Silence.
No applause. No whispers. Not even the breath of machines.
The creature lay dead — its colossal frame collapsing in on itself, plasma wounds smoking faintly against the cold arena floor.
For a moment, everyone stood frozen.
Then it hit them — the realization that no one had fired.
No one, except him.
Amos Devon hadn't even stood up. He sat there, calm as a statue, the X-blaster cooling beside him, his children's book still open on his lap as though this entire trial had been a line from its pages.
Eghosa's chest rose and fell sharply. Her mind raced, trying to understand how.
She remembered the instructor's words:
"Behind that door is a creature hungry and starved, ready to kill."
And Amos's own:
"Victory is only attained when there is no competition."
It wasn't arrogance.
It was foresight.
He had known.
---
Up in the stands, murmurs erupted.
"Did he break the simulation?"
"What kind of reaction speed was that?"
"Was this planned?"
Crassus Devon smiled thinly. "No," he murmured. "It wasn't speed. It was timing. He killed the outcome before it began."
The viscount turned sharply. "Explain yourself."
Crassus inclined his head slightly. "He didn't fire at the creature. He fired into the door's field. The energy feedback looped through the control mechanism. He predicted the design of the test — and ended it before the threat existed."
The viscount's expression darkened. "So he understood the entire setup before it even started."
"Exactly," Crassus said. "He didn't react. He decided."
---
Back in the arena, the instructor's voice cracked through the silence.
"Simulation ended.
Competitor Amos Devon — 100 percent efficiency."
Eghosa's pulse thundered in her ears. Her hands trembled, not from fear… but from the weight of understanding.
She looked at Amos. He was rising now, closing his book, expression unchanged.
And in that moment, she understood what separated them.
She had united everyone — the Fremick, the Zephon, even the humans.
She had led through trust. Through cooperation.
She had believed unity would give them strength.
But unity hadn't saved anyone.
If the creature had actually come out first — if Amos hadn't acted — their teamwork would have meant nothing.
No coordination. No plan. No weapon strong enough to withstand what was waiting.
She saw it clearly now: what she lacked was not intelligence, not courage — but decisiveness.
She had waited for the problem to come to her.
He had erased the problem before it could exist.
---
Up in the judge's stand, one of the UNE evaluators stood and spoke.
"Let it be noted — the trial was designed to measure more than scientific aptitude. It was a psychological construct. The participants were made to hear one another to inspire trust and unity. The creature's purpose was not death… but sacrifice."
Gasps rippled through the audience.
"One participant was always meant to fall," the judge continued, "to demonstrate that survival requires loss — that cooperation demands cost."
He gestured toward Amos, voice steady.
"Yet one among them transcended the purpose of the test entirely. He saw through illusion before it began. He acted, not in panic, but in understanding. That," he said firmly, "is what we call clarity of will."
---
Eghosa lowered her gaze.
Her heart felt heavy — but strangely calm.
She wasn't angry anymore.
She was learning.
"I thought strength meant togetherness," she whispered under her breath.
"But maybe… it also means knowing when to act alone."
Trisha turned toward her, confused. "Eghosa?"
But her friend just smiled faintly — a tired, knowing smile.
For the first time since arriving in the Empire, she realized she had been seeing the world through the wrong lens.
Unity was good. But without direction, it was just noise.
Decisiveness gave unity meaning.
And Amos… he had both.
---
He turned slightly, eyes catching hers for just a heartbeat.
Not gloating. Not mocking. Simply acknowledging.
"You learn fast," he said softly. "But not fast enough."
Then he walked past her, book in hand, the sound of his steps echoing like a quiet countdown to something greater.
---
Up above, Ancelot exhaled slowly, gripping his cane.
"He saw the pattern before it unfolded," he muttered. "That's not science. That's intuition born from chaos."
Crassus, overhearing, smiled faintly. "And that, Dean, is exactly what separates a leader from a follower."
---
Eghosa looked down at her reflection in the floor — fractured by the light, blurred by blood and shadow.
The world around her was starting to make sense in a way she didn't like.
She had been pure.
He had been right.
And somewhere between those two truths… was the kind of power she didn't yet understand.
"Maybe," she murmured, "decisiveness isn't the opposite of compassion.
Maybe it's the price."
---
A new voice echoed through the speakers — flat, official.
"Scores for the Science Trial are as follows:"
Amos Devon: 3 marks (Full Marks)
Eghosa Precious: 2 marks
Trisha Stephen: 2 marks
Cairn Velros: 2 marks
Bastet Trueworth: 2 marks
Helena Troy: 2 marks
Melissa Santos: 2 marks
---
Polite applause followed, thin and hesitant — no one wanted to cheer too loudly after what they had just witnessed.
The viscount leaned toward his microphone.
"The next trial will commence immediately. Discipline: Combat."
The audience murmured again, tension thick in the air.
The pods sank back into the floor, replaced by a wide circular arena lined with containment barriers and shimmering light fields.
From the opposite side, a line of instructors appeared — seven of them, each representing a different combat doctrine: sword, spear, unarmed, elemental, and mental warfare.
Each competitor would face one.
No assistance. No advice. No mercy.
---
Cairn's instructor drew his blade first — an imperial duelist whose movements were like lightning. Cairn smiled faintly; finally, a test where his bloodline could speak.
Melissa's opponent wielded a spear glowing faintly with heat. Her expression didn't change. She spun her own weapon once, confident and collected.
Bastet faced a murderous combatant, elegant and cruel, her mind already trembling from the weight of his presence.
Trisha squared off against a woman who fought with twin short swords, her stance low and sharp.
Helena, reckless as always, stretched her shoulders, almost eager for pain.
Eghosa's turn came last.
---
Her opponent was different — an older man, silent, with gray hair tied back in a simple knot.
No weapon.
No armor.
Just calm eyes, deep and unreadable.
When their gazes met, something inside her tightened.
He didn't look like an instructor.
He looked like a mirror.
He bowed slightly, speaking in a voice soft as wind.
"You are Eghosa Precious. The one who trusts first, doubts later. I am your examiner. My weapon is choice."
She frowned. "Choice?"
He smiled faintly. "You'll understand soon."
The barriers sealed.
The arena darkened again.
And as her heart steadied itself for the next trial, Eghosa realized that decisiveness — the thing she had just discovered — was about to be tested in its truest, cruelest form.