Three days crawled by in sterile white rooms, punctuated by blood draws, neural scans, and endless questions from detached technicians. Vylaas answered them all, monotone and precise, offering nothing beyond what was asked. The Chimera remained a quiet passenger, a muted presence in his thoughts, observing, learning, but mostly…waiting.

He felt himself changing, subtly, almost imperceptibly. The edges of his perceptions sharpened. Colors seemed brighter, sounds crisper. His mind, once a quiet pond, now felt like a flowing river, currents of thought rushing through him faster and clearer than before. He wasn't sure if he should attribute it to the Chimera, or to the effects of having a functioning mana core once more.

The only interesting interactions he had with others during this observation period came when the Collegium Affinitatis sent affinity finders to test him.

The Cercetori—a man and woman both draped in the Collegium's gray and gold—arrived with an entourage of technicians and a cart piled high with arcane apparatus. They addressed Vylaas with all the respect due to his princely rank, introducing themselves as Master Cercetore Falto and Adept Cercetore Mirelle before nodding to the lab's resident staff.

Adept Mirelle approached Vylaas, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Your Highness, we require your cooperation. Please remain seated and answer all questions truthfully and promptly. It is imperative that you do not interfere with the testing process. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Vylaas answered.

Master Falto began adjusting dials on a complex device that resembled a distorted astrolabe. Wires snaked from it, connecting to a series of crystal vials filled with swirling, multicolored liquids—mana samples, Vylaas realized. Each shimmered with a distinct energy signature.

Adept Mirelle placed a cool metal disc against his temple. It adhered instantly, sending a faint shiver down his spine. "This will monitor your Resonance patterns, Your Highness. Any…unusual fluctuations will be recorded."

They began the cycling process. The astrolabe whirred, clicking rapidly as it rotated. One by one, the vials were brought into proximity with Vylaas. He felt nothing at first. Just the constant, low hum of the machine and the quiet presence of the Chimera, a calm lake in the stillness at the back of his mind.

Then, a faint warmth bloomed in his chest as a vial filled with emerald-green liquid drew near. It felt…alive. His own mana core pulsed in response, a faint echo of the energy he sensed from the sample.

"Life," Master Falto announced, making a notation on a datapad.

The process continued, the vials clicking past. A soft, golden light evoked a similar, though weaker, response, a gentle warmth spreading through his limbs. "Restoration," the Master Cercetore intoned.

The Cercetori continued their work. Most vials triggered no reaction. Darkness, flame, storm, shadow, blood, air, crystal, and many others left Vylaas unaffected. The samples cycled for what felt like hours, the machine whirring, a counterpoint to the questions.

Near the end of the session came a vial holding crystalline liquid, still and pristine. Vylaas's mana core stirred, recognizing something in its perfect stillness. The sensation caught him off guard—like finding a piece of himself he hadn't known was missing.

"Structure," Adept Mirelle murmured, a hint of surprise on her lips. "or… Order? "

"We'll have to gather more distinct samples from within the conceptual clade to test further," her colleague commented, his pen hovering over the datapad. "It's not unheard of, your Highness, some of these conceptual affinities are hard to pin down perfectly."

Not long after, the pair departed, taking their attendants with them. They left him with his preliminary affinity list: Life, Restoration, and Structure in his core, and and a confirmation of Chimera's Spatial, Kinetic, and Warp affinities.

The next morning, a crisp-voiced med-drone announced his release. “Scion Vylaas, post-integration parameters are nominal. You are cleared to return to your quarters. A datapad with your instructor’s recommendations awaits.”

His quarters felt cavernous after the cramped rooms of the medical wing. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He crossed to his desk, noticing the datapad precisely placed in the center, a thin rectangle of metallic grey.

He picked it up, the weight cool in his hand. Flicking it on, the screen shimmered to life, displaying the Orestes family crest. Below it, a cascade of text scrolled—instructional guides, training regimens, and, prominently featured, "Class Selection Recommendations."

"We expect you'll select an appropriate primary class from the list provided."

Vylaas tightened his grip on the datapad, resisting the urge to snap it in half. The letter droned on with precise military diction, outlining the "optimal" paths forward. His eyes locked on certain phrases that kept repeating: "maximum battlefield effectiveness," "strategic military asset," "force projection capabilities."

The Chimera stirred in his mind, sensing his rising irritation. Anger? she pulsed, her presence curling protectively around his consciousness.

"They don't even pretend to care what I want," Vylaas muttered, scrolling through the recommendations.

"Apex Predator," Vylaas scoffed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. Walking engines of destruction. The description practically vibrated with unrestrained bloodlust. He flicked a finger, sending the text scrolling. "Plasma Tempest. Kinetic Crusher." Each title was more grotesque than the last. He imagined the training yards filled with hulking brutes bellowing as superheated death rained from their fingertips.

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He skipped ahead.

"Railgun Dominator." The image was cold, clinical—a distant figure obliterating targets with detached precision. He could appreciate efficiency, that was taught even to him, but this approach was as impersonal as the med-drones that had handled him last week. No, something else caught his sneer. "Missile Salvo? Turn the tide of battle with explosive force? Isn't battle already about force? Not everything needs to explode.""

Redundancy. Inelegant, the Chimera's thought threaded through his, a quiet pulse of agreement.

He continued down the list to Graviton Lance. He nearly spat. As if gravity was a toy to be played with. He had spent long enough learning how to walk again, against gravity, while wearing a mana suppressor. Now, they wanted him to wield it like a club? Too messy.

"Cyberfury Berserker," he read aloud, his voice dripping with disdain. Unleashed rage. The very idea was repugnant. There were many classes that used emotions as fuel, but Vylaas wanted nothing to do with any of them. Burning one's emotions away for power… It made his stomach clench.

"Siege Breaker. Pulse Cannon Vanguard." Each option swam in a sea of buzzwords—overwhelming, devastation, annihilation. He scrolled faster, his fingers blurring over the screen.

Then he reached "Void Reaper." Unstable void energy. Ultimate destructive power. Vylaas paused. He called up the definition on the Demiurge interface. He shuddered. The implications were terrifying. Creating ruptures that touched the Outside, however temporary, seemed almost blasphemous.

He set the pad down and rubbed his temples. The headache building behind his eyes had nothing to do with the Chimera and everything to do with the crushing weight of expectations. Father's expectations. The kingdom's expectations. Everyone's expectations except his own.

Choice? The Chimera's query felt tentative, uncertain.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Vylaas stood and walked to the window, looking out over the palace gardens where he'd once tended wounded birds and dreamed of becoming a healer. "They give us a choice, but only between different types of weapons."

The morning sun caught the edge of the royal banner flying above the courtyard, its gold thread gleaming. House Orestes' symbol—a sword piercing a star—seemed to mock him. Even their family crest was about penetrating power, domination through force.

He turned back to his desk, fingers dancing across the datapad's surface to access the full database of available classes. If they truly wanted him to choose, he would explore all his options, not just the pre-selected list of implements of destruction.

Together? The Chimera's presence brightened with curiosity.

"Yes," Vylaas said, settling into his chair. "Together."

The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur of research and note-taking. Vylaas filled page after page with observations, cross-references, and possibility matrices. The Chimera watched through his eyes, offering occasional emotional responses to different options—excitement at some, wariness at others. Her presence grew clearer, more defined, as they worked in tandem.

He discovered classes that aligned with his natural inclinations toward healing and protection. Others that could turn the Chimera's capabilities toward preservation rather than destruction. Some that might satisfy the crown's military requirements while still allowing him to follow his own path.

His father's aides checked on him periodically, their faces carefully neutral as they observed his deep dive into the class database. They said nothing, but their disapproving glances at his notes spoke volumes. He ignored them, pressing on with his research.

By the evening of the second day, Vylaas's shoulders ached from hunching over the desk, but satisfaction hummed through him. He had done it—narrowed down the vast array of possibilities to six viable options. Some would please the crown more than others, but all of them represented a potential compromise between duty and desire.

The Chimera's anticipation mingled with his own as he reached for the datapad one final time. A few quick gestures brought up a holographic display, throwing blue light across his features. Six class titles hovered before him, each one a possible future, each one a different way forward.

Choose? The Chimera asked, her presence warm with support.

Vylaas smiled slightly, studying the floating words. "Soon," he said softly. "But first, I need to be sure."

Vylaas swiped a hand across the holographic display, bringing the first option into sharp focus. "Celestial Command." The words glowed a regal gold, radiating an aura of expectation. Kingdom Priority leaning – big battlefield impact, leader archetype. The Chimera pulsed with a neutral curiosity, devoid of either enthusiasm or distaste. It suited the Kingdom, no doubt. Vylaas pictured himself on a raised platform, directing troops, the very image of his father as a youth. He suppressed a shudder. That life held all that was expected of him, and offered little else of value.

He flicked to the next. "Restoration Weaver." Green light, soft and inviting, bloomed before him. Vylaas Preference – healer, direct healing. A small smile touched his lips. He imagined mending flesh, easing suffering; a worthy act. But the war machine of Orestes valued destruction, not repair. Not unless it can be weaponized, Kitt added bitterly, a cold burn of shared revulsion.

"Aegis Warden." A barrier of steel-grey light shimmered into view. Kingdom Priority leaning — battlefield presence, defensive focus. Vylaas imagined shielding others from harm, his power a fortress against chaos. The thought of preserving life rather than ending it sparked something in his chest. Here lay a path to wield strength without surrendering to bloodlust, to stand between the innocent and those who would harm them. Still, doubt gnawed at him — the Kingdom would expect their Wardens to protect their soldiers while they killed, not shield civilians from the horror of battle.

Another swipe. "Empathic Anchor." This one glowed a gentle blue. Vylaas Preference – support focus, and it was, after a fashion. Emotional element. He could soothe fears, bolster courage—a subtle power, perhaps, but one that resonated with his nature. But on a battlefield? Against the Orestes war machine? This option whispered lies about being enough.

"Strategist Savant." The display shifted to a complex web of interconnected nodes, a star chart of possibilities and outcomes. Neutral leaning – strategic, intellectual focus. His mind felt at home here, weighing probabilities, crafting plans. It was clean and logical, and felt completely devoid of compassion.

Finally, "Techno-Savant." Pure white light, clean, efficient, with an underlying current of something...more. Technomancer – Information warfare, hacking, tech control. The Chimera stirred, a sensation like fingers brushing against his mind, curious and engaged. Of them all, she showed the most interest in this option.

Vylaas leaned back, the holographic lights playing across his features. He had reviewed all the options available to him, discarded the obvious, and arrived at a final selection of six options. Six potential futures, each one a compromise between what was expected of him and what held meaning.

"I'm ready," he announced to his empty room, the words sounding unexpectedly strong. "I've made my decision."