The next day, Mero woke up before the first light of dawn pierced the thick fog that enveloped the capital city of Mor. The night had been short, interrupted by restless dreams where the waves of his native kingdom of Sel mingled with the austere silhouettes of the Tempelune mountains. Today, he had to meet the director of the Imperial School, a man whose intimidating reputation—brother of the emperor, military strategist, and guardian of the imperial order—weighed heavily on his mind. He left his bed with a mix of determination and apprehension, his bare feet brushing against the cold wooden floor of his apartment, a stark contrast to the warm tiles of his island palace.
The room was still in semi-darkness, disturbed only by the flickering light of a candle he had left burning too long. The walls, adorned with sober tapestries offered by the school, seemed to close in on him, accentuating the solitude of this crucial morning. He approached a small dresser where his clothes lay, carefully folded the night before by a discreet servant. He chose a formal outfit, almost solemn: a tunic of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver threads forming wave patterns, a subtle tribute to Sel, and a thick woolen cape of deep gray to face the biting cold of the imperial winter. Each gesture was methodical, a ritual to soothe his mind. In front of a mirror tarnished by time, he adjusted his collar with care, his fingers trembling slightly under the growing pressure. The reflection of a young prince with still youthful features, but marked by a newfound gravity, stared back at him.
Outside, the capital was barely awakening. The cobblestone streets, lined with houses with steep roofs covered in snow, were silent except for the distant clatter of a morning horse's hooves or the creaking of the first merchants' carts. A thick fog hovered over the frozen river, turning the city's outlines into a blurry mosaic of gray and white. The spires of the imperial towers, standing like sentinels, pierced this cottony sea, their austere silhouettes reminding Mero of the immense power that reigned here. The icy air stung his cheeks as he crossed the school courtyard, his boots crunching on the packed snow, his breath forming small clouds in front of him. Each step toward the administrative building intensified his anxiety, a tight knot forming in his chest.
The wait in the director's hall was an ordeal in itself. Mero settled into a red velvet armchair, worn by decades of use, its back adorned with half-erased floral carvings. The room, vast and imposing, seemed designed to impress—or intimidate. Tall windows with frosted panes let in a pale light, casting moving shadows on the walls adorned with glorious scenes: epic battles, coronations, and ancient maps of the Empire of Mor stretching across the continent of Kaz. A massive clock, suspended above an unlit fireplace, ticked away the minutes with exasperating slowness, each tick-tock echoing like a reminder of his growing impatience. The silence was almost oppressive, barely disturbed by the intermittent scratching of a quill in a nearby office.
Mero crossed and uncrossed his legs, his hands gripping the armrests, his thoughts whirling. What could the director want? Was it a reward for his efforts in the reconstruction after the fire that had ravaged a third of the city? Or a warning? He had heard whispers in the school corridors—jealous students, professors intrigued by this prince who was making his mark so quickly. His mind wandered to Sel, its golden beaches and turquoise waters, a world so distant it seemed to belong to another life. Here, in the cold of Mor, everything was different: the stakes, the gazes, the silences.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door opened with a discreet creak. A majordomo appeared, dressed in imperial livery of black and gold, his polished buttons glinting faintly in the dim light. He bowed with mechanical grace, his face impassive. "His Excellency is waiting for you, Your Highness," he murmured, his voice a soft echo in the deserted hall. Mero stood up, took a deep breath to calm the erratic beating of his heart, and stepped through the doorway, his back straight despite the tension stiffening his shoulders.
The director's office was a sanctuary of power and knowledge, a striking contrast to the austerity of the hall. The winter light, filtered through tall arched windows with leaded panes, bathed the room in a cold clarity, illuminating imposing bookshelves that rose to the vaulted ceiling. Rows of ancient volumes, bound in dark leather and gilded with gold, stood in perfect order, their cursive titles testifying to centuries of imperial knowledge. On the floor, a thick carpet with geometric patterns muffled his steps, while a subtle scent of wax and parchment hung in the air. At the center stood a massive desk of dark oak, polished by years of use, its corners adorned with delicate carvings of imperial eagles.
Behind this desk stood the director, brother of the emperor and master of the school. He was an elderly man with a dignified and distinguished bearing, dressed in a deep blue uniform, enhanced with gold braids and military decorations that glinted faintly in the light. His face, marked by deep wrinkles and inflexible discipline, remained impassive, but his eyes—a piercing steel gray—seemed to probe Mero's soul with an almost palpable intensity. His hair, a silvery white, was neatly combed back, accentuating the severity of his features.
With a sober gesture of his hand, he invited Mero to sit in a chair with a rigid back, facing the desk. "Prince of Sel," he began, his voice calm but charged with natural authority, "thank you for coming so early. I hope the wait was not too painful." He paused, clasping his hands on the desk, his fingers adorned with a signet ring bearing the imperial seal. "I will get straight to the point. There are several matters I wish to discuss with you."
Mero felt his pulse quicken, his fingers tightening slightly on the armrests of the chair.
"First of all, your initiatives in the reconstruction of the city have attracted attention," the director continued, inclining his head slightly in a discreet sign of recognition. "You have shown remarkable ambition and generosity. The Empire acknowledges your commitment."
For a moment, Mero relaxed, a sigh of relief easing the tension in his shoulders. Memories of those months spent organizing relief after the fire—the streets blackened by soot, the cries of the victims, the efforts to rebuild—flashed through his mind. But the director's gaze sharpened, dispelling this fleeting respite.
"However... it has also drawn less benevolent attention." Mero frowned, a shadow of worry clouding his relief. "Some believe you are taking too many initiatives. That your influence is growing too quickly. This has not gone unnoticed at court."
The director leaned slightly forward, his piercing gaze cutting through Mero like a blade. "So, I have a question for you, Prince of Sel. What is your true ambition?"
Mero took a measured breath, weighing his words before responding. The question echoed in the room, heavy with implications, and he knew his answer would shape the opinion of this powerful man. "Sir, I have several ambitions," he began, his voice firm despite a slight inner tremor. "One for the Empire, one for my family, and one for myself. For the Empire, I fervently wish for strengthened internal stability—a united, prosperous nation capable of overcoming its challenges. For my family and my kingdom, located on the other side of the world in the Green Ocean, I want to remind the imperial court that we are reliable allies, even if our distance has sometimes relegated us to the shadows. As for myself, my situation is more complex. You know that I am engaged to the daughter of the Pirate Lord. My wish is for these two nations—the Empire and the pirate forces—to cooperate in peace. The Empire would benefit from the maritime skills and networks of the Pirate Lord, and he would gain imperial legitimacy. My ambition is to increase my influence here at court to realize this strategy and extend it beyond the imperial borders, in the common interest."
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The director observed him in silence, his eyes scrutinizing every word as if searching for a flaw or hesitation. The room seemed to hold its breath, the ticking of the wall clock faintly resonating in the background. Then, a fleeting smile—barely a hint—touched his lips, a rare crack in his mask of impassivity. "You have courage, Prince of Sel," he said, his voice tinged with approval. "Few dare to present such an audacious vision at such a young age."
He rose with measured grace and walked slowly to the window, his arms crossed behind his back. Outside, the fog thickened, enveloping the city's rooftops in an opaque veil that seemed to cut Mor off from the rest of the world. "The Empire undeniably needs strong allies," he continued, his gaze lost in this spectral landscape. "But it is wary of the ambitious, especially those born outside the continent. You are walking a tightrope, Prince of Sel, and one misstep could compromise everything—for you, for your family, for your projects."
He turned abruptly, his eyes even sharper, as if trying to pierce Mero's thoughts. "Yet, you have demonstrated a keen understanding of imperial politics. Your initiatives are thoughtful, your investments precise, and your connection to the Pirate Lord's daughter fits into a strategic logic. You leave nothing to chance."
He returned to his seat, interlacing his fingers in front of him, his hands resting on a neat stack of parchments. "You are ambitious and know that all your actions will be scrutinized and analyzed." His voice grew heavier, each word falling like a stone in still water. "Some nobles already see you as a disruptive element. You have won the ear of the merchants with your spice counters, the support of modest families with your reconstruction efforts, and now growing influence at court. Such a rapid rise attracts as many allies as enemies."
He leaned slightly forward, fixing Mero with an intensity that made him shiver despite himself. "You have a choice, Prince of Sel. To advance cautiously, consolidating your gains without stirring the waters too much, or to accelerate, risking intrigues against you. Which path will you choose?"
Mero took a moment to gather his thoughts, aware that every word would count. The room, with its history-laden walls and heavy atmosphere, seemed to await his response. "Sir," he began, his voice steady but vibrant with conviction, "I thank you for your advice and insight. Your experience is a beacon for someone like me, navigating the troubled waters of imperial politics. I understand the risks associated with any ambition, and my deepest wish is to serve the Empire with loyalty. Its stability is my priority, and I am ready to dedicate myself fully to it. The reconstruction of the city is only a first step, proof of my willingness to contribute to the building of the Empire. For my family and my kingdom, I want to remind the court that we are faithful allies, despite our distance and past neglect. As for myself, my union with the Pirate Lord's daughter is as much a matter of the heart as a strategic opportunity. I believe in peaceful cooperation between the Empire and its forces for their mutual benefit—an alliance that would strengthen our fleets and our trade. My ambition is to increase my influence here to achieve this while projecting it beyond the borders, in the common interest. I know that my actions attract attention, friendly or hostile. I choose to advance with caution, consolidating my positions without disturbing the order too much while seizing opportunities to accelerate our common progress. My goal is to serve the Empire effectively, balancing ambition and restraint. Thank you again for your guidance. Your advice is precious, and I intend to put it at the service of the Empire."
The director listened with scrupulous attention, his face remaining impassive until a discreet smile lit up his severe features. "You have the makings of a diplomat, Prince of Sel," he said, a note of approval in his voice. "Your words are measured, your intentions clear. This will open doors for you in high circles."
He joined his hands on his desk, his fingers brushing against the imperial ring that gleamed on his index finger. "Your dedication is noted and appreciated. Few young people grasp the balance between prudence and ambition so well. You opt for the path of calculation, the one that solidifies. A wise choice." His voice grew more serious, an underlying warning piercing his calm tone. "But in this Empire, loyalty is not enough. It must be recognized. Some will always see you as an outsider prince seeking to impose himself, an heir of Sel with overly vast ambitions. Only time and concrete actions will erase these suspicions."
He stood up, walking around his desk with a slow and deliberate gait, his boots resonating softly on the carpet. "Your spice counters and your help in the reconstruction are tangible proof of your value," he continued, stopping near a bookshelf to brush a volume with his fingertips. "But to truly anchor yourself, you need an official role, a position within the imperial structure. This would show that you serve out of duty, not just personal interest. A charge, even a modest one, could protect you from intrigues and establish your reputation durably."
He stopped, crossing his arms, his gaze scrutinizing Mero as if to gauge his reaction. "Think about it, Prince of Sel. You are at a crossroads. The Empire welcomes you... or close its doors to you at the slightest misstep. Do you already have a position in mind?"
Mero took a breath, his thoughts organizing with new clarity. "Sir," he replied, his voice assured despite the gravity of the moment, "thank you for your wisdom and support. Accepting an imperial charge is a relevant idea—it would be an honor and an opportunity to serve more directly. I am considering a role where my diplomatic and economic skills would be useful, perhaps on the Imperial Trade Council or as a Special Ambassador for external relations. These positions would allow me to strengthen the stability and alliances of the Empire while forging ties with our partners beyond the seas. My rapid rise may arouse jealousy, I know. An official function would show that my ambition serves the Empire, not just myself, and protect me from intrigues. Thank you again for your advice. I am ready to fully invest myself in a role that benefits the Empire."
The director sketched a satisfied smile, his eyes narrowing in contained approval. "You grasp the stakes, Prince of Sel," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Your maturity surpasses your age—a rare asset." He approached a corner cabinet, pulled open a drawer with a discreet click, and leafed through some documents, his fingers skimming the parchments with practiced precision. "The Imperial Trade Council is strategic but requires convincing influential skeptics," he explained, looking up at Mero. "A position as Special Ambassador would be shrewd but risks positioning you as a rival in the eyes of certain families. You need a role free from constraints. The position of Assistant to the Representative of Foreign Affairs for external kingdoms could be ideal. It combines diplomacy and external relations without too much involvement in internal affairs, while offering a broad field of action."
He placed his hands on the desk, leaning slightly toward Mero. "This position would allow you to forge ties with the Empire's allies and act on sensitive terrains, such as your projects with the Pirate Lord," he continued, his voice gaining intensity. "It would serve the Empire while consolidating your place. I can support your nomination to the authorities, but you will be under surveillance. Prudence and discernment will be your best allies. What do you think?"
Mero nodded, a solid conviction anchoring itself in his mind. "The position of Assistant to the Representative of Foreign Affairs for external kingdoms seems the most judicious," he replied, his tone thoughtful but decisive.
The director nodded slowly, a smile of approval lighting up his severe face. "A wise choice, Prince of Sel," he said, his voice resonating with measured satisfaction. "This role will give you negotiating power and the opportunity to strengthen ties with neighboring kingdoms while acting as a mediator for the Empire. It aligns with your ambitions without plunging you into internal intrigues—an ideal position for a man in your situation." He leaned slightly forward, his piercing gaze meeting Mero's. "I will initiate the procedures for your nomination. But this position is not trivial. Rivals will watch for your weaknesses. You must serve the Empire while cultivating personal alliances—a delicate balance, but not beyond your reach."
His voice softened, taking on an almost paternal tone. "You have proven your abilities so far. I am certain you will choose your steps with care." He moved toward the door, his boots clicking softly on the carpet. "I will inform the authorities to expedite matters," he added, his hand on the doorknob. "Prepare to assume this charge quickly." The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, leaving Mero alone in the oppressive silence of the office.
The return journey was a blur, his mechanical steps guiding him through the crowded school corridors. But he barely noticed, his mind occupied by the conversation that had just concluded. When he crossed the threshold of his lodging, the silence enveloped him like an old friend, a refuge after the intensity of that encounter.
