Damn it…
Maji clenched his fists weakly, nails barely scraping against the stone beneath him. Was this really how it ended?
A dry, breathless laugh escaped him. "I never thought there will come a time when I use dark flame,"
He touched the blood that flowed from his wound, "fire and blood, bind," he muttered. A burst of purple flames formed on his palm. "dark flames of the shadows, claim my soul, renew my form, I dare command!"
A circle of purple flames appeared around him, engulfing his whole body then disappearing in an instance.
Silence.
He gazed around him, "Damn! Nothin' has happened?!" he cursed as his vision blurred.
"I didn't even get to confess to Sabrina…" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
His head lolled to the side, his body betraying him.
"Damn it…" His mind raced, clinging desperately to his fading consciousness. "I can't die yet. I still have to kick Hakili's ass until they go flat. I have... To... Be an... Empor..."
Darkness swallowed his thoughts.
His body slumped, motionless.
Eyes closed.
A few hours ago...
It was the start of the annual selection ceremony—an event where the top five students from each of the four Imperial Houses' academies were sent to the palace. Their fate? To be chosen for one of two elite paths: the Special Elite Soldiers or the Royal Elite Soldiers.
Most aspired to join the Royal Elite Soldiers—a prestigious position that carried the rare honor of being chosen as the next Emperor or head of an Imperial House.
However, the Special Elite Soldiers, though fewer in number, were held in equally high regard. Those who achieved the highest scores among them often went on to become commanding generals of the empire.
Maji stood at the entrance of the palace gardens, his gaze lifting to take in the sheer grandeur of the Imperial Palace.
It was an architectural marvel—an awe-inspiring structure built in a Neo-scarfist style, adorned with gold filigree that shimmered under the light. Majestic, imposing, and untouchable.
Then, something caught his attention.
He turned to the left side of the garden.
A group of humanoid creatures were working tirelessly, their presence both ethereal and unnerving. Their skin was pale—so pale it seemed almost translucent beneath the soft glow of the evening sun.
The men bore intricate silver markings, glowing subtly across their smooth skin, as if ancient runes had been etched into their very flesh.
The women, however, were even more mesmerizing—their bodies adorned with golden markings that covered them entirely, radiating a soft, otherworldly luminescence.
Their clothes were tattered and torn—mere remnants of fabric that barely covered their bodies.
The men wore only shorts, while the women had a pair of rough cloth strips covering their chests and short skirts hanging loosely around their hips.
Their gold and silver antlers shimmered under the sunlight, reflecting a beauty that starkly contrasted with their pitiful reality.
Despite their delicate, almost ethereal features, they carried heavy loads of materials, building a statue under the watchful eyes of their masters.
They were The Depas, —slaves. The lowest of all creatures. Even domestic animals ranked higher than them on the superiority chart.
No one spared them a glance. If anything, they were annoyed by how they looked. Pathetic.
A sudden nudge pulled Maji from his thoughts. He turned to see Daimon, his best friend, smirking at him.
"Did one of the Depa females catch your eye?" Daimon teased, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
Maji's expression darkened, his gaze burning with irritation. If looks could kill, the entire palace would be nothing but ashes.
"There is no damn way I could ever fall for one of those," Maji scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. But then, his tone softened—curiosity creeping in as he asked, "What do you think it's like… to be them?" He motioned toward the Depas, watching as they struggled beneath the weight of their burdens.
An elderly man stumbled and collapsed to the ground, his frail body unable to bear the weight of his burden any longer.
Crack!
A soldier struck his back with a cane, the sharp snap echoing through the air.
"Move, you old hag! Move!" the soldier barked, his voice laced with cruelty.
The old man let out a piercing scream, writhing in the dirt, his body trembling from the pain. But the soldier wasn't done.
He kicked him—again and again—without mercy, his boots digging into the old man's frail ribs, his expression unmoved by the suffering before him.
Nearby, a boy stopped in his tracks, his hands tightening around the heavy load he carried. His eyes burned with defiance, a flicker of resistance in them.
For a moment, it seemed like he might step forward—might intervene.
But then, another soldier locked eyes with him—his gaze cold, sharp, and warning.
And just like that… he looked away.
His fingers trembled, but he forced himself to keep moving, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his own burden of huge Gold stacks.
Because here, defiance meant death.
He continued walking in the line of the rest of his kind. They were building the emperor's statue of gold.
Daimon followed his movements. A flicker of pity crossed his features before he masked it with a careless shrug.
"Probably depressing," Daimon answered, though there was a tightness to his voice.
Maji clenched his fists. "If I were them, I would never wait to be treated that way," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.
Daimon sighed, shaking his head. "Easier said than done. They have no magic to help them, no power, no way to fight back."
A smirk tugged at Daimon's lips as he added, "But you? You're the Emperor's nephew and the Prince of Solaris, the strongest of the Imperial Houses, the wielder of the rare blue flame. No one would dare look you straight in the eye, let alone treat you like that. So… why worry?"
Maji exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking.
"I just said I wondered," he muttered.
Daimon chuckled, but Maji wasn't laughing
"Let's go. The ceremony is starting soon," Damion urged, striding toward the palace doors.
Maji followed behind.
They walked into a plain, almost lifeless lobby and went straight to the elevator.
When they reached the topmost floor, the air felt heavy with tension—this was where the selection was about to take place.
Inside, the other students were already gathered, their eyes flickering with anticipation, some filled with hope, others masked with determination. The air buzzed with silent rivalry.
Maji barely spared them a glance. His focus shifted to the extravagant buffet table—lavish, overflowing with expensive delicacies. Without hesitation, he grabbed a plate and began serving himself, completely unfazed by the weight of the moment.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his half-brother, Hakili, approaching. He was never alone, always surrounded by a group of followers—boys who flocked to him, eager to please, disposable as pawns in his games.
Hakili stopped in front of Maji, his voice dripping with condescension.
"I hope you're not planning to beg or bribe your Uncle to nominate you as the Platinum Candidate of the Royal Squad this year." His gaze bore into Maji, sharp and challenging.
Maji paused, slowly lifting his eyes to meet Hakili's. His grip on the silver fork tightened for just a fraction of a second before he smirked.
The Platinum Candidate—the highest-ranked student in the selection. The best of the best.
Whoever earned the title became the leader of their Royal Squad, holding the power to make critical decisions, including strategies, formations, and even control over their elite training grounds.
They were granted invitations to grand imperial events, gatherings that brought together the Emperor, the kings of the four Imperial Elve houses, and the generals.
Most of the time, these events revolved around war strategies, military expansions, and the induction of new guilds into the empire's ranks.
Maji popped an orange slice into his mouth, chewing leisurely. "Hmm... this is sweet," he murmured, completely ignoring Hakili's presence.
Hakili's eyes darkened with irritation. "Maji, listen," he said, his voice low but sharp. "Don't think I'll stay quiet if your mere existence continues to overshadow my achievements and power. I won't tolerate being cast aside like the other children born from mistresses—even if that's what I am."
His gaze burned with resentment. "Heed my words, Maji. If I have to destroy you to keep my place, to rise in ranks, I will."
Maji didn't even flinch. He had grown numb to Hakili's threats, having heard them countless times before. Instead, he offered a slow, almost mocking smile.
"Is that so?" Maji mused, leaning in slightly. "Then hear my words, Hakili—I will be the next Emperor, whether you like it or not. Your threats mean nothing to me."
Hakili's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Rage flickered in his eyes, but Maji had already turned away.
With an air of complete indifference, Maji picked up his plate, still full of food, and walked off and sat alone at a eating table.
Just then, the doors to the hall swung open with a resounding clang. The room fell silent as an imperial guard stepped forward and bellowed:
"Arriving at the ceremonial hall—His Majesty, Emperor Frechard Hale, and the Kings of the Four Imperial Elve Houses!"
Instantly, everyone rose to their feet, bowing in deep reverence as the most powerful rulers in the empire entered the grand hall.
The Emperor strode to his seat, his presence alone commanding the room. The kings followed, taking their places beside him.
To his right sat the ruler of Solaris, the largest and strongest of the four Elven houses, followed closely by the King of Mensorra.
The third-ranked house of Gravron and the last of the Xevran which was ruled by a woman.
The ceremony had began.