An Empirian never truly belonged to himself.
He belonged first to the Empire Then to his Dominion. Then to his bloodline And finally—if he survived long enough—to a House within the Academy.
Each House, in turn, existed under the protection and influence of one or several noble families of the Empire, whose age, lineage, and purity of Essence determined their political weight.
Within the Imperial Academy, the eight recognized Houses—Fulgaris, Vargan, Solenar, Celerion, Noctyra, Thalassar, Pyraxis, and Lunarys—all fell, directly or indirectly, under the influence of the four ducal families, the Imperator Bellos's own lineage, and a handful of other ancient high-noble houses.
Power did not vanish within the Academy.
It was refined.
Then came the Selection Interviews Silence fell like a sentence.
The obsidian doors opened without a sound, revealing the Selection Amphitheater. A colossal ring of ascending seats surrounded a central platform carved with imperial runes. Essence flowed through it slowly, visibly—contained force, held under absolute restraint.
Above the platform, eight banners floated in the air, unmoving.
Eight Houses ; Eight destinies.
Aerys felt his Nexus tremble faintly—reactive, like an organ recognizing an ancient threat.
The candidates were arranged in a wide arc. A thousand lives reduced to still bodies, examined like resources. No names were spoken.
Then they appeared.
The Proctors.
They wore no full armor, but each bore the sigil of their House, embroidered directly into the black fabric of their cloaks with solidified Essence. Their presence alone pressed down on the air.
They were without equal.
Each Proctor was responsible for a House. Each was appointed directly by the Emperor himself—charged with overseeing the students and speaking in their name within the Academy.
They were… overwhelming.
House Fulgaris
The Proctor of Fulgaris was a tall, unmoving man with steel in his gaze. Threads of light flickered through his irises like restrained lightning. He did not look at the candidates.
He assessed them.
As one might assess an army before a campaign.
"Command is not claimed," he said calmly.
"It is imposed."
Aerys felt several Nexuses falter under the invisible pressure.
The Proctor did not react.
He selected Niklaus Aurelyon, the heir from the Nimeryus family, without hesitation—followed by several other young nobles whose families lay under Duke Nimeryus's direct influence.
Next came House Solenar.
Its Proctor did the same with Corlys Aurelyon, the heir from Solmeros family, along with those bound to Duke Solmeros's authority.
That was when Aerys understood.
This was not a selection.
It was a distribution.
Ducal heirs were never left waiting. Fulgaris for one. Solenar for another. Each placed precisely where the backing Duke already held power.The Academy did not dismantle imperial feudalism.
It reproduced it—cleaner, sharper, more efficient.
Aerys felt his stomach tighten.
He clenched his fists.
The process continued.
Deronus Aurelyon, heir of the Lyndorias family, was claimed by House Vargan.
Jhanor Aurelyon, of the Vaelaris family, was taken by House Thalassar, along with those beneath their influence.
And Aerys…
No House called his name.
No Proctor argued for him.
Noctyra. Pyraxis. Lunarys.
None of them looked at him as an investment.
The truth settled with cruel Clarity He was not an heir to be cultivated.
He was a variable to be tested.
If he survived, the Empire would observe If he failed, the order would remain intact.
Other heirs and the Young noble scions glanced his way, some amused, some openly mocking.
Aerys might have found it ridiculous himself—if it had not been happening to him.
Then a man stepped forward.
His face was hard, carved like a blade. The sigil of House Celerion—a massive lion—burned faintly on his cloak. He smiled.
"The war does not reward the strong," he said.
"It rewards those who remain standing."
A brutal surge of Essence swept through the amphitheater.
Aerys did not move.
A condensed mithril sword hung at the Proctor's hip.
This was Proctor Kael The alcoholic.
"I didn't tell you everything,the last time" Kael added casually.
"I take the unstable waste. The brutes. The mad ones. Those who burn too fast."
He approached, studying Aerys.
"You smell like fracture."
Aerys said nothing.
"The problem," Kael continued, "is that no one lasts long under my authority. They flare… then burn out."
He snapped his fingers.
Silence.
Then he struck Aerys.
"Return the blow, prince."
Aerys drove his fist into Kael's stomac.
Kael staggered back, laughing, limping slightly.
"Interesting."
He pointed at him.
"so are You coming or not."
"yes i'm coming" Aerys said ,he was chosen tenth Out of a thousand heirs.
Under the stunned gaze of the entire assembly..