Thousands of boys and girls were herded inside to take the test.
The great hall beyond the entrance was vast, cold, and unforgiving—large enough to contain them all, yet empty enough to make each of them feel insignificant.
Some looked excited.
Most looked afraid.
This was not merely an examination. It was a judgment. A single opportunity to seize power and recognition—or to be discarded. For those of low birth, it was the only path out of obscurity. Failure meant returning to nothing.
Imperial officials moved swiftly through the crowd.
Names were called.
Lines were broken.
Orders were obeyed.
One by one, the candidates were dispatched to separate classrooms for the written examination.
Each door closed behind them with finality.
Aerys took the test in a large, brightly lit hall, surrounded by dozens of other youths.
Four hours passed like that.
The fragment remained silent.
Not that Aerys needed it.
The examination was, surprisingly, not difficult. After spending his entire childhood secluded in a manor, buried in books, questions on imperial history, economics, and military campaigns felt almost trivial.
A cold shower, he thought.
His neighbor was a restless, noisy blonde girl who tapped incessantly with her stylus against the jade bracelet on her wrist. The constant tapping disturbed him so much that he began to wonder whether she herself was part of the test.
After half an hour, Aerys casually slipped the stylus from her fingers and hid it up his sleeve.
Child's play.
Panic spread across her face as she looked around helplessly. Then she began to whimper, but the invigilators refused to provide her with a replacement stylus.
She fled the hall in tears.
At the end of the examination, the proctor reviewed Aerys's work.
He paused.
Then he met Aerys's eyes—and smiled.
Aerys had clearly earned his approval.
Not everyone agreed.
A young commoner, thin and fragile like a blade of grass, brushed past him and muttered:
— "Reptile."
Ighoras had warned him not to speak to anyone. He wasn't ready yet—according to him. It was good advice, and Aerys restrained himself just in time from replying with a sharp retort.
The word echoed in his mind.
Reptile.
Cold-blooded.
Deceitful.
Heartless.
Without scruples.
That was how they defined imperial nobility.
And yet, for most of them, those words sounded like compliments.
As if to confirm it, a musical voice rose behind him.
— "Don't mind her. She's just jealous. Pretty as a picture—shame she's an uneducated commoner. Well done, by the way. I was about to rip that idiot's eyes out with her cursed stylus."
Aerys turned around.
Before him stood a young man who looked as if he had stepped straight out of a heroic epic. Beauty and arrogance seemed to drip from him. His features were flawless, his smile perfect, his skin smooth and radiant.
Aerys had never seen anything so polished.
He embodied everything Aerys despised.
The young man greeted him with casual ease.
— "I'm Callius."
His fingers tapped idly against his tablet. He seemed the type who spoke enough for two. Then his brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at Aerys's appearance—lingering just long enough on the markers that tied him to the imperial bloodline.
— "Do you have something to say to me?" Aerys replied calmly.
A flicker of unease crossed Callius's eyes.