Aerys felt confused and sore. He searched for the source of the whistling and stumbled upon a girl in a corner, dressing. She had her back to him. Muscles shifted under her skin as she pulled on her shirt. Aerys let out a small noise.
She turned around. He froze, rooted to the spot, face burning red. Nobles were not supposed to be shy. Her nudity should not bother him. Yet it did. She was beautiful—a heart-shaped face, full lips, sparkling eyes that seemed to mock him.
She raised an eyebrow. Aerys had nothing to say. After a moment, he turned on his heel and left—moving as quickly as he could without running.
An imperious noble would never have acted this way. He felt a coldness in his voice as he remembered Ighoras's lessons.
— Being an Imperious means control. Mastery of oneself. You may eat, drink, and even indulge in desire, but never be enslaved by it, Ighoras had said with a grim expression.
Even if it was not your nature, pretend, my prince, he had added wearily.
Aerys tried to imitate that icy, noble tone. Being an Imperious is exercising control in all things, including appetite. Even if the food is delicious, I will leave exactly twenty percent behind to show that I am not an animal. I am an Imperious. I am a prince.
On the journey back to Ashber, he kept thinking about the girl. She had blushed too.
The ride was long, too long. He watched Rikyos pass by through the carriage window. The plains stretched endlessly, dotted with fields. He glimpsed a military base, where the legions of the Imperium Militarum lived and trained.
There were a thousand cities in the Central Dominion, each with a base, each under the authority of the high nobility—like house Bellos —reporting directly to the Emperor. Unlike other dominions where dukes enjoyed some autonomy, here the Emperor coordinated everything, even in a remote town like Ashber. That was why attempts on his life had always been hidden in the shadows, he thought, his mind dark.
Frustration and anger could sharpen focus, strip away hesitation, but they also corroded judgment, turning resolve into recklessness.
Aerys stiffened. The voice did not echo in the carriage, nor did it carry sound. It unfolded inside him, deliberate and precise, as if it had always known where to speak. The Fragment had finally broken its silence.
Not a command.
Not a threat.
Advice.
The words settled in his mind with a weight that made his chest tighten. His pulse quickened—not from fear, but from instinctive recognition. He had never known whether the Fragment was dormant or restrained. Now he understood. It had been observing him.
Why were you silent? he asked inwardly.
I searched your memories, the Fragment said. I mapped your world. Its laws. Its hierarchies. Its punishments.
Images flickered in his mind: nobles, academies, examinations masquerading as merit—systems.
You are surrounded by predators, the Fragment continued.
Aerys clenched his fists.
He exhaled slowly.
"You never speak when I need you," he said . "But you speak when it matters."
I understand. By the way… do you have a name? he asked. He could no longer call it "Fragment."
A pause—brief, deliberate.
Names carry weight. To name is to bind.
"I know," Aerys answered. "That's why I'm asking."
The air around him felt heavier, as if the world itself leaned closer.
Very well, the voice said. Then you may call me Odigos.
"Like… the old word for 'guide'?" Aerys asked.
Yes. I learned it from your memories. As I said, I will not serve you as a mere servant. I will guide your body, awaken your potential, and open paths only you can follow.
"Okay… then stop calling me Master," Aerys said quietly. "I didn't earn that."
A faint warmth spread through his chest.
Very well, Odigos replied. Then I will call you what you are becoming.
Aerys lifted his head.
"And that is?"
Survivor, Odigos said. For now.
The noise of the convoy returned around him: rumble, voices. The world resumed its indifferent rhythm as the carriage arrived at Aerys's small manor.