The progression of the middle nobility of the Empire, the scions of counts, marquises, and dukes, had caused the atmosphere of the ceremony to shift yet again. The green flames had appeared to burn a little brighter, the dance seeming to be that much more the result of a living intent behind their movement. To Klarion’s surprise, a few of them had even undergone noticeable transformations during their judgment by the emerald flames. Among slight changes in size and build, some emerged with eyes gleaming with newfound colors, hair different or streaked with silver or gold, and even a palpably charged presence. Given his still shockingly lack of knowledge, all Klarion could guess was that their character sheets had been altered to reflect their changes in some way. For his part, he was both excited and worried about what he might himself experience when it was finally his turn.

The last scion of a dukedom, a tiny boy with blonde hair that stood straight up no matter how much he had fidgeted with it before approaching the emerald flames, successfully completed the ceremony and rushed back to his seat. With no one else left in line for the middle nobility, the Lord Sentinel stepped forward again, his booming voice ringing out.

“We have come to the final stage of the ceremony,” he declared. “The scions of the Archducal Houses, bearers of the Empire’s greatest legacies in western reaches absent any representatives of higher ranks, shall now approach the altar.”

Klarion could feel the crowd shift behind him, and he could guess what was happening. Every gaze had just turned to the front, where the sections for the scions of Houses Silverwind, Ironclaw, Oakfrost, Brightcoin, and his own Blacksword sat.

“You will kneel before the Altar of the Foresworn,” the Lord Sentinel continued, his tone sharper now, “to be judged and to swear your loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire itself. The flame reveals all — strength, treachery, and truth. Let none approach unworthy, for the Empire does not forgive deceit.”

A black armored finger extended to point at the seating furthest from where Klarion sat by himself. “Step forward, scions of Archducal House Silverwind.”

Almost before the Lord Sentinel finished talking, the small group of young nobles with silver hair sitting in the Silverwind section stood as one to make their way to the stage. Based on their appearances and expressed confidence, Klarion guessed the lower-ranking members of the house were being sent up to the flame first. Much like what had gone on before, each scion swore their agreement to the question the Lord Sentinel asked, then braved the emerald flames. What was different, however, is that each and every one of them changed in some way upon their emergence from the fire. At first glance, it was mostly reflected in hair becoming more silver and bodies becoming more lean, but Klarion expected other, less noticeable changes had happened as well.

Then the Lord Sentinel did something that he hadn’t done to this point. He announced the final figure of House Silverwind by name.

“Seraphina Valenor Silverwind. Step forward and swear yourself to the Empire.”

Unconsciously, Klarion leaned forward in his chair to watch as a young woman with striking silver hair that shimmered like captured moonlight stepped onto the stage. Her expression was serene, her steps precise and unhurried. When she reached the crystal altar, the Lord Sentinel gestured silently for her to kneel. Seraphina lowered herself gracefully to the ground, the emerald flame above her surging in response to a height that no one had yet seen. It practically touched the ceiling.

“Do you, Seraphine Valenor Silverwind, scion of the Archducal House Silverwind, swear unwavering loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?”

Without hesitation, Seraphina’s clear voice rang out like a bell, “I swear.”

The emerald flame plunged down to envelop her fully. For a moment, the brightness completely obscured her form. Then, the flame receded, revealing Seraphine unchanged in body but radiating a quiet, unassailable presence. A faint, silverly glow encircled her as if the wind itself had embraced her. She stood, pale blue eyes gleaming, and gracefully returned to her seat amidst whispered admiration.

What happened with House Silverwind became the pattern for the rest of the ceremony. The other Houses, Ironclaw, Oakfrost, and Brightcoin were all called with all but one of their members not being addressed by name by the Lord Sentinel. Given that this likely meant that these four individuals would be those he would need to avoid above all others while at the Imperial Academy, Klarion did his best to pay attention to them as they were called onto the stage.

Garrick Dain Ironclaw was the next named noble scion to be called onto the stage. Where Seraphina’s approach had been elegant and calm, Garrick had stepped with forceful and resolute strides. Long dark hair hung over broad shoulders, adding to his imposing figure as he marched toward the crystal altar.

While the emerald flame had risen high for Seraphina, for Garrick it instead flickered wildly. Garrick knelt before the altar with a defiant confidence, his head bowed only enough to show respect but not submission.

“Do you, Garrick Dain Ironclaw, scion of the Archducal House Ironclaw, swear unwavering loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?”

Garrick’s voice responded deep and steady, “I swear.”

The emerald flame engulfed him with an almost feral intensity, roaring like a beast unleashed. So violent was the rush at the young scion that some in the audience recoiled. When the flames receded, Garrick was left transformed as well. His shoulders seemed broader, his stance more unyielding. The faint image of spectral claws shimmered briefly around his hands before vanishing. He stood, piercing green eyes alight with a newfound ferocity which he fixed immediately in the direction of Klarion when he turned away from the crystal altar. Klarion could practically feel the anger directed his way, though he had no idea why Garrick would feel that toward him, a stranger. It likely had something to do with House Blacksword. He made up his mind then and there to do everything he could to avoid interacting with the leading scion of House Ironclaw. Without a glance at the crowd, Garrick then strode back to his seat.

Next had come Liora Arden Oakfrost. Unlike the other members of her house, her hair was not the white of pure winter snow, but an auburn that looked almost warm. Upon being called, she had risen from her seat with a quiet grace, her auburn braid swinging gently behind her as she made her way to the crystal altar. When she reached it, she had knelt smoothly, her head fully bowed in solemn respect.

“Do you, Liora Arden Oakfrost, scion of the Archducal House Oakfrost, swear unwavering loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?”

Liora’s voice responded softly, “I swear.”

Unlike the previously named scions, the emerald flame swirled around her in graceful patterns prior to slowly coalescing around her. Rather than a roar, or even a crackle, the flames almost seemed to hum as they roiled around her. As slowly as it had begun, it was soon over. Liora stood, auburn hair now gleaming with golden highlights, her moss-green eyes now glowing faintly, almost like they were infused with the vitality of some ancient forest.

She rose with quiet dignity and returned to her seat, but not before Klarion thought she glanced in his direction. He wasn’t sure because as soon as he thought he made eye contact, she was again looking ahead to her own house’s seating. Hopefully, if she had looked at him, it had been due to something like idle curiosity rather than intentional focus for some other reason.

Finally, there was only one last remaining group before it would be his turn. The Archducal House Brightcoin. Each and every one of the scion possessed golden-blonde hair and, for some reason, bright white smiles they directed all around themselves as they made their way onto the stage. Even then, they somehow seemed to pale in comparison to the highest ranking scion of their house. Caspian Alaric Brightcoin was, in a word, charismatic. His smile, his golden-blonde hair just a shade brighter than the others, even his golden eyes, all drew the attention of everyone in the amphitheater as he answered the summons of the Lord Sentinel. His gait was confident, almost jaunty, as though he were walking onto the stage to accept a prize rather than undergo a trial.

“Do you, Caspian Alaric Brightcoin, scion of the Archducal House Brightcoin, swear unwavering loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?”

Caspian’s voice was smooth and confident in response, “I swear.”

The emerald flames then did something that hadn’t happened before. With the others they had changed shape or approach, but the color had remained the same. For Caspian, however, faint streaks of gold appeared. The fire danced around him with a playful energy, and all could clearly make out the smile on Caspian’s face even as the flames pressed in close to him. When they evertually pulled back to reveal the young scion of House Brightcoin, his already radiant features seemed just a bit more defined, his hair still brighter, and his golden-eyes possessing a captivating glow for a moment, only for Caspian to blink it away. He rose, flashing a charming smile at the crowd, then returned to his seat with a stride that spoke of supreme confidence. While Klarion could tell that many in the audience seemed to be drawn to the young man, for him something just seemed a little off. Before he could examine the thought further, the words that he had been hoping, dreading, were spoken by the Lord Sentinel.

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“Klarion von Sturmwacht of the Archducal House Blacksword. Step forward and swear yourself to the Empire.”

The Amphitheater of Induction fell utterly still. All at once, Klarion knew that every gaze was fixed on him. As he stood to follow the Lord Sentinel’s command, he got a look at the ranks of nobility that sat behind him. Some eyes were filled with curiosity, but the vast majority were filled with wariness or even outright suspicion. The murmurs that had followed his early walk to the Blacksword section returned, sharped and more insistent. The whispers carried questions, judgments, and disbelief.

Klarion felt the weight of their eyes, the impact of their whispers, like a physical force pressing down on him. His pulse quickened, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. He stepped into the aisle, the echo of his boots against the floor sounding loud in his ears. Each step he took closer to the crystal altar, the Altar of the Foresworn, felt heavier than the last.

As he walked, fragments of conversation again reached his ears. Those that he could most clearly figure out came from the seats of the other Archducal houses.

“—so strange—”

“—Blacksword? I thought they wouldn’t send anyone this year.”

“—the scars. How did he—”

The words swirled around him, but Klarion forced himself to focus. Stepping onto the stage, he approached the crystal altar. The emerald flame hovering over it pulsed with an intensity that seemed to pick up the closer he came.

When he reached the spot just in front of the altar, Klarion paused. The silence around him was deafening, broken only by the sound of his own breathing and the emerald flame that loomed before him. Slowly, deliberately, Klarion knelt, posture held rigid as he lowered his head.

“Do you, Klarion von Sturmwacht, scion of the Archducal House Blacksword, swear unwavering loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire?”

Klarion felt a voice emerge from his throat that spoke deep and resolutely in response, “I swear.”

The emerald flames exploded, surging like a living thing to fill fully half of the massive stage, its roar shattering the silence of the amphitheater.

Klarion heard the briefest of gasps from the crowd before the fire slammed into him from all sides. Heat danced across his body, yet lingering ever so slightly on his scars as it moved. Far less intense than he expected, it felt only uncomfortably warm. For long minutes, the flame seemed to slow, almost as if focusing on probing the depths of his being. The heat faded enough that he was able to get a glimpse of what was happening outside the fire around him.

The Lord Sentinel watched intently, his masked face revealing nothing, but for those who cared to look closely, there was a tension in his stance that spoke volumes. This was no ordinary induction ceremony. Even the other Archducal scions, seated in their respective sections, leaned forward, their gazes fixed on Klarion with a mix of interest and apprehension. But before he could look farther afield, it happened.

Words appeared in front of him, formed of the emerald flame.

Do you, Klarion von Sturmwacht of the Archducal House Blacksword, swear your loyalty to the Emperor, the Seven Princes, the Imperial Family, and the Empire of Treverorum? Do you vow to uphold your duties as a scion of Archducal blood, to lead, protect, and serve at the highest levels of the Empire?

Accept to awaken the Treverorum Empire nobility system.

Refusal will result in forfeiture of your bloodline status.

Accept: Yes/No

Klarion’s throat tightened as he struggled to take a deep breath through the heat. The significance of the moment pressed down on him. It wasn’t just the weight of the ceremony, or the pressure of what it meant to be a noble scion in the Empire — it was the sense of something far greater, a power beyond his comprehension, was reaching through the emerald flames around him to demand his absolute loyalty.

“I accept,” he spoke again, though no one would be able to hear him over the flames.

The words hung in the air for a moment, and as they left his lips, it was as if the entire world held its breath. Then the flames darted in still closer, coiling tightly along his limbs, again moving like a living thing. It moved up and down his body, but for what purpose Klarion could not tell. It took its time, doing whatever it was doing.

But then, something changed.

The emerald flame began to waver, and then the intensity picked up by an entire order of magnitude. Where before he had been able to largely see through the fires to the Amphitheater of Induction around him, everything turned into shifting shapes and blurred images. A strange hum filled the flames around him, vibrating through the burning air with a low, ominous pitch. It resonated deep within Klarion’s chest, as though the very ground beneath his feet was trembling. His hands, which had been steady moments before, clenched into fists to stop the trembling he felt coming.

Above him a new translucent prompt appeared, shimmering erratically in the air. The words were flickering, unstable, as though the System itself was struggling to process something it didn’t understand.

Error: Authority Conflict Detected. Swearing loyalty… failed.

The words disappeared, leaving a sense of terrifying finality in Klarion. What did that mean? The ceremony had proceeded flawlessly for all but one of the young noble scions that were there to enroll in the Imperial Academy. All but one had sworn their loyalty, received the blessing of the flame, and unlocked their noble birthright. Yet here he was, caught in the middle of something that felt dangerously out of place.

The hum deepened, now a resonating thrum that vibrated his body down to the marrow of his bones. He could feel it in his chest, in his head, a force trying to pull at him, to tear something from him.

The emerald flame that bore down on him from all sides began to take on a black hue.

Then, for a brief, fleeting instant, Klarion felt a surge of power course through him — an energy so raw, so primal, that he was left breathless in its intensity. New words appeared before him.

Error: Loyalty override applied.

Klarion’s breath hitched. The System was… bypassing something. He didn’t know what that meant, but chances were, with his luck, it wouldn’t be good. His entire body tense, muscles locked in place as his mind raced, trying to grasp what was happening. Before he could make any sense of it, a final notification appeared in front of him.

Nobility System unlocking… complete.

At that moment, the emerald flames surged again, brighter and more intense than before. Even the rough outlines and shapes around him in the amphitheater disappeared into nothing but endlessly shifting fire. It washed over him, completely engulfing his body. This time, it did not merely coil around him; it consumed him utterly, wrapping him in a searing inferno of energy. The flame roared like an uncontrollable beast, its light so bright that Klarion’s eyes felt like they were burning in his skull, even after he clenched them shut. The temperature rose higher, but again he did not burn. It was as if the fire was sinking into him — burning through his body, trying to reshape him.

And then the pain began.

His body felt as though it was being pulled apart. His muscles tightened, and he felt a strange weight settling in his bones as if the flame were expanding his form, remaking him into something greater than he had been. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as the fire continued to surge. All around, nothing but the green light.

As abruptly as it started, it ended.

Opening his eyes revealed that the flames had died down, revealing he still knelt at the crystal altar, panting, his chest heaving. He made to stand, but as he did so Klarion’s eyes fixed themselves on his reflection in the crystal altar in front of him. His once-dark hard had deepened into black strands tinged with an unnatural shade, darker than the night itself. His eyes had shifted to a red-gold hue. Even his body had changed. Where before he had been tall and a bit larger than most, now he had grown taller still, more imposing, and his frame had filled out to become more solid, more muscular. He felt stronger.

Standing, Klarion turned to face the Lord Sentinel. Still motionless, he stood with his crimson-streaked white mask tilted slightly as though scrutinizing Klarion’s changes. To Klarion, the black armored figure, imposing before, had settled into a stance that exuded tension and curiosity, a rare break in the otherwise implacable demeanor the Lord Sentinel had maintained through the rest of the ceremony.

When the Lord Sentinel made no gesture otherwise, Klarion turned and began to make his way back to where he had been sitting in the section set aside for House Blacksword. As he did, Klarion looked over the gathered nobility in the sections around the stage. What he saw caused him to nearly miss a step.

Rows upon rows of silent nobility stared back at him, to a one their faces pale and eyes wide with shock and something else — fear, perhaps, or awe. The scions of the other Archducal Houses, seated prominently before the stage, were no exception. Even the composed and confident ones bore expressions of unease. A quick sweeping glance showed Seraphina and Liora to have worried expressions. Caspian had a calculating look that was quickly covered over with a blank expression as their eyes made contact. Worst was Garrick’s furious glare that Klarion knew remained fixed on him even after he had turned his attention away from the scion of House Ironclaw.

Klarion returned to his seat under the eyes of the crowd, still trying to understand exactly what had happened. He froze as the System caused another set of words to appear in front of him.

Noble Awakening: Success

Bloodline Validation: Success

Character Sheet Modification: Success

Error: Unbound from Imperial Loyalty Constraints

Error: Inherited Prerogatives Locked

Again he cursed the fact he had only the barest understanding about the System and everything tied to it. But that would be a problem for later. Right now, he wanted to see exactly what was meant by a modification to his character sheet.

Bracing himself, he mentally pulled it up.