**The Imperial School – The Dormitory**
This was absolutely not the building Mero had envisioned when he dreamed of the Imperial School. Before him stood a titanic structure, a veritable miniature city whose scale and complexity defied anything he had imagined. Upon his arrival in the capital, after leaving the city of Mor, the young heir discovered that the institution far surpassed the contours of his wildest hopes.
At the threshold of this new era, Mero found himself facing an edifice whose grandeur seemed to symbolize the very essence of the Empire. An official with a discreet demeanor and a calm voice approached him to inform him of his assignment. "Your assignment will be in the West Wing, in Dormitory Number 13, reserved for distinguished students," he explained with a reassuring coolness. According to his instructions, only a few royal or imperial members had the privilege of residing in these exceptional places, a piece of information that plunged Mero into a mix of perplexity and pride. He thus learned that, although the school was designed to accommodate a multitude of students—a capacity bordering on the unimaginable—the establishment was only half-occupied this year. The vastness and disparities of the Empire, thus revealed from the first moment, hinted at a world far vaster than the one he had always dreamed of.
As soon as he crossed the heavy doors of the West Wing, Mero felt a powerful mix of excitement and apprehension within him. This was no longer just the culmination of a long journey or a simple administrative assignment: it was the opening of a new chapter in his life. The Imperial School was not merely a traditional place of learning. It was a microcosm in its own right, a true crucible where secret alliances were forged, political intrigues were woven, and the future pillars of power were formed. In these corridors with their refined gilding and majestic airs, every stone seemed to tell the glorious history of the Empire, reminding the occupants that they were not just students, but actors destined to write the future of their world.
The official had also insisted on the symbolism of these dormitories reserved for distinguished students. The presence of an extremely small number of royal or imperial members, while the total capacity could reach tens of thousands, highlighted the singularity of the position now assigned to Mero. Each corridor, each room, bore the trace of a tradition of excellence and testified to the Empire's ambition to forge an elite capable of guiding its destiny.
Guided by servants with a proud bearing, Mero was led to his new lodging. The dormitory, located in the West Wing and consisting of twenty apartments spread between the second and tenth floors, aimed to be the epitome of comfort and refinement. From the ground floor, a sense of luxury was immediately apparent. A vast, richly stocked library invited discovery, an elegant lounge offered a refined space for relaxation, while an animated game room and a large dining hall promised countless moments of conviviality. A ballroom, specially arranged for festivities, testified to the splendor of the events organized within the institution. In the attic, the domestic staff ensured impeccable service, guaranteeing that every need would be anticipated with the precision of an imperial protocol.
Mero was then installed in Apartment Number 7. This lodging, which could be described as medium-sized within the overall accommodation offered to distinguished students, lacked neither originality nor comfort. Decorated with care and adorned with objects from his native land, each element reminded him of his origins and childhood memories. The apartment consisted of three spacious bedrooms, each twice as large as the modest room he once occupied in his parents' palace. Two bathrooms, equipped with a hot water system at will—a rare technological innovation even in some great noble houses—completed the comfort of the lodging. A bright living room and an office specially arranged for study added a practical dimension to the ensemble, imbued with prestige. The meticulous attention to detail—the choice of luxurious materials, the harmonious layout of the rooms, and the subtly refined decoration—testified to the high status of the future leaders that the Imperial School aimed to form.
Through the large bay windows, Mero could admire an unobstructed view of the perfectly maintained gardens of the establishment. He even benefited from a balcony, thus offering a haven of peace conducive to meditation in this bustling world. The opulence and refinement of these places left no doubt: they were reserved not for mere students, but for those who, one day, would bear the torch of imperial power.
Dominating the living room was an imposing map of the Empire. This meticulously detailed support represented 63 countries, each delineated with almost geometric precision and adorned with fine annotations tracing the dates of integration of these territories. Mero's attention was immediately captured by the representation of his own kingdom, a familiar fragment amidst this historical mosaic. Before his eyes also unfolded the Republic of Mozanbergh, the Theocracy of Ambrelac, the Kingdom of Fine, and, prominently, the very recent Kingdom of Ambrelune.
But the map was more than just a decorative ornament. It was the living reflection of history, alliances, and conflicts that had shaped the Empire. Each line, each stroke drawn on the relief paper seemed to whisper memories of a tumultuous past and hopes of a grandiose future. Mero, his eyes fixed on this imperial atlas, let his fingers gently brush the surface. This gesture became almost a ritual, a way to reconnect his soul to the roots of his journey. He then recalled with emotion the port of embarkation, the salty taste of the sea wind, the clatter of the sails, and the emotion-filled gaze of those he had left behind.
Each detail of the map evoked a significant stage of his journey. He remembered the first hours spent at sea, where the sea, his first great trial, initiated him into the laws of wind and waves. The sailors, with their rough language and deeply rooted superstitions, passed on ancestral knowledge, while the unleashed storms and solitary nights, punctuated by the creaking of wood and the whistling of wind, brutally reminded him of his own fragility. He then recalled the attack of the Serpent Pirates, a perilous confrontation that could have cost him his life but instead became a decisive moment, cementing his destiny in the vast chessboard of the Empire.
As his finger continued its trace on the map, it slid northward, following the maritime route that had led him to the heart of the Empire. It was at this precise moment that he remembered Mozanb, a city he had only known during this initiatory journey. Mozanb, in full industrial effervescence, presented itself with its chimneys spewing black smoke over a landscape traversed by the dynamism of workshops and the innovation of machines. There, the world of traditions and royal lineages gave way to a universe of commerce and progress. In this urban tumult, Mero had pledged his allegiance to the Emperor, thus officially marking his entry into the great political game of the Empire.
From Mozanb, the memory continued along the rails of the train, that powerful and noisy means of transport that had taken him through the mountains of the Tempelune Range. The journey, punctuated by grandiose landscapes—deep valleys, snow-capped peaks, and legendary summits said to be inhabited by the gods—symbolized much more than a simple geographical displacement. This train journey represented a fundamental transition for Mero. He was no longer just the prince of a small, isolated kingdom but now an actor engaged in the life of a colossal Empire. Each stop in picturesque little towns, each unexpected encounter, and each object collected—whether a compass, a pocket watch, or even a gustatory memory like the comforting warmth of a raclette that had made his nurse smile—testified to the richness and diversity of the world in which he evolved.
Sitting in the relative calm of his apartment, facing the large bay windows overlooking the illuminated capital, he understood that the future of the Empire now rested in the hands of those who, like him, were ready to face the tumults of power with courage and perseverance. In this place where opulence rubbed shoulders with history, where every detail recalled ancestral values while heralding profound changes, Mero felt ready to take up the challenge.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He then murmured, almost to seal his commitment to himself:
"I have crossed unknown seas, trodden mythical lands, faced trials that could have broken me. Today, I am no longer just the prince of a small, isolated kingdom, but a child of the Empire, destined to become one of the builders of its future."
These words resonated in the silence of the night, carried by the determination that illuminated his gaze.
Each moment spent in these corridors, each exchange with his peers, and each challenge encountered was now inscribed in a vast fresco that would surpass the boundaries of his own existence. The Imperial School of Mor was not just a simple educational establishment; it was the theater of ambitions and passions, the place where heritage and innovation intertwined, where history was made in real-time, and where dreams were realized to build the future.
As twilight settled, enveloping the School in a golden and soothing light, Mero rose to contemplate the horizon from the balcony of his apartment. The unobstructed view of the city, the perfectly maintained gardens, and the distant bustle of the capital reminded him that, despite the comfort and splendor of his new abode, the Empire remained a vast terrain of challenges and infinite possibilities. In this nascent light, he felt the irresistible call of his destiny vibrating within him.
The map of the Empire, still hanging in the living room, seemed to invite him to project himself into the future, to trace himself the contours of a world in full mutation. As the shadows of the night gave way to the first light of day, Mero knew, with newfound clarity, that every decision he made in this colossal universe would have repercussions far beyond the walls of the School. His role was not merely to learn but to shape the future, to assert himself in an environment where rivalries, alliances, and passions intertwined to write the great epic of the Empire.
**The Imperial School – The Chamber**
Mero stood before the vast wall map, a meticulously drawn fresco representing the entirety of the Empire and its sixty-three kingdoms. He scrutinized it with a mix of attention and admiration, seeking to grasp every detail. Yet, suddenly, an unexpected element caught his eye: he saw no trace of the island of Mandarine, that of his father, the feared Pirate Lord. A discreet smile formed on his lips when he realized that, despite the Empire's omnipotence, this elusive land escaped its domination.
Mero let out a slight laugh upon noticing the striking absence of the island on the map. How could it be that, in this vast universe of laws and meticulously orchestrated structures, the territory of Mandarine—and by extension that of his father—was not among the official charts? The Empire, which imposed absolute control over entire kingdoms, seemed incapable of mapping this island. For him, it was a delicious irony: despite all the administrative rigor and the precision of cartographic surveys, certain spaces of freedom remained inaccessible, as if they belonged to another order, a world that defied established rules.
His gaze then turned to the ocean represented on the map, scrutinizing the lines and curves of the coasts, searching for where this island should be. But there was nothing. The area was empty, as if the island were merely a myth, a secret that no imperial cartographer dared to inscribe. Perhaps no one had ever managed to locate it precisely, so shrouded was its existence in mystery. This realization deeply amused him, for it symbolized the very freedom to which Mandarine and her father clung. These two figures, indomitable and rebellious, submitted to no rules and belonged to no empire, no matter how vast.
In an almost instinctive gesture, Mero brought his hand to his neck and touched the pendant Mandarine had given him. This small but precious jewel had become more than just an ornament for him: it was a constant reminder of the love and freedom she embodied. Even far from her, he felt her presence resonate within him with every touch of this polished metal. A tic, almost imperceptible, that he began to recognize as a reassuring habit. A smile lit up his face as he murmured to himself, in a barely audible whisper:
"Even the Empire cannot see everything..."
These few words resonated within him as a profound truth. In this world governed by strict laws and hierarchical structures, there still existed spaces of freedom, zones where the Empire's absolute control did not apply. The pirates' island, the refuge of Mandarine and her father, was living proof of this. For Mero, this thought was a source of comfort, a reminder that, despite the omnipresent surveillance and the rigor of institutions, there remained places of insubordination and mystery.
After this moment of intense reflection, Mero turned away from the map to explore his chamber. The apartment assigned to him in the West Wing of Dormitory Number 13 was a perfect blend of luxury, tradition, and innovation, much like the Imperial School itself. Every detail had been thought out with almost surgical precision. The frames he had purchased during his travels, depicting imposing mountains and cliffs battered by the sea, hung above his desk, dominating the room with a silent reminder of the grandiose landscapes he had discovered.
He slowly ran his hand over the polished wood of his desk, feeling the pleasant coolness of the material that, under his fingers, seemed to tell the story of distant places and unforgettable memories. Every object in this room had its place: nothing had been left to chance. The perfection here was too perfect to be purely decorative. Mero knew this well. The luxury bestowed upon him by the Empire came at a hidden price. Each piece of furniture, each accessory, each meticulously arranged detail testified not only to the attention paid to his comfort but also to the Empire's constant and vigilant gaze over his every move.
The servants, impeccable and discreet, bustled silently in the shadows, ensuring that nothing exceeded the established norms. Mero was well aware: these domestics were not there solely to provide impeccable service. They were also the eyes and ears of the Empire, gathering information on what their hosts liked, read, and consumed. Every gesture, every word spoken in the hushed quiet of his apartment was potentially recorded to prevent even the slightest spark of rebellion. The Empire left nothing to chance, for the slightest subversive thought had to be stifled before it could even germinate.
Mero brushed against a sumptuous cushion, opened a delicately carved drawer, and ran his fingers over the luxurious silk of the curtains. Nothing seemed out of place, yet he could sense the invisible presence of constant control. Everything here was too perfect, too orderly, as if individual freedom was carefully framed by ruthless laws. The Empire honored him with this splendor, but it gave nothing without account. The material perfection was a setting within which lurked the vigilance of a power that feared nothing, except perhaps dissent.
As Mero sank into the comfort of a large leather armchair, he let his mind wander, aware of the gilded cage into which he had just been introduced. This opulent luxury was not a prison in the strict sense of the term; it embodied a carefully conditioned freedom. One could enjoy all the comforts of the world, but at every moment, one had to remember that this freedom was granted as long as it did not jeopardize the order established by the Empire.
His gaze then fell upon the paintings adorning the walls of his chamber. One of them depicted a wild and untamed nature, a scene where the elements seemed to unleash in a symphony of colors and chaotic forms. The other, more sober, showed a ship braving a furious storm, struggling against the elements with almost heroic determination. These works, symbols of a world that escaped all absolute control, evoked in him images of Mandarine and her legendary island. They represented the strength and beauty of a freedom that refused to be tamed by the rigid laws of the Empire.
A slight smile formed on Mero's lips as he contemplated these paintings. He understood that, despite all the surveillance and control, there still existed elements, symbols that escaped the ruthless rationality of centralized power. The Empire, with all its might, knew everything, but there were mysteries it could never fully penetrate. Certain things, like the island of Mandarine and the free spirit of the pirate lord, would forever remain beyond the reach of absolute domination.
Mero sketched a smile, conscious that, despite all the surveillance and control, there existed truths that the Empire could never fully grasp. Certain realities, such as the rebellious spirit of those who refused to bow to the rules, remained eternal and mysterious. In an inner murmur, he repeated those few words laden with defiance:
"The Empire knows everything. But there are things it will never understand."
These words, bearers of a promise of freedom, resonated within him like a well-kept secret. In this world shaped by ruthless laws and absolute order, there still remained spaces of insubordination, places where life could not be entirely captured by numbers and registers. Mandarine, her island, the Pirate Lord—all elements of an untamable universe that the Empire could never possess.
---
