The Engine groaned as it slowed, metal protesting metal, until the sound of brakes echoed through Compartment Twelve.
"Everyone got their Slates?" Vinelyn asked, already slipping his own into a shoulder bag.
One by one, all of them opened their packs and checked. Each confirmed it in silence. None of them dared imagine the price of losing a Destiny Slate.
The warnings they'd heard were more than enough.
Weapons were secured. Packs slung over shoulders.
The Engine screeched one final time and came to a complete halt.
A voice crackled through the overhead speakers.
"Please remain in your compartments. Each compartment has been assigned an Exousia Legionaire. You will be guided to the main hall for initiation. Good luck. Salutis Exousia."
Mihel sat down heavily, eyes fixed on the floor.
'Calm down,' he told himself. 'You'll get answers today. The Decurion will be here. Everything will make sense.'
He drew in a slow breath.
Riche glanced toward Vinelyn, who stood by the door, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Why Exousia?" Riche asked. "Why not join the Church of your Magic god?"
Vinelyn turned, hesitating for a moment before answering. " Uh…My parents wanted me to choose for myself. They said I could train here first… and when I'm ready, join them in the Order."
Riche nodded. It made sense.
A sharp knock interrupted them.
A young man stood at the doorway, no older than twenty-five.
He wore a black coat, tightly fastened at the waist, with twin golden stripes running from shoulder to cuff. On the side, the symbol of the Exousia was stitched.
He stood perfectly still for a heartbeat before raising his arm to perform the standard.
"Salutis Exousia. I am Legionaire Vinsent."
His eyes swept over the compartment, taking them in. He gave a small nod. "Good. Light baggage. Follow me."
Without waiting, he turned and stepped down onto the platform.
As the others gathered themselves, Riche paused and looked back at the group.
"Listen," he said quietly. "We're village kids. We'll probably get looked down on. That's fine." His eyes hardened with resolve. "We'll show them who's better."
Mihel smiled faintly. "Look at you, turning into the motivator." He gestured outward. "Alright, everyone. Let's listen to Mister Positive."
Laughter rippled through the group, easing the tightness in their chests.
Together, they jumped down from the Engine and stepped into Avra, anxious for how this place would change them.
The platform itself was a marvel of metal and stone. Grand arches loomed overhead, their curves layered like golden waves. Pillars of dark stone rose from the slate-grey floor, as if grown rather than built.
Ornate lamps clung to them, their shafts bending gracefully into the stone, casting a dim golden glow that softened the harshness of the metal.
For them who were raised in villages, it felt unreal.
They walked slowly, heads tilting upward, eyes tracing every line and curve. For a moment, they forgot the other passengers disembarking behind them, forgot the Engine entirely.
Vinsent walked a little ahead before turning back with a quiet chuckle. "Yes, Avra takes pride in its architecture. Our Builder Destined are considered the finest among the Exousia branches."
He gestured forward. "Come on now. Try not to fall behind."
They followed him into a wide tunnel at the far end of the platform. The air filled with echoes. Voices overlapped.
Excited chatter bounced off the stone as countless prospects were guided along the same path.
Mihel could feel the tunnel slowly climbing up.
After walking for a while, suddenly, the tunnel opened.
Sunlight poured over them.
They stepped into a vast pavilion, bright and alive. Rows of carefully tended plants lined the walkways, their fragrance drifting on a gentle breeze.
The grounds hummed with movement and sound. At its centre stood a great fountain, water spilling endlessly around a bronze statue.
A man stood frozen, sword laid flat against his chest, gaze lifted toward the sky.
The Founder of the Exousia.
A figure glorified in history. The one who dethroned the Last King. But beyond that, the records fell silent.
All around them, the young prospects stood in shared awe as their eyes lifted toward the true heart of Avra.
The Exousia Branch.
The structure rose like a declaration carved into the world itself. A towering central spiral climbed skyward, its peak lost among drifting clouds.
On either side stood two smaller towers, connected by massive walls draped with banners.
The Exousia symbol fluttered in the wind. A golden equal-sided cross set in between a black, shattered crown.
Cannons lined the upper ramparts, silent but present.
As they drew closer, Mihel's gaze caught on the carvings above the great gates. Scenes etched into stone. Battles. Triumphs.
'The Founder's deeds,' he guessed.
Inside, the grandeur only deepened.
They entered a colossal chamber, its ceiling stretching far beyond reach. Carvings spread across the ceiling, like a living tapestry.
Healers extending their hands, life flowing from their palms. Swordsmen standing firm against shadow. Countless Destinies, each given form in stone.
Vinsent slowed and turned to them. "These carvings represent all Destinies," he said. "They are a reminder of our unity. Within the Exousia, Fate does not divide us. We stand together, for the strength of our nation."
The five of them nodded, words unnecessary.
They moved onward into the main hall. A raised platform stood at its far end, already drawing the crowd.
Prospects gathered before it in tense silence. Upon the platform stood a single man.
Vinsent stopped and faced them one last time. "This is where I leave you. The Legatus will speak from here." He saluted. "Perhaps we'll meet again. Until then, Salutis Exousia."
"Salutis Exousia," they replied.
They watched as Vinsent turned and departed, the Exousia emblem on his back fluttering as he vanished through the doors behind them.
They merged with the rest of the prospects, standing shoulder to shoulder as all eyes fixed on the lone figure atop the platform.
He stood with his back turned.
His coat matched the others in colour, deep black, but it carried far more gold. Thick stitching traced its edges. Golden tails flowed from the back, catching the light with every subtle movement.
Authority radiated from the fabric alone.
Nearly eighty prospects filled the hall, quiet conversations everywhere.
Then the man turned.
"SALUUUTIIIIISS… EXOUUUUSSSIIIAAAA!"
The shout slammed into the chamber like a war horn. Silence fell instantly, heavy and absolute.
The man was old, perhaps in his early fifties. Grey hair flared from his temples, framing an angular face carved with discipline and severity. His cold gaze swept across the hall, measuring, weighing.
"I am Legatus Guerd Nidec," he declared. "The Lord of Strength. Governor of the Avra Branch of the Exousia."
A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. The name carried weight. Fear. Reputation.
Guerd raised a hand, and the murmurs died.
"All of you standing here today," he said, voice steady and firm, "will endure pain and suffering beyond your darkest imaginations. Such is the cost of power in this world. Nothing will be given. Nothing will be spared."
He leaned forward slightly.
"You will work beyond your body's limits. Beyond fear. Beyond mercy. For the land we were given."
His voice slammed like a hammer.
"AM I CLEAR?"
"Yes, Legatus Nidec!" the prospects roared back.
A thin smile curved his lips. "Good."
He clapped once.
From both sides of the platform, fourteen figures stepped forward. They wore the same black cloaks, though trimmed with less gold, showing their lesser status in comparison to the Legatus.
"These are the Decurions of the Avra Branch," Guerd continued. "They will mentor your groups and oversee your growth within the Exousia."
Mihel's eyes moved quickly along the line.
Then he froze.
Vidoria Kidt.
'So he wasn't lying,' Mihel thought. 'Then what was he doing in the desert?'
"The groups have already been assigned," Guerd said. "Your Decurion will escort you to your dormitories and ensure your settlement. You are encouraged to bond with your mentors."
He paused, then cleared his throat.
"As I hope you are all aware, there was… an incident during your journey here. An attack."
Mihel noticed it then.
Several Decurions stiffened. One lowered her gaze, grief flickering across her face.
Guerd remained expressionless.
"That incident was a test," he said calmly. "Designed to observe your reactions under extreme conditions. A staged situation."
Riche's breath caught. His hands began to tremble.
"And the results we-"
"So… t-the ones who attacked us," Mihel cut in, voice sharp and loud, "they weren't the R-rajhu tribe?"
A soft sob escaped from the Decurion whose head was lowered. Tears streaked down her face.
The Legatus looked down at Mihel. He inhaled slowly before answering.
Normally interrupting the Legatus lead to severe consequences, but today no one spoke.
"No," Guerd said almost in a whisper. "They were your seniors. It was a training operation for them."
The words sunk like an anchor in their souls.
Riche's legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, face against the cold stone floor.
Silence swallowed the hall.