last look.
Lira held up the glowing sphere.
Their forever.
Haley walked into the light.
And the stars swallowed her whole.
[End]