Princess Evangelina Romuli-Drausus inspected the crowd before her with a flutter of apprehension as silence brewed. She perceived the Court Ministers, Sub-Senates and other officiates whom of which customarily convoyed the Excelian Royal Court and the Grand Elder Council.

The Grand Elders showed no reaction to her story, all twelve heads remained neutral from their seats evenly divided upon either side of the King and Queen, unlike the others who’d gasped or muttered beneath their breaths in astonishment and fear, leaving the King to command silence. His expression like the Queen’s was difficult to read. She wasn’t used to such lack of emotion especially from them.

General Goran Dracon-Ignatius convened beneath the sovereigns, with the other Generals of their assigned divisions: Legionnaires and Cavaliers. Then either side of them, sat their high-ranking Sub-Commanders and Lieutenants before blending with Administrative aristocratic Regalis and their nominated Caligati.

Grand Elder Michalis observed her with a blank expression, and he asked, “How do you know the Xzandians had help?” There was no trace of scepticism in this voice but rather intrigue.

“The way the Capital city was taken. It was too fast, too efficient and too well-planned to be an opportunistic frontal assault. They knew where our weaknesses were and when and where to exploit them. The attack was executed by people I and my family had trusted. They betrayed us without hesitation.”

“What do you think Goran?” Grand Elder Syphree Quintus-Byzantine asked, a beautiful middle-aged woman, with a tone both gentle and withered from time, betraying the detached expression upon her fair features. Her blue eyes tapered on the man below her and to her right.

“They didn’t betray you Princess. It was much worse than that. You had something they needed, and desperately wanted. Betrayal implies they were your allies from the start but from where I’m standing, they were never your allies. You shouldn’t feel the pain of betrayal but rather anger at their deceit.” Goran replied, distantly and without hesitation.

Syphree sighed, her cool detached expression vanished along with the other Grand Elders, as she placed a thin pale fist beneath her chin. A gesture which lengthened her wavy chestnut hair, expelling it further over her thin shoulders cladded in the uniform of the Grand Elders escaping from the elegantly braided bun on her head before she pointedly regarded the Centurion General with a firm frown. “When I had asked for your input, I didn’t expect you to be harsh General.”

Before Goran could respond. Evangelina uttered, “It’s okay. He’s right, no matter how much I don’t want to accept it.” The room fell quiet once more before the Queen’s voice cut through the silence. Her blue eyes detached, and her brows furrowed in thought as she paused the holographic screen that replayed the images of the coup while Evangelina filled in the pieces.

“That he is. Your energy is better suited to aiding us and taking back your Reserve. However, I’m curious . . . of all the information we’ve been given, why did the neighbouring countries not aid nor shelter you?”

“I think it had to do with their resources, military power and the safety of their people. I don’t believe they turned me away out of spite. As I had mentioned before, they were kind enough to allow me an escort until I arrived at our allied Reserve, here, even if none of them survived.”

“That’s a long dangerous journey,” the King added, his golden eyes tapered on her with admiration. “Especially without the use of teleportation pads.”

“It was safer that way, my brother and the Grand Elders believed the streams were being monitored and I had to take extra precautions,” Evangelina declared.

“And your brother Prince Asana hadn’t been conspiring against your parents or the Grand Elders?” he asked, as he had once before. Evangelina knew he was only re-confirming her words for the records.

“No, my brother hadn’t known. When he found out, he sought me out and helped me escape. He saved what remained of the Grand Elders too.”

“Do you know if he survived?” Grand Elder Michalis inquired.

Evangelina paused for a moment, before adding, “No, I don’t.”

“I suppose that should be all then,” Grand Elder Michalis spoke. “That concludes the Princess’s testimonial.” The head Grand Elder Michalis and the King both stood from their seats then those beside them followed, before the rest exited their seats and vacated the room in an orderly fashion. Evangelina regarded them with a blank expression, not that she didn’t feel disappointed—she did. However, she knew something could be done. As such she masked her expression and cooled her emotions. Her tears wouldn’t bring the others back nor would it save her home. Eventually, once Evangelina settled, Tara addressed Evangelina from where she stood behind her seat beside the guards.

“Are you ready to leave Princess?” Tara asked gently, cladded in a semi-formal green uniform with gold and silver stitching’s the colours of the Helpers but the emblem upon her chest identified her as her Dele Personal Attendant.

“Yes, I am,” Evangelina replied, before turning her brief attention once more back to Goran who remained in the room with the other Generals no doubt discussing the matter of her home in greater detail. Not that she could hear. She knew they wouldn’t do anything until they received the combined approval of the Royals and the Grand Elders. Turning her heel, she vacated the room with Tara and her assistant at her heels with her guards following.

* * *

Deep in thought, Gothalia watched the ceiling as the simulation’s final moments replayed in her mind—specifically the stillness of those who hadn’t made it out. The neatly tucked sheets felt cold and alien beneath her, doing nothing to ease the familiar pain she struggled to keep at bay. She knew better than to sink into self-pity; it was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Turning her back on the empty air above, she stared instead at the polished black marble, her eyes searching the dark corner of the room where her roommates were.

She listened to their heavy breathing, their light snores, the occasional loud ones or the rustle of their sheets as they twisted in their dreams. She wasn’t too sure how anyone could sleep after everything that had happened and considered they were too tired, and sleep easily pulled them under.

She turned once again to face the wall; she’d pressed her lower back against it earlier on in the night to comfort her but failed to sleep. Her eyes tapered on the opal wall illuminated by the faint golden light that lined her bed like the others. “It’s a nightlight it’ll help you sleep,” Gothalia remembered Domitia declare before she parted. No, it’s not, Gothalia thought. She knew it served a darker purpose—a way to confirm she was in her bed, vulnerable and asleep, before they moved in to kill her.

The night passed in a blur of half-sleep half-wake, Gothalia eventually giving up on the idea of real rest. The air here felt wrong; this country would never be home. She knew the others—L’Eiron, Anaphora, Maximus, and Anton—had fought to carve out a place for themselves, but she couldn’t join them in that world. Even in the center of a throng, she was untethered, always a beat behind the rest of the world.

Hours later, a heavy thud jolted Gothalia awake. She sat up instantly, her heart hammering as her eyes tracked the sound. Across the room, a man was rubbing his head and hauling himself off the floor, casting a dark look at another roommate whose name Gothalia hadn't bothered to learn. “Looks like you’re up,” Leviathan said, his voice low as he sank onto the edge of her mattress. Around them, the rest of the room began to stir.

Gothalia glanced at him on her bed than back at his face. “What are you doing?”

Leviathan bit into his green apple and declared with a shrug, “Being friendly.” Gothalia raised a brow at his casualness but didn’t say anything. “Did you sleep alright?” he asked her, taking another bite. Gothalia didn’t say anything her brain refusing to respond. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“What are they doing?” Gothalia asked, glancing at the others opposite the lengthy room play fighting.

“Being idiots,” Leviathan responded.

“Are you even allowed to call your people idiots?” Gothalia queried surprised, refusing to hide the subtle smile lining her lips.

“I’m to be King one day. I call it as I see it,” he uttered, and handed her his bitten apple. “Hungry?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I can find my own food,” Gothalia said, swinging her legs out of bed. She caught sight of Leviathan’s new uniform—a black and silver bodysuit identical to her own. It mirrored the cut of the Cavaliers, Centurions and Legionnaires but stripped of their prestige; there were no tunics, no layered armor, and no vibrant colors to denote a division. Her eyes lingered on the family insignia on his right arm, a silent reminder that hers would soon occupy the same spot. Finally, her gaze dropped to the recruit rank pinned to his chest—a mirror image of her own.

“Well, you need to move quickly if you want breakfast,” he replied. “The cafeteria will close soon whether you make it or not.” He nodded toward the door, sliding off her mattress to join the others who were already wrestling and socializing. Gothalia’s gaze fell to the foot of her bed, where a new bag sat in place of her old one—a simple two-strap pack that looked like it couldn't hold much. She scanned the rest of the room; identical bags rested on most of the beds, though several were already missing, taken by those who had already headed out.

Gothalia tracked the movements of a blonde recruit who climbed her bed and palmed the wall to open a hidden locker. The woman retrieved her uniform, then spent a few seconds fishing through her pack for something specific. Satisfied she found it, she tapped the wall and returned the bag, watching as the compartment vanished back into the surface of the wall.

Gothalia turned to the wall against her bed and eyed it critically. She regarded where the light had been the night before which was now turned off. She glanced once more at the woman’s bed and considered its position, moving further down the bed she pressed her hand against the wall like the woman had. The wall didn’t open. “What?” Gothalia muttered, “It worked for her.”

Gothalia regarded the wall before she recalled the woman and how she opened the compartment. Until she remembered the bracelet that wrapped around the woman’s right wrist. Gothalia glanced at her own wrist and eyed the black-silver band curiously. She remembered Domitia instructing her and the others to never try to take them off without prior permission. Gothalia ran her right hand over the wall and watched as the band lit up with a blue light, then she pressed the wall. Within moments, the wall popped open, and she noticed it was quite spacious. Gothalia peered further within and recognised she could fit in it, even Anton or Maximus. “A panic box maybe?” she queried.

Hearing the voices of the others quieten before leaving, she pulled her bag from the edge of her bed and unzipped it before pulling out five sets of suits each rolled into small black and silver bags before she noticed additional toiletries. She regarded the razor, toothbrush, toothpaste and a skinny hairbrush one of the many items she found within the smaller bag. Ignoring the razor, she grabbed the toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, uniform and the underwear they’d provided. She regarded it for a moment, it was black and basic nothing fancy just practical.

Not thinking much of it, she zipped up her bag before pausing and regarded the black and silver cloak she had at the bottom of the bag, that L’Eiron and Anaphora had given her. Her eyes then drifted to her sword, branded with a crest she knew her uniform bore, the sword was securely locked in place by her bed just like the others she saw line the room. She recalled that the cloak was the first thing that she placed in the bottom of the bag. Pulling her eyes from it, she placed it into the compartment before closing it. The light from her wrist band faded and Gothalia tried to open it with her other hand. Locked.

“Convenient,” she said, and hopped off her bed and to the washroom. A full shower was a luxury she couldn't afford this morning. After a quick wash and a few passes of a brush through her damp hair, Gothalia retreated to a cubicle to pull on her uniform. She tucked her belongings back into the hidden wall storage and exited, checking her reflection once to ensure she was decent. The corridors stretched out in both directions, perfect mirrors of one another, until she noticed the silver lines carved into the dark floor—guides leading toward the Cafeteria and the Commons.

Gothalia moved as quickly as she could, without running or adding to the mild pain pulsating from her almost healed injury and made it into the cafeteria before noticing the empty breakfast line. She wondered if she had missed it until she heard a familiar voice utter, “You still have time.”

“L’Eiron!” Gothalia beamed, grateful to see him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded and gestured to the cafeteria with his chin. “Hurry, you don’t have long.”

“Right,” Gothalia gave a quick reply and headed for the counters, noticing the cafeteria staff were already clearing the line. The hot food was gone, so she settled for a bowl of cereal, a small carton of milk, and an orange juice. The facility produced its own, but she always preferred the brands imported from the surface. Finding L’Eiron, she joined him at his table, eating with practiced haste while he peppered her with questions about her first day. “Isn’t today my first day?” she asked, confused.

“No, it was when you were in the simulation,” he replied, not looking at her, his eyes on the digital pad before him. Gothalia voiced she hadn’t thought of that before and recounted the incidents. He nodded in both understanding and knowingly, as he had watched the entire trial with Anaphora just as anxiously. Once Gothalia was done, he glanced at her bowl and the digital clock projected on the wall. “You’re going to be late; do you know where you’re going?” L’Eiron asked, before finishing his coffee setting the device down.

Gothalia placed her dishes and empty milk carton on the tray. “Um . . . I think courtyard one.”

“It’s courtyard two on the other side of the gardens past the main offices,” L’Eiron replied, with a small smile hiding his slight concern. “Follow the lines.”

“Got it.” she beamed and climbed to her feet before glancing at her tray. “So where do I put this?” L’Eiron regarded the two silver grey boxes beneath the clock then the trays beside the stacked dishes and organised dirty cutlery, Gothalia didn’t initially notice. L’Eiron climbed to his feet and moved from her and to the dirty cutlery. He placed his dishes and cutlery in their respective areas before putting on the remaining rubbish on his tray into the bin and sliding it onto the other trays. Gothalia copied, “Thank you. I’ll see you soon,” she said before rushing out the cafeteria.

Watching her haste, L’Eiron let out a weary sigh. He glanced at the clock once more, his eyes flicking to the glowing numbers as if they might have jumped forward in the heartbeat since he’d last looked.

L’Eiron moved towards the cafeteria doors before pausing at the sound of a familiar voice, “Aww, so you do have a soft side?” the man mocked from behind him.

L’Eiron heatedly scowled at Nicolas Ignatius-Gerado from over his shoulder as he approached but didn’t say anything. “Who would have thought savages like you could have any form of compassion? Touching,” he sarcastically remarked, striding past L’Eiron arrogantly. Then added, “I wonder though . . . were you smart enough to teach her to fight her own battles. No one will go easy on her especially because of Deamone blood or that’s she’s female. They’ll pray on that. I can’t wait to see Natalia’s second spawn die just like the first. The less of you there are the better.” A suddenly dark expression crossed L’Eiron’s features at the mention of him and observed the man carefully. Nicolas regarded L’Eiron with a malicious smile, content with his reaction, before uttering coldly with utter spite and sarcasm dripping from every word. “Oh? You almost look scary. No matter, it’s not like that could save her.”

As Nicolas’s laughter rang out in the quiet corridor, a rush of anger nearly overwhelmed L’Eiron. The urge to slam the man into the cold marble was almost physical, a tempting release he had to fight to suppress. He forced the thought aside, knowing that losing his composure now was a luxury they couldn't afford. Failure wasn’t just a mistake; it was the end of their world.

Once Nicolas was gone, L’Eiron pinched the ridge of his brow, taking a deep breath to calm his délanocytes, before exiting the silent cafeteria. His hunch was confirmed, not even those in high positions would show compassion or sympathy—they wanted her dead or close to it and they would do whatever they could to ensure it happened. He needed to find Anaphora.

* * *

Her gaze drifted past the ring of equipment to the perimeter that wasn’t a traditional courtyard. Instead it was an ourdoor space, where seasoned Centurions, Legionnaires, and Cavaliers stood like living statues. In the center, clustered on a massive mat, were the recruits—the few who had survived the initial screening. They stood in rigid lines, eyes fixed on a man at the front who was curtly listing their first set of instructions.

A wave of panic hit Gothalia as she realized just how much instruction she’d already missed. Moving with urgent grace, she slipped past the veteran soldiers watching from the hill—their faces masks of mild intrigue—and glided down the stairs toward the group.

She felt the Centurion’s gaze snag on her as she approached, but he gave no outward sign of her late arrival. Seizing the opening, she slid into the back row, squaring the line until it perfectly matched the symmetry of the ranks in front of her. It wasn't a large class, but in a group this small, there was nowhere to truly hide.

Gothalia’s eyes landed on Anton in front of her who curiously peered at her, and Maximus caught Anton’s attention and mouthed, “Where were you?” Gothalia made a gesture of eating, careful to not be caught by the Centurion who marched back and forth at the front of the group. Maximus rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Slow eater.” Gothalia glared at the back of his head when both of their attention returned to the front.

Gothalia’s focus locked onto the Centurion, whose voice carried a sharp edge as it projected from the raised platform.

“You are the ones who survived the initial trial,” he began, his tone making it clear that 'surviving' was not the same as 'succeeding.' “But do not mistake passage for mastery. You have demonstrated certain traits we require, yet you are far from the ideal. Over the coming months, these sessions will weigh your worth; by next week, you will know if you even have a future here.”

He paced the edge of the platform, his gaze heavy. “We will uncover your strengths, your hidden talents, and—most importantly—your weaknesses. From there, you will be assigned to a division. There will be no interviews, no preferences, and no choice in your placement.” The man paused, his brown eyes calculating as they swept over the group standing in rigid silence. “Let’s begin.”