[I've despised this Empire ever since I understood what my place within it was. Now I'm here ready to serve it. Present it with my loyalty. All for the sake of a better life than the one granted to me by birth. Is betraying my own people worth that better life I've always craved?]
These were the thoughts going through the mind of Kethan Ardane. A young commoner who viewed the Vetusian Empire as a prison encompassing his whole world.
Not long ago, he had made a decision: if he could not escape this prison, then he would learn to survive within it. Climb up in the system, which had done everything in its power to keep people like him down at the very depths of society.
But, even though he had already followed this path, doubts and questions started creeping up on him. [Am I a hypocrite for doing this? Am I actually betraying the common folk by choosing this path? Is it truly right for me to fight, kill, and risk my own damn life for this empire?]
Around him stood the future soldiers of the Vetusian Empire. Nobles from ancient houses. Children of higher commoners who had only seen the Lower Zones from their windows and Holophones. Surrounded by sons and daughters of power, he wondered—not for the first time—if he had made the right choice. But the moment his doubts began to take shape, they were shattered by a voice that sent a chill through his spine.
"Cadet. Eyes forward," he paused then continued, "Do you believe yourself superior to the rest?" Kethan snapped to attention. Towering over him was the academy master: a tall and rigid, middle-aged man with a receding hairline—its corners almost reaching his ears. His beard was well kept and scars carved his face like the remnants of old battles. His presence silenced the hall before he spoke a word. And his gaze bore through Kethan.
Hundreds of other cadets stood silent around them. Waiting. Watching. Kethan felt every noble eye in the room turn toward him.
"No, sir," he replied calmly, his tone controlled and respectful.
The man leaned forward slightly. "Then why," he said quietly, "is your mind wandering?" His voice rose again, cracking across the hall like a whip. "This is the Imperial Military Academy. A brat from the Lower Zones should be grateful he's even standing in this hall. Do you believe you have earned the right to daydream?"
A ripple of quiet amusement passed through the Noble cadets. Kethan kept his expression calm.
"I apologize for my insolence, sir." Though raised in an orphanage deep within the Lower Zones of Eydora, the empire's 'glorious' capital, Kethan had learned how to speak to people like this, the people called the elite of society.
But inside his thought burned. [One day I'll stand above all of you.]
The academy master, who had introduced himself as Kyrolas Peragelus, moved on once his scolding was complete. He didn't stop with Kethan. One by one, cadets were reprimanded for the smallest mistakes, except, to no one's surprise, the High Nobles. They stood immune and untouchable.
Today was this year's opening ceremony of Eydora's Imperial Military Academy. The ceremonial hall stretched high above them, iron and rezanium walls glowing faintly. Floors of black marble reflected the lights from the chandeliers above. The room was surprisingly elegant for a military institution.
Behind the rest of the academy masters, at the far end of the hall, hung the Empire's banner—black fabric bearing a golden griffin with crimson talons. A symbol of order to the nobles and elite. A symbol of tyranny to everyone else.
After the ceremony, the cadets were escorted to the barracks: communal sleeping quarters for all except the high nobles, who were granted private rooms. No one seemed surprised. When Kethan entered the room, he paused. Rows of clean, sturdy beds filled the room. They were better than anything he had ever slept on, certainly better than the orphanage bunks. He found the one bearing his name and felt a flicker of satisfaction. That feeling was not shared.
Many of the other cadets looked openly disgusted by their accommodations. Most came from noble houses or wealthy families. Kethan stood among them like a lone satellite drifting through a sea of shining stars.
He changed into his cadet's uniform quickly and prepared to explore the enormous building before dinner. As he turned to leave, a voice stopped him. "Excuse me." Kethan turned around and looked down slightly. The boy was short but broad-shouldered. His brown eyes gave a kind, warm expression and were complimented by his brown hair. His skin was polished, cheekbones high.
Kethan wondered if he was really an Imperial cadet aspiring to be a soldier or merely someone wearing the title. Shaped by tradition and circumstance rather than his own choice?
"I'm Elio." He continued. "Our beds are next to each other and I thought it'd be good to start off friendly. What's your name?"
"Kethan," he replied flatly. "And I'm not here to make friends." Elio blinked, clearly taken aback by the blunt response. Kethan had always pushed people away. In his sixteen years, no one had ever stayed. No one had ever mattered to him.
He left the barracks without another word, leaving Elio staring after him in disbelief. He was and looked shocked, but that kind expression he had didn't vanish.
The academy's corridors seemed endless. Everywhere he looked there were cold metals, sharp angles, empty classrooms. Nothing worth stopping for. He searched the corridors for something specific. Nowhere to be found. After a while, he finally found it.
The combat-training room. Its scale surpassed all his expectations. High walls, around six meters, lined with monitoring screens and holograms tracked health, performance, and improvement. Separate zones existed for hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, sparring, even flight simulations.
Standing there, Kethan realized how far he had climbed already from those slums he grew up in. And how much higher he could go. Even if the empire tried to keep him there, he had to rise above it, for his own sake.
Kethan roamed the vast space, testing several of the weapons he discovered along the way. Eventually, he glanced at one of the wall screens and saw that dinner time was nearing. He looked at his Holophone to verify, and immediately rushed out. [Being scolded and being late on the first day isn't exactly a great way to start of the year] He said to himself.
Lost in thought about the ethics of his decision once again, he barely noticed when he reached the dining hall, until he felt a gaze fixed upon him.
A tall cadet stood nearby, his uniform marked with the emblem of a prestigious house, it was a High Noble. White hair fell past his shoulders. His fair skin looked almost sculpted. And he had eyes the color of mist that gave him a harmonious, yet intimidating appearance. The Noble's gaze lingered before moving on. Kethan felt it instantly. Trouble.
[Someone clearly doesn't want me here. Are all of them gonna be like this?]
Inside the hall, he stood among the faces he would share the next year with. Some would hinder him. Others might help him rise up. Nothing was certain, except that there was no turning back now. The orphanage, the skid rows, the littered streets … they were all in his past now.
After receiving his dinner, better than anything he'd eaten before, Kethan looked around for an empty table. He found one near the middle of the hall, of course it was made of marble and steel, befitting of the institution's status. As he began eating his first meal outside the Lower Zones, which he thoroughly enjoyed, a hand touched his shoulder.
He turned. The white-haired noble stood beside him, almost angelic up close. His sharp cheekbones contrasted his harmonious face elegantly.
"My name is Armodius Luxaeten," he said politely, yet with a deeper voice than Kethan had expected from him. "I heard about your performance in the entrance trials. Word spreads fast here. And a commoner humiliating nobles during the trials tends to attract attention. But relax I'm not angry about like some of us. I'm actually quite impressed, mate."
Kethan remained silent, with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. He noticed a very slight accent, Northern perhaps? "I'll be honest. You're the first interesting opponent I've seen here. The only one worth competing with, despite your lineage," Armodius continued. "May I have your name?"
"Kethan Ardane." Kethan answered. Armodius smiled as he took a seat beside him. "That name certainly doesn't suit you. Your posture, those blue eyes, one might even mistake you for a noble."
"I'm trying to eat." Armodius laughed softly, amused by the black-haired commoner beside him. Their appearances were a complete contrast to each other.
"Fair enough. This meal must be divine to a commoner, especially one from the capital's slums, like yourself. Still, I look forward to our upcoming rivalry. A noble and a commoner at the top of the class. I don't think the academy has ever witnessed something like that … Good luck." He stood up, smirked and returned to his table of fellow High Nobles.
Kethan watched him go, conflicted. The noble was confident, perhaps too confident, but the idea of a rival he'd given him stirred something from within. For the first time since arriving, he felt something close to anticipation. He was actually excited, thrilled for a rivalry. He didn't expect one, as the nobles from the entrance trials disappointed him. But he'd welcome it.
[Huh, this year might be interesting after all.]