In the year 813, the incredible trial of the young candidates unfolded before the astonished eyes of the entire world.
Spectators, gathered in the largest amphitheaters of the empires, held their breath. On giant screens, broadcast live, they witnessed this extraordinary test where eight-year-old children were thrust into a realistic battlefield, facing gigantic beasts and war strategies of staggering complexity. Everywhere, excited murmurs spread through the crowd.
The events, already tense, took a spectacular turn when the gigantic wolves and their troops appeared.
The commentators, their voices vibrating with enthusiasm, kept emphasizing the danger posed by these creatures, stressing that never in the history of the trial had such a perilous challenge been thrown at candidates so young.
"Look at these children!" one of the presenters exclaimed, fascinated by the mastery of Lunar and his companions.
"They are facing beasts that would send many warriors fleeing! And yet, they stand, they resist!"
In the audience, some spectators were frozen, eyes wide open, unable to look away from the breathless action unfolding before them.
Others murmured among themselves, speculating about the alliances and betrayals happening in the shadows of the wolves' attacks. A woman in the stands, elegantly dressed, shook her head in disbelief.
"They're just children... How can they fight with such determination?"
A man next to her, his gaze fixed on the screen, answered gravely: "They are incredible."
As the storm of lightning continued to strike, and the wolves charged against the bastions with devastating force, a palpable tension filled the air. Every second, every movement could decide the survival of one group or the destruction of another.
—————————-
Currently, in a castle perched on a hill, overlooking a once verdant landscape scattered with fertile valleys, the traces of its past power are still visible.
Its massive structure, once a symbol of strength and influence, now bears the marks of time. The grey stone walls, once imposing, are now covered with moss and climbing vines that seep into the cracks, signs of an inevitable decline. Its towers and turrets, which once guarded the region, now appear abandoned, their battlements crumbling and windows shattered, silent witnesses to the fall.
An imposing and elegant man, with a stern face marked by maturity, stands before a large television displaying the children from various empires who are currently participating in an exam.
Next to him is his young son, a boy with black hair tinged with a slight red hue, curly and unruly. His deep violet eyes shine with innocence and curiosity. He has a still-soft, angular face, with slightly pronounced cheekbones and a mischievous smile revealing a missing tooth.
He watches the other children take the potential test with admiration in his eyes, often wanting to raise his small hands and encourage them further.
But he hesitates, as his father seems to harbor some bitterness toward them.
"Remiel, you have no reason to admire them. They are greedy and corrupt people, hypocrites,"
declared his father in a stern voice, his hard eyes fixed on the young boy. "Their hypocrisy killed your mother."
These words struck Remiel like a blow, instantly wiping away the smile that had lit up his face.
His gaze became empty, cold, like a rose closing under a dark sky.
"Yes, that's right, my son," continued the man, his tone lowering to almost a venomous whisper. "You don't need them.
They don't need to know you. Not yet. You haven't bloomed yet. But when they learn who you are, it will be too late. You will be a rose full of thorns."
His father stared at him with an almost sinister intensity, his hand absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wooden table, as if carefully savoring each word.
Remiel, silent, absorbed every syllable. But in his mind, his thoughts drifted to a gentler, more distant memory.
"Althéa... when will you return? It's so dark without you," he murmured in his heart.
She was his light, the only one in this darkness that had enveloped him since birth. And without her, there were only the shadows and the coldness of his father, whose harshness shaped him a little more each day.
—————
All the trials were over.
The Battle Royal. The Game of the Four Kingdoms. The King's Game.
Each trial had been fiercer and more unpredictable than the last, leaving the audience in ecstasy.
The imperial families and elites were captivated; the stakes had never been so high.
Colossal bets had been placed on the table: territories, fortunes, weapons forged from precious metals.
For them, surrendering one of these treasures was unthinkable, a sign of weakness. A metallic, almost human voice echoed:
The silence became palpable, oppressive, as if the world itself had suspended its breath, waiting for this fateful moment.
Zikron stood still, his eyes closed, absorbed in the silence. Every fiber of his body vibrated with unwavering confidence, a certainty etched into his soul.
The final trial? Ayla had won it. A formality. Nothing more. To him, it was just a detail. Not a single trial had shaken him, not even once.
He knew his worth.
Lost in his thoughts, he was pulled back to reality by the metallic voice of Aeros, sharp like a blade cutting through the frozen atmosphere:
— Potential evaluations are complete. Those below the top fifteen, your ranking will appear on your bracelets. Now… the top fifteen.
At these words, Aaron Stelar made his entrance. Slowly, almost theatrically, he drew all eyes to him. Then, to command even more attention, he activated his anti-gravity boots and rose into the air. The tension was palpable.
Among the compact crowd of candidates, hearts beat in unison, frantic. Some young ones clutched their clothing as if trying to hold on to something. Others, brought to this event against their will, already let silent tears escape, imagining futures they had never chosen.
The audience felt this same tension. The imperial families watched with pride, but the lesser families, they prayed in silence. Hands trembling, they hoped their children would catch the eye of an emperor.
Aaron Stelar savored the moment, prolonging the suspense deliberately. Making the emperors wait? A delight. He took a deep breath, his eyelids lowering as if to amplify his pleasure. Then, a sly smile curled his lips.
Without a word, he snapped his fingers.
A monumental hologram appeared, illuminating the arena. The ranking displayed:
1st: Zikron Zeta / Ayla West
2nd: -
3rd: Lunar Lumen
4th: Elyone Dantes
5th: Sery Crimson
6th: Ester
7th: Byron
8th: Kael Volur
9th: Alex Rus
10th: Victor Mahr
11th: Jack
The entire dome froze, as if petrified by the magnitude of this revelation.
Three nameless in the top fifteen. Such an anomaly? Never seen before. For as long as anyone could remember, heirs of the great imperial families had dominated these rankings. But today, that balance seemed to waver.
Though only four of the seven empires had participated this time, the result defied expectations.
Zikron slowly turned his gaze toward Ester, seated beside him. A tacit alliance had formed between them over the course of the trials. Ester had proven his potential.
"A future comrade," Zikron thought. "I should mention him to my father."
Ester, on the other hand, looked at Zikron with a different perspective. He didn't just see an ally. Zikron was much more. A star. A leader. A path he would follow in this new world that was unfolding before them.
Then, another name caught Zikron's attention: Jack, 11th.
— It's him... The one who defended Elyone's bastion, Zikron murmured to himself. Lira was right. Without him and his beasts, she would have lost.
Jack, a nameless one, had triumphed where so many others had failed.
Impassive, he gazed at the hologram. But inside, he was boiling. Pride. Achieving 11th place in a world dominated by names? It was an accomplishment.
Elyone, 4th, met his gaze. A sincere respect, a bond forged in adversity. But even that wasn't enough to soothe Elyone.
— Fourth... not enough.
In her mind, a promise formed, as hard as steel:
— I will catch up to you, Zikron. At the World Academy, everything will change. Nine years. I have nine years to surpass you.
Lunar, for his part, had his fists clenched. Staring at the hologram, he didn't say a word. No shout, no complaint, not even an expression of joy. Just a deep disappointment visible on his face.
Frustration? Perhaps. He didn't know himself. But this lack of obvious emotion contrasted sharply with Byron, just behind him.
Byron, 7th, struggled to contain his tears. He wanted to leap for joy, but he didn't dare. All eyes were on them, especially on the top fifteen. His future was secured.
— Father... he murmured, his voice trembling. This is just the beginning.
A solitary tear rolled down his cheek. Byron wiped it quickly, but others followed, unstoppable. He remembered the crushing expectations of his father, those days when he had been treated like dead weight, incapable of honoring the name he bore. But now, everything was changing.
As he tried to regain his composure, a firm hand rested on his head. Surprised, Byron turned his eyes and saw Lunar.
Lunar gave him an almost imperceptible smile before speaking in a feigned nonchalance:
— Stop crying. It would be embarrassing for a future warrior of the Lumina Empire.
Byron stood speechless. He wanted to respond, but no words came out. Lunar had just subtly but undeniably made it clear that the Lumen family would now take him under their wing.
Sery, meanwhile, observed the tableau without surprise. She was satisfied but knew she still had much to learn if she hoped to compete with Zikron and Ayla.
Aaron's voice rang out one last time:
— Your potentials will be transmitted through Aeros for security reasons.
He threw one final provocative glance at the emperors before vanishing.
----------------
In the stands of the Imperial families, the tension rose a notch. Whispers became more insistent, more feverish. The results had defied all expectations, and the frustration was palpable.
"The prophet seems to be enjoying himself, prolonging the suspense," said Emperor Krys of Boria, with a slight hint of disdain.
"Just ignore him," replied Leonord indifferently.
"If an insect wants to amuse itself for a moment, why stop it?" exclaimed the Empress, amused by Aaron.
"Then he'll have to explain why he changed the test at the last minute," Yelena pointed out.
"It seems I've lost," declared Pery Crimson, his expression tense, fists clenched.
"It was inevitable, Pery," replied Emperor Krys Dantes, his tone cold and assured.
"The stars never lie. This year, they weren't in your favor."
Yelena Sky intervened, a cold smile playing on her lips:
"So, Pery, what will you offer us? Or will Emperor Zeta pay your debt? I hope those Crimson family weapons live up to expectations."
Pery gritted his teeth. "Don't underestimate me. I will keep my word. You will get the promised weapons." His tone betrayed a mix of anger and defeat.
"There's no rush, take your time, dear red star," the Empress responded.
Emperor Leonord, thoughtful, straightened slightly.
"Too much talent at once... It's a sign. The world is warning us."
He turned his gaze to the other emperors.
"Shame the other emperors decided not to participate," Leonord said, a note of
disappointment in his voice.
Azhel did not answer immediately, but his eyes gleamed with a cold light. "I've heard whispers from the Romulus Empire."
He let his words hang in the air for a moment, noticing everyone's gaze fixed on him. He continued, "From what I've heard, a man with mismatched eyes has begun to re-emerge, after being confined to his home for years."
The emperors' gazes became sharp. Yelena looked at Azhel with wide eyes, Krys Dantes now had a cold look, as if he had remembered a memory that should have been forgotten, muttering bitterly:
"The Avernus family. You nearly wiped them all out. But you left one survivor. Why, Leonord?"
A chilling silence descended over the stands. Those in the know exchanged silent looks.
The Avernus family, once powerful, was now but a name whispered in hushed tones. Yet, a shadow of their existence remained. One man.
"That man is broken," Yelena cut in, irritated. "He's no longer a threat. What can a few survivors do against us? Their time is over."
Azhel shrugged slightly, a gesture somewhere between indifference and contemplation. "Maybe."
Zoey Zeta, remaining in the background, frowned imperceptibly. Something in Azhel's words intrigued her, like an echo.
However, she held back from speaking, keeping her thoughts to herself.
Leonord broke the silence with his steely voice:
"Emperor Caesar watches over him. Avernus is no longer a danger."
Azhel tilted his head slightly, not arguing. "Undoubtedly."
But behind his clear eyes, a trace of doubt remained.
Suddenly, a man appeared, only a few steps away. His movements were measured, almost calculated, as if he controlled every moment.
His face, with soft, slightly feminine features, seemed carved from porcelain, unsettlingly beautiful. Long, silky black hair cascaded down his back, swaying in a gentle breeze, almost hypnotic in its movement.
His athletic build left no doubt about his strength, but it was his aura that captivated the most. He radiated a charm that was both captivating and disturbing, a presence that seemed to erase the rest of the world, leaving an indelible impression on anyone who laid eyes on him.
Aaron Stelar.
The emperors recognized him immediately. Their gazes hardened, and their eyes narrowed at his appearance. This insolence, this quiet power he exuded, disturbed them deeply, but they were accustomed to this almost provocative attitude. Yet, it was not the first time he had appeared like this.
As Aaron passed the seats, heading toward the emperors, he felt their stares on him. A provocative smile curled on his lips.
Unhurried, he slowed his steps even more, clearly enjoying the moment. He pretended to pay attention to the people sitting to his left and right, scrutinizing each face as if observing a world entirely foreign to him.
The silence in the stands grew heavy, the tension palpable. Then, suddenly, a member of an elite family, unable to endure the prophet's attitude any longer, exploded.
"Hey, you! How dare you keep the emperors waiting?!" he yelled, anger vibrating in his voice. The others around him nodded, visibly irritated by Aaron's blatant disrespect.
Aaron slowly turned toward him, a genuine laugh escaping his lips. The member of the elite family froze, destabilized by the unexpected reaction.
"What's so funny? Do you think this is a game?" he growled, growing more furious.
Aaron, still smiling, let out a small, stifled laugh and wiped his eye with his finger, as if erasing a barely noticeable trace of amusement from his features.
"Sorry, just... your faces," he said in a teasing tone. "You looked so serious, I couldn't help myself."
He finally reached the emperors, greeting them with utter nonchalance, as if he were in a place that could no longer surprise him.
The emperors exchanged a brief look. Yelena, clearly amused, couldn't suppress a slight smile, while Krys, visibly irritated, gritted his teeth. Azhel and Leonord, on the other hand, remained impassive, having seen this spectacle many times before. They weren't surprised, but Aaron's blatant disrespect still bothered them.
Leonord decided to speak first. "Why?"
Aaron, still smiling, replied with a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Why what? Could you be more specific, without meaning to be impolite toward you?" He let his gaze settle on a guard, the intensity of his stare not going unnoticed.
"The test," Yelena continued, her smile still present but now more curious. "Why change it at the last minute without consulting us?"
Aaron shrugged slightly, his smile unwavering.
"Though the test was entertaining," she continued more seriously, "such disregard for us could cause you trouble." The Empress let out a subtle smirk as the air around her seemed to heat up, her aura becoming almost palpable, threatening.
Aaron, however, showed no sign of discomfort. "I didn't change the rules." The room froze for a moment.
Krys was about to reply, but Aaron's voice didn't stop. His tone grew more serious. "Aeros, our artificial intelligence that has been dormant for years, showed signs of waking up."
The eyes of the elite family members widened, and a shiver of concern ran through the assembly.
Azhel, who had remained silent up until then, spoke. "Are you sure about that?"
Aaron slowly turned his gaze toward him. "Not completely, but given what happened today... I think it will take a few more years before we see Aeros fully awake. And I believe you all know what that means." He paused for a moment, his clear eyes locking with the emperors, an unusual seriousness in his gaze.
A heavy silence settled in the room before a deep sigh broke it.
"I see... So it begins," Leonord said, closing his eyes for a moment, as if weighing the situation.
Krys remained silent, thoughtful, but his face showed a certain tension.
Yelena, for her part, no longer wore her amused smile, her face now marked by a calm unease. No more words passed her lips.
Azhel slowly straightened, ending the conversation with a single look. "It's time to return to Zeyos," he declared. The Zeyos elites stood up, followed by the other families under the Zeta's command. In respectful silence, the Crimson family and the others fell in line behind Zeta's banner.
Outside, three imposing dragons descended from the skies, their scales gleaming under the last rays of light. They landed gently around the dome, their gigantic wings folded as if awaiting their masters.
And thus, the day came to an end.