The examination had ended.
The moment Gaius stepped out of the chamber, he could feel it—the weight of the process, the silent hum of calculations being made behind the walls of the obsidian complex. He had proven himself in every trial, had fought, adapted, and conquered every challenge thrown his way.
Yet the true test was only beginning.
Because in the Imperium, worth was not decided by effort.
It was measured.
And those who fell short—were discarded.
The examinees were gathered once more in the grand central hall, hundreds of them standing in tense silence as the towering holographic display burned with Imperial gold.
The Operators lined the edges of the chamber, their dark uniforms pressed, their eyes unreadable. Their presence was unnecessary—no one here was foolish enough to break the Imperium's order.
This was not a moment for defiance.
This was the moment their fates were decided.
A chime echoed through the air.
And then, the results appeared.
The names of every examinee, listed alongside a single defining word.
Their Grade.
Six tiers, each a verdict upon their very existence.
Common, Uncommon, Rare, Exceptional, Legendary and Mythical
Each grade determined everything.
Their future. Their rank. Their very place within the Imperium.
Gaius' eyes flicked toward his own name.
"Gaius Voss – Exceptional Talent (War Department)."
He exhaled, slow and controlled.
Exceptional.
Not Legendary. Not Mythical.
But still a rank that placed him above nearly all others.
He knew what that meant.
In the Imperium, Exceptional-level talents within the War Department were future Dominants. Future Warlords. Future Imperators.
They were the ones who led fleets, armies, planetary campaigns.
They were those who shaped the wars of the galaxy itself.
Aulus would be proud.
If he were here.
Around him, the reactions varied.
The orphans and commoners who had arrived with him—most had been labeled Common in the War Department.
It was expected.
They had been raised in the legions, they had fought and bled on battlefields, but they lacked the knowledge, the training, the hidden advantages that determined true talent.
The Imperium did not value experience alone.
It valued potential.
And potential required something more than just survival.
A few of the more skilled among them had been assigned to engineering sectors, agricultural divisions, infrastructure command.
They would never rise beyond those ranks.
Never become officers.
Never see the heights of the Imperium's elite.
And yet, it was still a future.
Not all had been so lucky.
Some names simply did not appear.
Those who had failed entirely.
They would not be returning.
No one spoke of them.
Because they had never existed at all.
The nobles, as expected, stood at the top.
None of them had received less than Uncommon.
Most were marked as Rare, their education and training ensuring they stood above the majority.
Then, of course—
Odysseus Valor.
His name gleamed on the screen, separated from the others.
"Odysseus Valor – Legendary Talent (War Department)."
A result that had been inevitable.
The sons of major houses always received Legendary or higher. It was their birthright, the product of generations of refinement, selective breeding, the best training from the moment they could walk.
Odysseus stood in the center of his circle, the nobles around him murmuring in approval, their faces carefully schooled into expressions of quiet satisfaction.
It was not surprise.
It was expectation.
Because in their eyes, this was the way of the world.
They were born to be great.
Everyone else?
Was born to serve.
The holographic display flickered, the text shifting into new commands.
A voice, smooth and synthesized, filled the air.
"You will now be escorted to your assigned residences.
Tomorrow, you will be retrieved by your respective departments and transported to your designated places of employment."
A simple directive.
But it carried the weight of finality.
Because for many, this was the end of the path.
For those labeled Common, Uncommon, or even Rare, this was where their lives would settle. Their assignments were already decided, their future paths locked into place.
Only those who had received Exceptional, Legendary, or Mythical would take the next step.
And even among them—only the highest would ever be free to carve their own destiny.
They were led back through the steel corridors, guided through the cold efficiency of the Examination Authority. The city outside was still alight with distant glow-lamps, the sky a vast, endless black canvas stretching over the canopy-covered world.
Yet, for all its beauty—Aureon Prime no longer felt real.
Because tomorrow, everything would change.
They arrived at their assigned residences—separate complexes, each structured by rank.
Gaius' own quarters were larger than expected, though still sleek and minimalist, designed for function rather than comfort. The walls were pure white, the floors smooth metal, the ceiling embedded with dim, artificial lighting that mimicked the soft glow of the twin suns.
A standard Imperial design. Reproducible at mass levels.
He sat on the bed, exhaling.
For the first time since the examination began—
He was alone.
And for the first time, the weight of everything settled onto his shoulders.
The next day, his life would be set in motion.
And the Imperium did not offer second chances.
He closed his eyes.
And waited.
Morning came without warning.
A sharp chime echoed through the room.
Gaius' eyes snapped open.
A notification pulsed against the wall, the holographic text appearing in crisp Imperial standard.
"Examinees of Exceptional and higher rank, report to the transport hub immediately. You will be escorted to your respective academies and assignments."
So it was time.
He dressed quickly, his movements practiced, automatic.
The uniform provided to him was marked differently than before—a single insignia pressed into the fabric, denoting his rank as an Exceptional within the War Department.
It was subtle.
But unmistakable.
And in the Imperium, subtlety was power.
The transport hub was already full when he arrived.
Hundreds of examinees stood waiting, arranged in strict formation—a final, silent reminder that even among the elite, hierarchy remained absolute.
He caught glimpses of familiar faces.
The commoners and orphans he had arrived with, standing near the military shuttles, their uniforms plain, unmarked—signifying their assignment as legionnaires.
The engineers, the agriculturalists, the strategists, each standing in their respective sectors, their expressions ranging from quiet relief to grim resignation.
They had been chosen.
Yet, in some ways, they had been abandoned.
Because the Imperium had already decided who would rule over them.
His gaze flicked toward the center of the hub.
Where the true heirs of the Imperium stood.
The nobles.
Their uniforms were lined with gold and silver embroidery, their postures relaxed yet perfectly composed.
And at their core—Odysseus Valor.
The younger son of the Marquis stood at the head of his faction, speaking quietly with the other Legendary talents, his expression unreadable.
Gaius did not approach.
He simply waited.
Because today was not about status.
It was about what came next.
The sound of engines roared overhead, and one by one, the transports descended from the sky.
A fleet of sleek black vessels, each marked with the insignia of their respective departments.
The moment they landed, the Operators stepped forward.
And the selections began.