What about a Praetor, then? How many stories lay in the memories of one of those fabled few?
And the Legates? Are they not civilizations of their own, witnessing the rise and fall of empires?
I wonder. I wonder just how much they know."
- From "The Annals Of Time" by an unnamed historian.
A gray-skinned man with crimson, flowing hair sat on a lounging chair, lying out with a coin in his hands. In front of him, a scarred soldier with medallions over his chest read from a paper with profound respect, “For your exam, I’ve gotten all the approvals. The thing is... It won’t be easy, even for you. Out of a few hundred thousand Judges... nearly a tenth of that apply per year. But...”
“Only a hundred pass per year on average. Right?” Claudius Vermillion, the newly appointed Head of the Noble House, spoke with surety to his elder brother-like figure.
Rasa nodded. He then flipped the paper to show the Judge the results of his investigations from pulling countless strings from his and Elize Sunwin’s connections.
Claudius squinted, his eyes still blurry from overuse, and read the words aloud, “Three total sections. First is the academic and deduction portion. Fucking breeze. Second is leadership via commanding one’s Jury in a fight against another’s. Third is a four-way fight between Judges. The ones who remain after are chosen to be Centurions. Doesn’t seem too difficult.”
A cough emerged from Rasa’s chest as he shook his head. Fury and resentment hid along his face as he delivered the news from the capital, “Word has spread of Praetor Sun’s passing. Legate Ganun vouched for you for some reason, but some snakes will still cross through. I doubt you’ll have an issue with the first section. It’s the others I worry about. Praetor Sun’s enemies will come after you. Discreetly, but they will.”
“Hmm...” Claudius rubbed his chin carefully. His thoughts peered not into the future of his eyes but that of his mind. “I won’t just have to fight other Judges, then is what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Claudius. I bet there will be some hidden figures. Retired Centurions and the like,” the elder Tianshe said with pure transparency.
Silence hung between the two for several minutes as they remained without another word. Claudius’ eyes moved from Rasa toward the distant stars out the window of his new starship. He had commandeered it from one of the fallen Centurions on Gladius. The poor man had no heirs or family.
So, it went to Claudius via Praetor Sun’s will. Once more, he owed the woman his everything.
Nonetheless, those distant stars held an answer. And he had yet one more question.
“What are the chances of a Domain Collapse?” Claudius’ tone held no fear. It was mere preparedness.
“Ninety.”
The response came swiftly and without hesitation. With that, the Judge stared at the coin in his hand. With a flicker of his right eye, he saw the result of the flip.
Heads.
Reusing his Stigmata a moment later after shifting his fingers, he received another answer.
Tails.
Fate is always shifting and changing. All it takes is for the right man to be in the right place. I sacrificed my Domain Collapse. Eventually... I might be able to surpass such a thing, but that’s not any time soon.
Again, his fingertips shifted until he received a surprising answer.
Caught by Eight.
He looked to his right just in time to find the young man appearing from the ether, dusting off his clothes. With a squint, he saw a fragile wobble of reality around the Anomaly.
Already practicing. What happened to him in there before we met up? He won’t tell me. Ever since then... he’s been more... motivated.
Finally, Claudius flipped the coin, no longer searching through reality for the answer. However, he nabbed it out of the air before Eight could surprise him.
“What’s up?” he asked, rolling the metal into his pocket.
The Anomaly twisted his lip into a half-smile. Then, he conjured a blade of ice while cutting into an apple with a grin, “Are you not going to train? Rasa can man the ship.”
Claudius’ suspicions flared instantly, and he considered peering into fate for the reason. However, he stopped himself. He already relied on it far too much.
Instead, he stood to meet the Cryo’s gaze, “Why are you asking? This isn’t like you, Mr. Loner.”
With a roll of his eyes and a flick of the dagger on his wrist, Eight groaned, “Fine. You caught me. Rosa begged me to ask you. They are... freaking out. I know we’re heading toward Romul, but Talander and Yue can’t sit still. Rosa is damn near a breakdown. They hated how weak they were. How much they relied on you.”
Claudius nodded in understanding. He knew exactly how they felt. And yet... as he saw Eight, he noticed something hidden within the mysterious Anomaly.
“What about you?” he pressed while raising an open palm.
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Eight’s gaze hardened with creased brows. For a moment, Claudius thought the teen would curse him out or merely vanish. But he didn’t.
His gaze softened, and he turned toward the shifting stars as they flew through space between jumps. With hatred, Eight’s eyes forced Rasa to step out of the room. The Centurion didn’t want to get between Claudius and the Judge’s strongest Juror.
Only then, in total isolation, did the Anomaly bear his heart to the man he thought to be a role model, “I... I am weak. Too weak. Could probably kill you, but that’s not enough.”
Claudius pursed his lips, utterly ignoring the cockiness of such a statement. With a sigh, he motioned for Eight to follow him, treading into an open hallway, “How strong must you be? I’d wager we could each kill the average Anathema. Is that not enough for you?”
“No.”
In a mere instant, Eight refused to be so mediocre. The things he had seen. The memories he had lived. The time he had endured. It all forbade him from being so... ordinary.
His very blood screamed to be unstoppable. And that was exactly what Claudius wanted. What he needed.
“I want to be... unstoppable. I don’t want to have anyone tell me what to do... well, except you...” Eight’s words contradicted Claudius’ understanding.
The two strode through the starship, longing to have Heron’s Wing again. Nonetheless, they soon stood in a wide-training room, meant for Seafarers to fight against one another.
Claudius turned to face his second and questioned, “What about me? Why am I different? I have someone who wants to be a complete rebel.”
Claudius had to be careful with his teammates, especially Eight. The boy may have been his greatest hope for someone with a Domain Collapse, but he couldn’t have a backstabber.
A laugh emerged from the Anomaly as his fists clenched in front of his body. He stared at the creases with a growing enthusiasm, “You’re different. You’re a good man. Never met one of those before. Not really. Most are only out for themselves, and even if you make it seem like that sometimes, I know you’re not. Honestly... it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long with such a heart of gold...” Eight’s voice trailed off for a moment before returning. “And only a complete rebel? I see you’ve changed.”
Claudius shook his head and stepped into the arena. Hydro flowed across his body as he tapped the communicator in his hands. A message went out to the other three in his Jury.
Then, he struck.
Eight evaporated from the air while throwing knives into the air, so Claudius twisted around in defense. But the boy had been ceaselessly practicing since he ate that fruit. Instead of a sneak attack from behind, one of the weapons warbled before an invisible dagger slid against the Judge’s throat as the Anomaly whispered, “See? I wasn’t boasting.”
In the next moment, he reappeared beside Claudius where the shimmering blade was, flipping his dagger of ice over his hand. With shock, the red-haired Tianshe brought a hand to his neck as his eye began to run red.
They both stared at the other once more.
“Learned that from Rejo?” Claudius asked with a laugh.
“Yeah. Dumbass has some damn good moves. Doesn’t hurt to use them,” Eight added.
With such a notion, Claudius nodded and pursed his lips.
Makes sense. The Araki was truly unusual. Maybe... Just maybe.
*****************************
Six hours later, Claudius sat at a dinner table across from his ‘elder brother’ and stared aimlessly at his food. His long red hair dangled just above the meal, taunting his thoughts.
The gash angled across his brow, and the black eye on his right side had no impact on his mood. In fact, those were the things that egged him onward and forward. He needed to become stronger.
So much stronger.
The Judge’s hands tightened on his utensils, bending them slightly as Rasa sighed. The older man set down his knife and paused his own meal. Then he said, “Your training went well. I saw improvement from your whole Jury in just a few hours. Keep it up.”
Claudius nodded without truly listening. He busied himself with ways to grasp greater power. But he just couldn’t. He was doing all he could.
Strength takes years to build. Most Centurions held the Lightsea for two or three decades in action before their promotion. I’m not even at a fraction of that. So little time...
Again, his head shook as he grew defeated, wishing he knew a way forward. His eyes could see much, not now as they were blurred from practice, but he could peer into reality while healthy. Such only emboldened his frustrations.
Despite the magnitude of his talent and his impartments... He was still losing to the human.
“Claudius!” Rasa’s stern voice pulled the Judge’s hand from his steak that had slipped into it. The Centurion glared at Claudius as his voice dropped to a commanding tone. “What has changed? Are you unimpressed with your progress? Is it not enough to grow every day?”
Claudius opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words at first. Only after biting his lip and cleaning his hand with a towel did he manage to answer, “No, I’m not, not after seeing Dante. From a Tideless bastard to keeping up with me against such a monstrosity... All in just a few months.”
At the grievances shared, Rasa’s eyes glowed with understanding. He knew what Claudius felt. What he had misunderstood.
“Let me ask you something. Is there anything special about this human’s abilities? His Tide? His Stigmata? His body?” Rasa asked with interest, feigning eating a bite of meat.
Claudius shook his head with a moment of hesitance, “Not really. His Tide is the same as mine. Weaker, even. Not enhanced by chanting either. His Stigmata... It’s weird but not anomalous, like the Eight's or mine. As for his physique... He’s durable, but with my training and Sea Arts, I’d say we’re close to equal.”
A long, slow nod originated from Rasa’s seat. The Centurion wiped his mouth and stood, scratching his chair against the metallic floor. Then, he strode around the table and brought his dishes to the sink.
His partner waited in anxious annoyance as Rasa took nearly a full minute to reply, only doing so once he had his back against the counter of their kitchen, “Claudius...”
The name trailed while Rasa found what he wanted to emphasize, “You have the talent. All of you do. I’ve never seen two groups of such... incredible figures. You, Rosa, and Eight are amazing. Talander and Yue have potential, too. Dante’s crew is similar, with its standouts, namely Rejo, Joan, and Lucius, in my eyes. But what about the man himself? Nothing special? What does that mean?”
Claudius moved to speak, to answer, but Rasa continued before he could, “Obsession. Drive. Will. Those will beat talent. Vicar does not stand upon the Shattered Peak because he was... talented. Or chosen. Or some other bullshit reason someone puts in their head,” the Tianshe walked forward, extending his forearm toward his ‘student’ that he now had to take care of.
The Judge’s head shifted to dodge, but Rasa’s hand was too quick as it pressed against his forehead with one firm finger.
“The talented die when they realize they didn’t take enough gambles. The obsessed die when they meet an obsessed talent. Just training won’t be enough. If you wanted to merely be a Praetor, perhaps you could get away with that in a few years. Decade, at most,” Rasa furrowed his brows as he spoke, letting out a grieving sigh. “But I know you. You will not settle for anything.”
Again, Claudius attempted to defend himself, but the Centurion refused, “I will not always be here for you. Praetor Sun is gone. If you truly, truly are the man I know you to be, you need to step up. That human. How often do you think he puts his life on the line? Dances that tightrope of destruction? Not just of himself but his crew. His reputation? His everything?”
“I fought through the Inferose! What else could that be but—”
Claudius couldn’t hold it in any longer and shouted in his defense, but Rasa clamped a hand around his shoulder. The man’s hydraulic muscles from his Stigmata shut the Judge up in a moment.
“You went in prepared. Ready. With droves of backup and manpower, a plan, and a rough understanding of an MD. A damn Praetor and squad of top-notch Centurions. Dante?” Rasa laughed, recalling the report on the human. “He came in surrounded by enemies, assured he would be alone when shit hit the fan. All on his fucking own. That is what makes you strong. Fast and dirty. Always has been the case.”
The unsaid passed between them as the two shared a meaningful look. Claudius knew why others wouldn’t take such a path.
It was risky. Most died merely on the first step, let alone how far someone like Dante had scrambled. The blood on his fingernails alone could dye an estate. Nevertheless, Claudius saw one thing within Rasa’s gaze.
“You would survive.”
He didn’t say it. He couldn’t. The Centurion couldn’t push the young man he saw as a brother into the waiting maw of darkness. Pain twisted in his heart even now, with the sheer hint of it.
But Claudius understood.
Praetor Sun was gone. One day, so would Rasa fade. That was how the galaxy was. People came and went. Only the Monstrous Legate and the Pointed Legate remained fixed through the centuries.
Nevertheless, Claudius didn’t want to lose anyone else. He hadn’t even got to say goodbye. A fire sparked in his heart, burning like a glorious inferno. It devoured the darkness of the man’s chest. With each passing second, it grew and grew.
Rasa’s frown shifted into a soft, sad smile as he saw the change.
“What do I have to do, then? How do I keep up? How do I... surpass them all?” Claudius’ voice trembled as he begged his elder. He wanted this. No, he needed this to happen. He absolutely had to find the path forward.
Without looking at him, Rasa released his grip and turned to face Claudius’ communicator that had been left on the countertop.
“You train until you can no longer stand. You fight until you can no longer move. You bleed until you are out of blood. When a challenge arrives, you stand to meet it with all of your strength, no matter how absurd or risky. There will be no more half-measures. No more maybes. Only sureties. It’s you against you out there.”
Silence hung in the air for over a minute as Claudius digested Rasa’s words. He mulled over each piece before his mind flickered over the coming exam he would be taking. With the enemies that would come after him for revenge, he needed to be stronger than the others who would pass.
He needed to have an advantage that no one could ever predict. The Judge had an idea of what, too. Without a moment of hesitation, he swiped the communicator from the counter and strode toward Eight’s room.
There were plans to be made.
Rasa watched as Claudius left the room, dialing Dante through their shared communicator. The Judge called for Rejo, wanting to use the Araki’s Domain Collapse to brute-force any obstacles in the exam. Such a move risked getting Claudius kicked out or killed for using a fugitive.
However, he had taken the Centurion’s advice to heart. Rasa could hear the hellfire in his voice from here. The young man had changed. He had grown. He had...
You were right, mother. Your wings had sheltered him far too much. But I never thought you’d go this far...
I... I will watch him for you. No matter how his shadow grows to encompass me, I will protect him. If it were any other person... I would fear the monster we have created.
Gaius’ grandson, though? It is only a matter of time before we welcome a Legate into our little family.