The lights dimmed, not by order but by reverence.
All across the arena, silence spread like a ripple across still water.
Even the nobles stopped whispering.
From the highest platform, the UNE Judges rose — two figures in gray insignia robes, the emblem of the Unified Nations of Earth glinting under the crystalline light.
Their mere presence was enough to still every breath.
The viscount remained seated this time — respectful, his earlier authority dissolving into the shadow of something greater.
One of the judges — the elder of the two — stepped forward, his voice magnified across the hall.
It carried no theatrics. Only weight.
"The trials of selection have reached their conclusion.
You have been tested in the Art of Ideals,
The Science of Innovation,
And the Discipline of Combat.
Together, these three form the measure of clarity, purpose, and power —
The measure of those worthy to enter the Empire Royal Academy."
He raised a palm.
A vast holo-display bloomed above the arena, names and scores burning into existence one by one.
---
Final Scores
Name Total Status
Amos Devon 10 Perfect Score
Trisha Stephen 8 Qualified
Cairn Velros 8 Qualified
Melissa Santos 8 Qualified
Eghosa Precious 7 Qualified
Bastet Trueworth 2 Disqualified
Helena Troy 2 Disqualified
---
The crowd erupted in murmurs — soft at first, then mounting like the hiss of a storm.
A perfect score.
Of the thousand who participated across systems, had anyone done it ?.
Amos Devon stood silent beneath his name, the golden light of the screen casting a halo around him.
He did not look proud — only complete, as though this had been decided long before today.
Eghosa's eyes lingered on her score.
Seven points.
A victory by all standards — yet standing beside perfection, it felt like a wound.
And yet, she didn't feel small.
She felt sharpened.
The younger UNE judge, a man with eyes like frosted glass, stepped forward.
"Those who have achieved qualification will be granted Imperial clearance.
Their next summons will be issued directly from the UNE itself."
He paused.
"Before you depart… what have you learned?"
The victors hesitated, glancing at one another. Was this another test?
The judge's tone remained calm, almost patient.
The slowly, patiently Amos responded:
"Science," he began, "is the tool one uses to achieve a task.
Combat is the motion — the power that drives that task to completion.
But Art… Art is the reason.
Without meaning, power becomes slaughter.
If a lion kills a deer, it is cruelty. But if it kills because it hungers, it is survival.
The act is the same. What divides them… is purpose.
Science without Art is machinery.
Art without Science is delusion.
But together, they create Combat — the will to fight for a cause, for meaning, for humanity."
The arena fell into silence — then, all at once, applause thundered through the air.
But Ancelot didn't clap.
He watched from his seat, cane in hand, eyes fixed on Eghosa and Amos — two children of opposite fire.
"One sees through the world," he muttered.
"The other still believes she can save it."
Crassus leaned forward, lips curving in fascination.
"And that," he whispered to himself, "is exactly why she'll either rise… or burn."
---
As the UNE judges prepared to depart, their final decree echoed:
"By the authority of the Unified Nations of Earth and the Empire itself,
the following candidates are hereby granted passage to the Empire Royal Academy and shall receive word soon."
The list shimmered — Amos Devon, Trisha Stephen, Cairn Velros, Melissa Santos, and Eghosa Precious.
Trumpets blared from the upper galleries — a cold, ceremonial sound.
The winners stood beneath a rain of golden light as their names were sealed into record.
Eghosa barely felt the warmth of it.
Her gaze stayed fixed on Amos, who stood beneath the same light yet somehow apart from it — untouchable, unknowable, unbothered.
"We both passed," she whispered. "But only one of us looked forward."
Ancelot appeared beside her, voice quiet but firm.
"Then look forward too," he said. "But never in his way. You are not him."
For the first time since the trials began, she nodded — not in defiance, not in anger, but in understanding.
The UNE insignias glowed like distant stars as the judges vanished beyond the corridor.
The Trials were over.
The world had chosen its new heirs.
But beneath the applause, Eghosa felt something deeper — a hum in her bones, a whisper in the air.
This was not an ending.
It was the calm before whatever Amos Devon had already foreseen.
---
In a hidden room filled with hundreds of holo-screens, two silhouettes watched the replay.
"This one came from Earth-236, correct?" a woman asked.
"Yes, ma'am," replied the aide beside her. "A student achieved a perfect score there."
The woman smirked faintly.
"I don't care about another genius," she said. "We have enough of those. What we need… is someone insane enough to change the system we need mad men and women."
Her eyes lingered on the moment Eghosa drove her blade through herself to win.
And she smiled.
---
That evening, the celebration halls overflowed with sound — nobles, students, and scholars mingling under silver chandeliers.
But Eghosa sat quietly at one of the lower tables, staring at nothing.
She had seen everyone here except the only person she actually wanted to see Amos devon
She had thought victory would fill her with joy.
Instead, she felt something new — heavier, hungrier.
Ambition.
"Hey, Eghosa!"
She turned to see Trisha, followed by Slitah, Velibrum, and Leonard waving her over.
When their eyes met, there was no more tension — no shame, no resentment.
Each of them had changed.
If they had been unpolished jade before, the trials had carved them into something clear and human.
"Let's get some food," Trisha said.
Dean Ancelot, noticing the nobles approaching with forced smiles, gave a small signal from the corner of his eye.
"Run."
And like children who had just stolen time itself, they laughed, darting past velvet curtains and golden tables, escaping the weight of ceremony — if only for a little while.