The Amphitheater of Induction had descended into an oppressive silence, a quiet so deep it seemed to press against the ears of all the young nobility present. Every whisper of movement, every shallow breath, felt amplified in that quiet. It was all Klarion could do to avoid fidgeting.

The Altar of the Foresworn now pulsed like a heartbeat, casting shifting hues of green flame across the seated rows of nobility. In the almost ethereal glow, tense faces will filled with equal parts awe and apprehension.

While the flames attracted the attention of the majority present, Klarion could not take his eyes off the Lord Sentinel. Standing so close to the flames made the black armor he wore lose its pristine appearance. Revealed by that green light, the dark metal plates now bore the wear of countless battles, its surface scratched and dulled in places. Yet this almost seemed to add to the aura of strength around the Lord Sentinel.

Above the Altar of the Foresworn, the green flame pulsed again, brighter this time, as though it were alive and growing impatient. More than a few nobles flinched at the sudden surge, their collective unease deepening. In the seats near the front, the scions of high-ranking houses sat with carefully schooled expressions, though rigid postures held by many of them betrayed the presence of some of that same tension that rippled through the rows further back from the stage.

Perhaps that was the reason why no one moved at first.

The Lord Sentinel’s mask was still, but Klarion could sense a subtle shift in the man. It was as if the commanding presence he had exerted before had become colder, more oppressive. Klarion’s heart rate quickened.

With a single deliberate movement, the Lord Sentinel stepped, the force behind it, undeniable. The Lord Sentinel’s voice, when it came, was low — almost a growl.

“Do you think the Empire will wait for you?” His words were like thunder, reverberating off the stone walls. Klarion felt a chill run down his spine, and though he had not moved, the sensation of being caught in the Lord Sentinel’s gaze was overwhelming. The question he had asked settled almost like a physical weight on Klarion’s shoulders.

“You have been given a command, and yet you hesitate.” The Lord Sentinel’s voice rose higher, cutting through the tension like the blade he held. “You are heirs to the Empire, scions of noble houses. You are not children, waiting to be coddled. You are here to prove your worth, to show that you can stand as future leaders. The Empire does not, will not, wait for those who falter.”

The silence returned and began to stretch again, like the calm before the storm. Klarion looked around at the other nobles around him. None of them made to stand.

They were all waiting for someone else to make the first move.

The Lord Sentinel stood unmoving for several long moments, his mask fixed on the room with unsettling intensity. Though Klarion could not see his eyes, he knew that he was watching them all, waiting. Still, no one stood.

Waiting.

They all continued to wait, Klarion among them.

And then, in a voice that held no room for argument, the Lord Sentinel spoke again, even more commanding than before.

“Move! Those within the ranks of the low nobility will begin,” he ordered, his voice crackling with authority. “The ceremony does not wait for you.”

It was not just an order. It was a command forged of iron. And in that instant, Klarion realized the true nature of what was happening. This wasn’t just a ceremony; it was a trial. A test of their resolve, of their courage. Those who hesitated, who faltered now, might survive the Imperial Academy. But they would not make it past what came after. The Empire demanded those who would take action. And the Lord Sentinel would accept nothing less.

Almost as one the young nobility sitting in the largest section of seats, those furthest away from the stage, rose to begin making their way to the stage. Those leading were those from the ranks of the families that possessed knighthoods. At the front was a young woman whose determined expression was not enough to distract from the tremble in her steps. Even from this far away, Klarion could see her brown eyes darting nervously between the Lord Sentinel on the stage and the green flames of the Altar of the Foresworn. For her part, she didn’t hesitate to climb the five steps to the stage itself.

Her uniform, adorned with the modest insignia of her rank, stood in stark contrast to the brilliant emerald flames before her. As she grew closer, the flames leaped higher and almost seemed to bend down over her form. Despite the tension in the air, she held her head high, her resolve carrying her forward.

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As she stopped before the crystal altar, the Lord Sentinel’s gaze seemed to weigh her worth, his masked visage inscrutable. With a slow, deliberate motion, he gestured with his gauntleted hand for her to kneel.

With a deep breath, she sank to one knee, her head bowed in submission. The green flame surged higher, its intensity illuminating her with a glow that seemed almost alive. Though shadows played across her features, those who watched her could see the look of determination on her face.

“Do you accept the birthright bestowed by your noble lineage, swearing loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?” the Lord Sentinel intoned, his voice echoing over the gathered nobility.

The young woman, eyes still fixed on the dancing flames above her, hesitated as she tried to find her voice. Visibly steadying herself, she spoke. “I accept.” Though the words were quiet, they carried through the amphitheater.

The emerald flames reared, then plunged down to consume her.

Several people in the audience screamed as the young woman was completely obscured by the fire. But the flame did not burn her to ash. Instead, in surrounding her, it seemed also to be caressing her form, perhaps examining her. It danced and coiled, forming strange shapes as it sparked in the air.

The moments stretched, but as suddenly as it had begun it was over. The green flame pulled itself free from the young woman. She remained kneeling, untouched by the fire, yet something about her had visibly changed. When she rose, her posture was straighter, as if the ceremony had awakened something within her to grant her more confidence. She opened her eyes, and for a moment Klarion could have sworn they gleamed with a silvery light. But then it was gone, and he was unsure if he had actually seen anything.

A collective exhale swept the amphitheater as the gathered nobles released their tension, a low murmur picking up. At the direction of the Lord Sentinel, the young woman turned and left the stage, her steps quicker than when she had gone to the crystal altar. Whispered congratulations followed her back to her seat at the rear of the amphitheater.

The tension about what might happen being broken, the line of low-ranking nobles moved forward, one by one stepping over to kneel by the crystal altar. They too were asked the question by the Lord Sentinel, and without exception, they answered their acceptance and braved the emerald flames. Some hesitated, their voices trembling as they spoke their vows, while others answered with the determination of the first. The emerald flame, impartial and unyielding, judged them all the same.

However, the ceremony was not without its darker, more harrowing moments.

As the ranks of those from families with knighthoods transitioned into those who descended from barons and then viscounts, a young man with red hair strode forward with a confident swagger out of place with the solemnity of the ritual. His uniform was immaculate, adorned at the shoulder with the insignia of his rank and his family’s house, but something about him was off to Klarion. He couldn’t quite place why, but looking closer at him showed that his steps were exaggerated, his grin a bit too wide, and his posture a bit too casual.

When it was his turn, he stopped before the crystal altar to kneel before pulsating emerald flames. Klarion was not the only one whose face reflected shock as the young noble cut off the Lord Sentinel to give his response to the partially unstated question.

“Yes, I accept!” he declared before the crystal altar, his voice loud, almost demanding. At being cut off, the Lord Sentinel’s mask turned ever so slightly to the young noble, but he did not say anything else, not even a rebuke.

The flame reacted as it had with all the nobility swearing their loyalty, surging upward and then plunging down to engulf him in its embrace. Despite the rudeness of his response, the flame danced along his limbs and did whatever it had with all the others that had been before him.

Then the flame shifted.

The vibrant green turned a deep, menacing black. A bloodcurdling scream was ripped from the kneeling noble. He bent over, clearly trying to use his arms to push himself to his feet and out of the flames, but the fire was too intense. He writhed within the flames, his cries of agony growing fainter by the second as his body was consumed. In a final burst of blackened flame, the fading figure within its grasp flared into ashes. Black returned to green as the flames rose up above the crystal altar once again. The young man was gone, not even ashes left behind.

“What the hell happened?” Klarion found himself saying in horror as panicked voices started rising all around him. The sound of crying came behind him, but he did not turn to look as the Lord Sentinel seized his attention.

Stepping forward before full-blown chaos could descend on the amphitheater at what everyone had just witnessed, the Lord Sentinel’s voice, cold and commanding again, cut through the noise like the sharp edge of his massive sword.

“Let this be a reminder,” he said, his tone demanding their attention. “The flames do not lie. Deception is treason, and treason is death.”

The words settled over the gathered nobles like a death knell, chilling in their finality. Many froze, some averting their gazes from the Lord Sentinel, while others glanced at their peers, likely wondering who else among them might harbor secrets that could end in such a gruesome fate as what they had just witnessed. For his part, Klarion was not too worried. Horrified, yes, as who wouldn’t be at witnessing such an abruptly violent death. No, he was not worried because he had already made up his mind multiple times over that he would do whatever he had to do to be able to make it back to Earth to save his family and friends. Since that would mean he would have to grow to become strong enough to be an asset to the Empire, he did not think there would be any clash between what he aimed to do and what the Empire would expect of him.

The Lord Sentinel stood unmoving a moment longer, perhaps ensuring that those gathered fully understood his warning. He then gestured for the next young noble scion in line to step forward. The ceremony resumed, but the air remained heavy even as those in line shifted into a smaller group composed of the middle nobility. No one else died, and the second group was almost done as well.

Soon, it would be Klarion’s turn.