Velias and I sparred in the Brazen Chains ludus, our coppery blades flashing in the sun as we struck like vipers at each other. Sparks flew when we touched our swords and the air caught fire behind the motion of our swings as we moved. Our every motion blurred to normal human sight and the sound of our battle was like thunder from the sky. Truly the metal of our swords was more than a little supernatural to keep up with our bodily prayer to the god of war.

Finally, Velias drew back. “I have to get a drink of water, Adrias.” He said, his chest heaving.

I joined him next to the water basin and drew cup after cup to my dry lips to slake my burning thirst.

We went up to the roof of the ludus, springing up there from the practice yard like rabbits and baked in the sun. We sat in silence for a while, comfortable in each other’s presence to not speak a word.

“So, what’s the next step?” I said.

“Sorry?” Velias said.

“It feels like we’re building towards something. Our events keep on getting bigger and bigger. How far can we go if we keep on winning?” I said.

“Eventually? Non-Servus opponents.” Velias said. He nudged me. “Like you.”

“Imperators?” I said skeptically.

“No, no, most of you would never lower your pride enough to do what you do, Adrias, but a Militaris or a Venator is quite possible. Shameful for them too, but less of a hit to the ego. Their comrades will look down on them, but at their level they’ll make enough money that they can soothe that bruised pride with expensive toys and bought Hetairas to get their rocks off.” Velias said.

“How can we- I mean, how can Golden Servi like you be expected to fight Militares and Venators?”

“We’re actually above their Coppers.” He said.

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Copper Militares and Venators are equivalent to Silver Servi. It’s not until later stages that things start getting tricky with psychic potential in Venators and increases in martial potential in both.”

“So, Bronze?” I said.

“Bronze is more like it. I’d fight a Bronze. Probably get my ass kicked, but I’d fight one.” Velias said confidently.

“Right on, brother.” I said, cheer in my voice.

“When do you think you’re going to hit Bronze Imperator, Adrias?” Velias asked me.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel it yet, only tinges when I get another victory. I think I need to do something big.” I said.

I considered the blunted blade in my hand, tapping it with my nail. It appeared to be copper or bronze, but it was really an entirely different alloy altogether. An alloy of a metal called Jovium and copper. Jovium was Heaven’s Metal, an impossible element composed of solidified divine energy rather than atoms. It had many special properties but alloyed with other metals it produced even more uses. Jovium-copper was used in Keenblades because it held a monoatomic edge for longer than other metals or divine alloys. Jovium-iron was used to make Keenblade resistant armor, armor that required molecular bond dissociation fields to penetrate. Jovium-titanium was used to make up warship hulls. The last use I knew of was Jovium-uranium, which made armor piercing rounds. I wouldn’t want to be hit by one of those. They would be dense and indestructible enough to put a massive hole through a Copper or Bronze Imperator. Perhaps even a Silver, but not a Golden Emperor.

“See you, Velias.” I said.

“Goodbye, Adrias.” Velias said as I dropped from the roof of the ludus.

I returned home to the apartment and got changed into nice clothes I had bought for Caesia’s party. I looked out the window as Antonias’s hovercar slid into a space beside our apartment. He’d be taking me there. I walked downstairs and got in, shutting the car door after me.

“You’re going to her party in those?” Antonias asked me incredulously.

“…yes?” I said, confused.

“Those are garbage, where did you find them? In the gutter?” Antonias questioned me.

“These were expensive!” I defended.

“For a Servus, maybe. An Imperator is held to higher standards, and if you want to be popular, you have to be on the peak of fashion.” Antonias said.

“Well, they will have to do. We don’t have time to go shopping in whatever stores you go to.” I said.

“No, they won’t do at all. We’ll go to my estate and give you some of my clothes. We’re the same height.” Antonias said, setting the new destination on his communicator and sending it to the car’s computation module.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I had a question, but I wasn’t sure if I should ask it. It was either terribly rude or showed me to be terribly ignorant of Imperator culture. Maybe all Imperator teens were like Antonias. I mulled it over and decided to ask the question.

“Why don’t you live with your parents?” I asked. “You’re sixteen-“

“-seventeen,” he corrected. “And the reason is because my parents are divorced and if one of them can’t have sole ownership of me, they would rather I be alone than with the other. So, they gave me some property and lots of servants and a sizeable allowance and told me to go off on my way.”

“I’m sorry.” I said.

He forced a smile. “Don’t be, I would hate to live with either of them and living with both of them made my childhood hell. It’s… simpler this way.”

We arrived at Antonias’s lonely palatial estate and walked inside, leaving the hovercar idling in the air. Evidently, he didn’t care about wasted power or fuel efficiency.

Going up to his room that was bigger than Livia and my apartment, he rifled through his closets. He threw a toga, three suits, a dress and a shirt made of chainmail on the bed.

I picked up the dress. “Should I even ask?”

He made a strangled noise. “It’s Junia’s!”

I supposed it was a little too small to fit an Imperator, still the thought made me laugh.

He eventually found a shirt, jacket and pants that were fitting to his liking and made me try them on. I didn’t want to admit it, but they were high quality. They might have been the softest thing I had ever touched.

“There.” He said. “Much better now. Now you don’t look homeless.”

“I did not look homeless.” I said, exasperated.

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I did not.” I said.

“Whatever you want to believe, Adrias.” Antonias said.

I rolled my eyes. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, we’re going to be late.” Antonias said.

“Isn’t that good? Fashionably late?” I said.

“That only works if everyone likes you, and you’re new.” He said.

We walked back out to the car and Antonias set coordinates on his wrist communicator.

“So, are you going to tell me about them then?” I asked.

“Tell you about what?” He said.

“Skinshields.” I said.

“Technically, I said I’d teach you after you went to this party.” Antonias said.

“Come on. I’m going, aren’t I? Just tell me now.” I said.

“Okay, okay, fine. Skinshields. So, they’re telekinetic energy shields that materialize just above your skin.” Antonias said.

“So, I could stop a dagger with one?” I saw a great many uses for that in the gladiatorial ring. I supposed it would be considered gravely cheating.

“Only if it was a psychic dagger.” Antonias said. He held his hand, palm facing upwards and closed his eyes. Blue light bloomed in his hand and flashed into the shape of a knife.

I felt it. It felt perfectly real, but he had summoned it from thin air and dismissed it just as easily.

“Why only a psychic dagger and not a real one?” I asked.

“Skinshields only stop psychic weapons and energies, not physical or divine attacks. They’ll block things like the fire I burned down the theater with.” He said.

I frowned. “Did you ever get any consequences from that?”

“The administration of Sunburst Station fined my trust fund, but other than that, no. We’re Imperators. Consequences are for other people.” Antonias said.

“So how do I make one?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That’ll take too long.”

“Really now, tell me. Let me at least get started on the fundamentals.” I said.

“Do you even know how to manifest psychic energy?” Antonias asked.

“No. So teach me. The student awaits the master.” I said, with a bit of a mocking tone in my voice.

“Alright, here. Learn to make a globe of psychic light in your hand, and I’ll help you from there.” Antonias said.

“And how do I make a globe of psychic light?” I said.

He smiled. “Imagine it hard enough.”

“You jerk.” I said.

“It’s the first step to what you want.” He said.

I narrowed my eyes on my palm and grit my teeth and ferociously imagined light blooming in my palm for the rest of the car ride to Caesia’s family estate. Nothing came of it. Antonias seemed to take great amusement in my building frustration.

We arrived at the main house of Caesia’s family estate. The whole building was thrumming with the pent-up energy of the music within, the structure vibrating.

“Where are her parents?” I asked.

“Out for the weekend. Don’t worry, they know what she gets up to and the servants will clear it all up when it’s over. More than one Medicus on staff as well.” Antonias said.

There was an outward explosion of glass as an Imperator was thrown out one of the top windows. Others looked out through the broken window and threw jeers and rude gestures at the fallen boy.

“Every party needs a good defenestration.” Antonias said sagely, nodding. He waved to the fallen Imperator. “Hello, Bellias!”

Bellias merely groaned and threw up whatever he had been drinking. To get him puking, likely vodka and antifreeze.

We walked up the stairs and Antonias threw open the doors to Caesia’s party dramatically.

I looked and recoiled.

“Debauchery.” I muttered. Teenage Imperators were eating, drinking, smoking, snorting, and popping all manners of substances, pills, and delicacies.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Antonias said with a smile on his face as he dragged me inside.

In the center of the Bacchic disarray loomed a massive twelve-foot-tall statue of an Imperator set in a obsidian pool of marble with koi swimming in it. I could tell it was intended to be true to size and proportion. It was marble and clothed in woven gold and crowned with a laurel band of silvery-white Jovium. It looked wild and grim, more titanic barbarian than the noble character it was supposed to represent. On a golden plaque was a single name: Augustas Heraclides. Augustas, son of the son of the Skyfather. Son of the Champion that all other Campeadors followed.

Had the Artisan hesitated, I wondered? To write that name in its full majesty? Had he shut his eyes and counted away seconds until he was sure no lightning would fall from the heavens? That the demigod Regent of all the Dominium had not narrowed his attention to the trembling Artisan’s form and smote him from light years away for the hubris of daring to inscribe the true name of an entity two-thirds god and one-third mortal?

I shivered. I was still too afraid to say the Regent’s name out loud, let alone write it. To leave tangible evidence of my transgression etched in metal. All things were swept away by Chronos save Golden true semidivines and a demigod refined to Gold’s ire once earned was infinite and eternal.

Antonias tugged at my arm. What’s wrong? People are staring. He mouthed at me, all of our hearing too keen not to pick up audible words even at a whisper.

Nothing. I mouthed back and moved to his side. He drew me deeper into the party.

“Let’s find our host and say our greetings,” he said.

Topless pink-eyed Hetairas, both male and female, walked around serving drinks. Antonias swooped two off a platter and handed one to me.

“Drink.” He encouraged me.

I took a sip. He rolled his eyes and tipped my entire drink down my throat. I wiped my mouth. It tasted sickly sweet, and I could tell it held a strong amount of alcohol hidden underneath the fruity sugar. Not enough to get me drunk, I reasoned.

I was still in control.