The simulator’s air was cool and dry, filled with the hum of hidden machinery. Ensign Luna stood at ease on the padded training floor, her pale hair tied back in a loose braid, wings folded neatly against her back. Her stance wasn’t just ready — it was precise. Every breath, every muscle, every shift of balance was deliberate.

Today’s training session wasn’t for her.
It was for anyone else who wanted to learn.

Luna was already a master of hand-to-hand combat and tactical strategy — a product of harsh training and her own relentless drive. She had adapted her fighting style around her wings, able to strike and defend from angles most couldn’t even imagine.

The simulator flickered to life, spawning not one, but three opponents at once — fast, coordinated, and programmed to simulate real-world, dirty fighting. Luna didn’t hesitate.

In a blur of motion, she sidestepped the first lunge, driving a sharp palm strike into the attacker’s throat. Before the second could grab her, she pivoted low, sweeping their legs out from under them, her movement as smooth as flowing water. She ducked a wild swing from the third and countered with a ruthless elbow to the ribs.

Three down in under twenty seconds.

The simulator beeped, adjusting its difficulty.
Luna merely smiled — calm, almost playful — and shifted back into a ready stance.

ensign Luna