And then, as the atmosphere tensed with the presence of those colossi, something completely unexpected happened.
For the first time in the recorded history of the Great Empire, a figure emerged from myth to present himself in flesh and blood: the King Emperor of Amekaris. A distant nation, wrapped in centuries of isolation and mystery, without political alliances, without active treaties, without recent wars and without need for them.
For generations, Amekaris had been little more than a whisper at the margins of global maps, a shadow forgotten by diplomacy, a legend murmured among sages. No emissary had crossed its borders. No treaty signed. Only the remote echo of an ancient power, buried by time.
And yet, there he was.
From the top of the arena's central balcony, the King Emperor appeared, revealing his figure to the world like a living omen. Leftraro. Only Leftraro, without surnames, without announced lineage. His mere presence eclipsed them all.
With his torso bare and sculpted as if history had chiseled him, his dark skin gleamed under the midday light. He wore his dark hair long past his shoulders, and his eyes—dark and slightly slanted—absorbed the scene with a calm that imposed more than any shout. Upon his head, a crown of red feathers, vibrant as a tamed flame, rose as an ancestral symbol of absolute power. Brown linen pants, elegant and ceremonial, completed his attire: austere, majestic, lethal.
His vital energy was not like what was known in the Great Empire. It was a denser, wilder, more ancient current. A form of power that defied the rules established by the continent's sages, an aura that seemed to speak directly with the roots of the world.
A new era was not only being announced: it was being embodied.
And its name was Leftraro.
Kael swallowed hard. His skin crawled and his legs felt heavy, as if the air itself crushed him. He had never been so close to beings of such magnitude: Tiberius, Alistair, Aurelius, and now Leftraro. His hands sweated, his breathing was short. "How am I supposed to survive here?" he thought, with a reverent fear that made him feel tiny.
Leftraro rose, firm and solemn, and his voice resonated through the arena:
"For a long time, Amekaris and the Great Empire were unknown nations. Neither enemies, nor allies. Today that changes. I trust in Tiberius's ideals and in his strength. May this day mark the beginning of a shared path toward a greater future."
Then, he made a slight bow toward Tiberius, acknowledging his authority, and stepped back, letting the Emperor of the Great Empire take the floor.
And so, with Leftraro's appearance marking the final point of the presentations, the atmosphere remained suspended in solemn silence. Gazes then rose to the great imperial balcony, where stood some of the world's most powerful figures: Alistair, Rhygar, Kleominsa, Astrid, Eirik, Aurelius, Valerius, Auron, and Kraven, all standing, watching with relentless attention. But above them, slightly elevated, as if even the architecture recognized him as the apex of power, stood Emperor Tiberius.
He stood slowly, as if even the air waited for his gesture to move. His red cape billowed behind him like an extension of his authority. He needed no amplification nor translators: when he spoke, his voice filled the entire arena with the force of controlled thunder.
All the aspirants fell silent.
Emperor Tiberius raised his hand, and silence descended like a sacred mantle over the arena.
His voice, deep and serene, flowed like the echo of a forgotten truth:
"Brave young ones…
Today you are here not only for your talents, nor for your lineages, nor for your origins. You are here because the fire in your hearts defied destiny and brought you to this threshold."
"Much has been said about these trials. They are called 'forges,' 'selections,' 'crossroads of glory'… but in my heart, each time one of you falls in these arenas, I feel that something is lost. Because each of you is a possibility, a promise, a future not yet written."
He paused. His eyes swept over the thousands of aspirants as if he could see them one by one.
"Valor is not always measured in blood. Strength is not always demonstrated with death. And a strong Empire is not built upon broken bodies, but upon wills that rise."
His voice wavered for an instant. Barely a tremor, almost imperceptible… but real. As if an ancient pain grazed his soul.
"There are those who believe that only the most ruthless deserve to bear the emblem of power. That only by surviving the atrocious is true greatness forged. But I…
I dare to think differently."
"What if the one who falls today was the one who could have changed our destiny?
What if on this field of blood is lost the wisest, the most just, the noblest of all the warriors we would have ever had?"
The silence was absolute.
"Therefore, despite the harshness of this exam, I wish from the deepest part of my being… that all of you survive.
That you rise at the end of the day not only as warriors, but as beacons of a new era.
The world you will inherit will be vast and complex, and it needs more than power. It needs purpose. It needs consciousness.
It needs life."
"Fight with courage.
Fight with honor.
And above all, do not forget who you are.
The Empire watches you.
The sky remembers you.
And tomorrow needs you… alive."
When he finished, there were no applause.
Only a reverent silence that spoke more than any ovation.
Alistair stepped forward. His dark, matte Titanochrome armor barely gleamed under the midday light. Over his shoulders, the white cape billowed with elegance. He didn't raise his voice; his mere presence filled the air.
"The Emperor has spoken with reason… and I, like many of you, have felt that echo in my chest."
"The trials you will face are real. The pain, the uncertainty, the fear. But so are the friendship, loyalty, and love that brought you here.
So listen well: if something must define you, let it not be rage nor the thirst for glory.
Let it be the capacity to protect each other."
His gaze hardened.
"Fight with everything you have, yes. But don't forget to look at who's beside you.
They are not enemies. They are not obstacles.
They are the only ones who will know what you lived here.
Protect each other. Take care of each other.
And if any of you must fall, let it not be because the others forgot they were brothers."
"The Empire needs strength, yes… but it needs even more those who know when not to use it.
Be firm, be swift, be powerful…
But above all, be worthy."
When he finished, the entire stand erupted in cheers. The judges, even the most severe, bowed their heads.
And the aspirants… the aspirants burned. Not with rage, but with purpose.
They were no longer just candidates.
They were heirs to something greater.
And they were ready to prove it.
And just as the ovation still resonated like thunder in the arena, another figure stepped forward. It was as if the climate changed immediately.
Eirik.
His light armor showed scars from a thousand battles. His reddish beard shone under the sun. He didn't adorn himself with gestures or titles: he spoke as a warrior, to warriors.
"I don't come to give you soft words," he thundered. "I come to remind you that battle doesn't forgive. That steel doesn't ask. That blood doesn't warn."
The public roared as if responding to a war drum. The aspirants looked at him with a different fire: raw, visceral.
"Every scar I have"—he struck his own chest—"is a lesson. And every scar you earn… will be your teacher. Don't fear bleeding. Fear not rising after doing so."
There were shouts, exclamations, even fists raised in the arena.
"So fight as if each blow were the last!" Eirik roared. "Fight with the fury of one who knows tomorrow is not promised!"
The public's roar was deafening. Some aspirants struck their own armor, ignited, ready for combat.
Then Astrid stepped forward, raised her hand, and a rain of black ice began to descend over the arena, brilliant and mysterious. Her voice, serene but firm, traveled throughout the stadium:
"Young ones, power is not only measured in strength. Trust in yourselves and in the ideals that guide you. Build your future with courage, honor, and heart."
The public was left speechless at the spectacle. Excited whispers were heard everywhere:
"It's the empress's power!"
"Black ice… how beautiful!"
"I've never seen anything like it!"
Makia, with shining eyes and evident admiration, couldn't take her eyes off the Empress, murmured with a dazzled tone:
"She's Empress Astrid… so beautiful! I'd like to be like her someday and I'd also love to master black ice… but it's a genetic power of the Storms so it's something impossible. Anyway, I never thought I'd see this power in person, I love it! And besides, the empress is so beautiful!"
Then came Aurelius's turn.
Dressed in black armor, his mere presence seemed to bend the atmosphere. His stature was colossal, his face impassive, carved like marble by hands that knew no mercy. He didn't raise his voice: he imposed it.
The public's roar ceased abruptly. It was as if his shadow forced them to silence.
When he spoke, his voice was deep, rough as stone scraping metal. He needed no flourishes. He spoke as one strikes with a hammer.
"Young ones…
Prepare for war.
Not the one fought with armies.
Yours."
"Prepare to face fear, betrayal, loneliness. Prepare to bleed. To lose. To doubt everything… even yourselves.
Because if you don't… you will be swept away like dust in the wind."
"Fight with everything you have.
With everything you are.
Because what you're not willing to defend… you will lose."
Then he took a step forward. Only one. And that was enough for the ground to seem to tremble.
"I don't want to see martyrs.
I want to see survivors.
I want to see noble beasts. Warriors who don't tremble, who don't negotiate with fear.
I want to see why you deserve to exist!"
And at the end, his voice became a contained roar:
"Fight as true children of this Empire or die as shadows that never were!"
A slight silence tensed as his gaze swept over the aspirants. Then, Aurelius barely lowered his voice, with a hint of human warmth:
"And don't live with resentment… you must prove nothing to anyone but yourselves."
Among the aspirants, a young woman with dark hair and determined gaze stood out: Sofia, facing the exam with contained fire. Her hands gripped the handle of her sword tightly, while she observed the balcony with reverence and determination.
Sofia took a deep breath and murmured, barely audible:
"I'm sorry, Grandpa… I must do this alone this time."
Alistair, from above, watched with an expression of contained sorrow, his eyes fixed on Aurelius but understanding the young aspirant's burden.
Makia murmured with a soft voice, laden with concern:
"He's talking about Sofia…"
Aelius nodded with a sigh:
"Yes…"
Ian, crossing his arms and visibly annoyed, muttered:
"Because she didn't want to come with us…"
Makia replied, barely audible:
"She said this time she didn't want to depend on us."
Ian snorted, clenching his fists:
"That idiot…"
Aurelius, oblivious to the murmurs, continued with his grave tone:
"Fight as true children of this Empire… or die as shadows that never were!"
Finally, Aurelius barely lowered his voice, with a hint of tenderness:
"And good luck… to my dear grandchildren."
Aelius, among the aspirants, sighed looking at the ground:
"There he goes again…"
Ian and Makia burst into discreet laughter, and above, Alistair also let out a brief laugh, breaking the solemnity for an instant.
Sofia laughed softly, wiping away a tear that had escaped from her face, and murmured between laughs:
"Oh, Grandpa…"
The public reacted divided: some burst into laughter, others applauded forcefully, others simply smiled with tenderness.
Afterward, Auron advanced.
Auron advanced calmly, and silence accompanied him. He didn't need to raise his voice: his mere presence transmitted peace. His clear eyes swept over each aspirant with a mixture of respect and tenderness, as if they were already part of something greater.
"Today I look at you and see more than combatants," he said. "I see sons, daughters, brothers, sisters. I see the spark of a legacy that doesn't begin or end in a battle, but in the way we choose to walk together."
He raised his open hand, not in a gesture of war, but of offering.
"Don't forget that the Empire is sustained not only by the strength of steel, but by the nobility of the hearts that compose it. A warrior who doesn't honor the life he protects… becomes his own shadow."
There was a murmur of approval among the stands, soft, emotional. The aspirants looked at him with wide eyes, receiving a different light from what Aurelius or Eirik had left: it wasn't fear nor pressure… it was hope.
"Greatness is not measured by the height of the walls you tear down, but by the height of the dreams you are capable of building for others."
Then, his gaze softened, and he added, with a more intimate voice:
"Aurora, my beautiful daughter… you are my greatest treasure, so take care of yourself and good luck."
Aurora, in the center of the stadium, shuddered. A blush tinged her cheeks; she wanted to hide, but couldn't help but smile tenderly. The public reacted with a warm applause, different from the previous shouts: a human, emotional, sincere applause.
"And to all of you," Auron concluded, "I wish you a destiny written not only with victories, but also with kindness."
When he withdrew, the entire arena rose in cheers.
Kael, trembling, thought: "I've never heard someone so noble."
But the silence didn't last.
Another figure rose. He didn't walk, didn't greet, didn't wait for a turn or permission.
Kraven.
His rusty red armor seemed stained with dried blood more than decorated. He had long, tangled hair, eyes sunken in an expression empty and at the same time ignited with perversion. His smile was a crooked cut on a face carved by cruelty.
And then he spoke.
"Filthy bastards…"
A dry laugh burst from his throat before continuing.
"Damn leeches of flesh and bone…
Kill yourselves!
Mutilate yourselves!
Disobey!
Die if you have to!"
"There's no honor here. No glory.
Only blood, mud, and broken bones.
And if you think nobility will save you… then you deserve to be the first to fall."
"I want to see who has the rottenest heart!
I want to see who crawls with a split skull and keeps biting!
I want to see the monster you carry inside!"
The atmosphere changed. A cloud of discomfort descended like a heavy mantle. Some of the aspirants averted their gaze. Others, simply pierced by disgust, lowered their heads. The public no longer applauded. It murmured. Fell silent. Felt.
And from the line of imperial figures, several looked at him with open disapproval.
Alistair clenched his jaw.
Astrid shook her head.
Even Aurelius, for a second, observed him with distant coldness.
But Kraven only laughed.
As if silence alone was enough for him to know he had said what others thought and didn't dare pronounce.
All gazes, almost instinctively, turned to a figure who had not yet spoken: Kleominsa.
But she didn't move.
She remained standing among the rows of the high imperial box, with her gaze fixed among the thousands of aspirants… on one alone.
Ian.
She didn't look at him as an examiner, nor as an imperial figure.
She looked at him as a contained flame looks at the fire it wants to consume.
Tiberius tilted his face.
"Kleominsa… weren't you going to give a speech?"
No response.
"Kleominsa."
She blinked. Returned to reality.
"Oh… right. I'm ready."
Kleominsa advanced to the center of the balcony.
Her eyes, without averting their gaze, remained fixed among the ranks.
And with a trembling, enamored voice, she asked:
"Young aspirant… what is your name?"
Ian knew it was him.
He looked at her. Fixed.
And took a step forward.
"My name is Ian, Your Majesty."
A light wind crossed the arena.
But for Kleominsa it was a subtle dagger.
It pierced her heart.
And left her suspended in a pause without time.
Her lip trembled.
And then she said it:
"Marry me."
The entire arena fell silent.
Upon hearing that, Sofia blushed, surprised by the proposal in the middle of the arena.
Ian smiled, with that smile that seemed to come from another life.
"After the exam," he responded. "If you face me… I could think about it."
The silence was absolute. Total stupefaction.
Makia, with her face flushed, was very upset. She couldn't hide it. Her lips trembled with contained rage, fists clenched tightly. "How dare she?" she barely murmured, with jealousy boiling in her gaze.
Aurora averted her gaze to the ground, uncomfortable and surprised. Something in her chest hurt, though she didn't understand why.
And then, it erupted.
An overwhelming, uncontrollable laugh resonated throughout the stadium.
It was Tiberius.
He wiped away tears of laughter.
The stands looked at him, incredulous, and at the same time infected.
The tension broke.
The Emperor's laughter became an unexpected balm, a touch of humanity that relaxed the entire atmosphere.
Tiberius, still with a smile, looked toward the others on the imperial balcony.
"Valerius… Valerius… aren't you going to say anything?"
He shook his head, uninterested.
Then Rhygar stood up.
The time to explain the exam… had arrived.