The sequence of names followed the strict order of the noble hierarchy: first the barons, then the viscounts, followed by the counts, marquises, dukes, and finally the royal family.
From what Ether had heard, even the crown prince and his twin sister were to take part in this very ceremony to receive their evaluations and formal status. The thought stirred both curiosity and excitement within him—how often was it that one could witness the heirs of the throne undergoing the same rite as everyone else?
Yet, as the ceremony unfolded, Ether found himself increasingly puzzled. According to the stories he had been told, this ritual was not only meant to determine a child's attributes and talents, but also to bestow upon them their True Name—a name that revealed something of their destined role in the world, a hint of the fate they might one day fulfill.
But here, something seemed amiss. The man calling the names, the same frail elder who had announced Dame's evaluation, never once spoke of these True Names aloud. Instead, after each child finished their turn and the Book of Icor had recorded their runes, the old man would lean close and whisper something into the ear of the king.
Whatever was being said, it was for the monarch's ears alone.
There were more than twenty baron children scheduled to be evaluated by the Book of Icor, and Ether watched each one step onto the stage with keen interest.
He remembered Dame—the nervous boy with soft brown hair—who had been granted the Calling of a Swordsman. Then there was John, a boy whose physique seemed unusually developed for his age, with broad shoulders and powerful muscles that gave him the appearance of a young warrior. His dark-cyan hair and sharp gaze made him look every bit the soldier… yet the Book had named him a Scholar, praising his exceptional intellect and knowledge.
That alone sent Ether into a quiet daze, his thoughts spiraling. If someone built like a fortress is called to a life of study… he wondered, then how much of what we believe about our destinies is true?
His doubts deepened when another boy, Jackson, took the stage—a frail-looking child with fiery red hair and limbs so thin they seemed in danger of snapping from a strong breeze. And yet… the Book declared him a Tanker, a frontline defender meant to withstand heavy blows.
The contrast was so absurd it made Ether question the very nature of the ceremony. Perhaps, he thought, the Callings weren't based solely on what was visible to the eye—but on something far deeper, something hidden within a person's essence.
At last, near the close of the baron category, the emperor's voice rang out across the grand hall.
"Sara of the Barony Jorem, vassal to the Duchy of Sephera—step forward."
There she was—the silver-haired girl whose presence had unsettled Ether earlier. Her eyes, cold and unyielding as if carved from the face of a monolith, scanned the hall with neither curiosity nor emotion. Every movement she made was deliberate, her graceful steps and upright posture radiating an authority that seemed to demand the attention of all who watched.
Yet it wasn't her beauty or poise that sent a chill down Ether's spine—it was her aura. An invisible weight pressed upon the air around her, a silent proclamation of superiority that seemed to place her above every noble child present. And still, her expression remained empty, hollow… as if nothing in the grand ceremony was worth her notice.
Ether found himself leaning forward without realizing it. Of all the children, hers was the turn he awaited most. There was something in his gut—an unshakable certainty—that this girl would be one of the brightest stars of the day.
The moment Sara's slender hand touched the sphere, it erupted in a blinding radiance—pure white light bursting forth with such force that the vast hall was momentarily swallowed by it. Ether squinted, shielding his eyes, yet the brilliance still seared through his vision.
A low murmur rippled through the nobles, but it was silenced when the frail, bearded elder's voice cut through the air.
"Young Sara… you shall walk whichever path you desire.
Your Strength: B+.
Agility: B. Stamina: A-
. Magic: B-.
Magic Control: B.
Your Talent—B."
The proclamation seemed to ignite the hall itself. Voices flared everywhere—whispers, gasps, and hushed exclamations overlapping into a chaotic hum. Sara's evaluation was not only impressive—it was rare, and the nobles knew it.
Yet Ether's eyes weren't fixed on her score. Instead, they lingered on the faint, lingering glow of the sphere—soft, yet somehow heavy, as if it carried a secret no one else could see. His mind churned with questions. How does the Book of Icor truly work? What does the sphere judge? Is it only measuring strength… or something far deeper?
He pulled himself back to reality just in time to see Sara descending the steps. The emperor had finished speaking to her, and she carried herself with the same perfect, unshaken grace as before. But then—midway down—the unexpected happened.
Her head turned.Her eyes—sharp, silver, and almost glacial—locked with Ether's.
For the briefest moment, her mask cracked. A flicker of something crossed her face: curiosity, recognition… or perhaps something more complicated, something unnameable. Ether blinked, startled, and when his vision cleared, her expression was once again an empty, flawless mask.
This was just his Imagination, Ether thought
After the proclamation, the bearded elder leaned close to the emperor, his lips moving in a whisper meant for no other ears. Whatever he said was brief, yet its effect was immediate—the emperor's golden eyes widened, just for a heartbeat, before his expression settled back into its calm, regal mask.
And so, the list of baron's children came to an end.
As the next rank prepared to be called, Ether found himself only half-listening. His mind was no longer on the order of names or the applause of the crowd. Instead, it circled endlessly around the strange, intricate system unfolding before him—the evaluations, the runes, the mysterious whisperings, and the hidden "true names" no one else was allowed to hear.
What really decides a person's class? What shapes their talent? Strength, magic… or something unseen?
For the first time in his life, Ether felt the roots of a deep curiosity take hold—one that dug into the very foundation of the empire's status, classes, and the invisible ground upon which its future was built.