Chirp... chirp...
The cries of dusk birds echoed across a vast, barren plain. Their shadows circled above, sweeping low over dusty terrain scorched golden-red under the setting sun. The land stretched endlessly, cracked and dry like ancient parchment, save for one notable elevation — a lone hill rising gently amidst the desolation.
The hill was not steep, but tall enough to command a panoramic view of the surrounding lands. A spiral dirt path wound along its side, wide enough for carts and riders to ascend with ease. Near the hill's summit, the dry earth gave way to patches of stubborn green vegetation, clinging to life around scattered rocks. The top itself was a wide, flat expanse — roughly 100 meters across.
At its center lay a still pond, around 30 meters wide, filled with water clear enough to reflect the fire-streaked sky. Three sides of the pond were enclosed by enormous rocks, some reaching nearly 10 meters high, forming a natural crescent barrier. These rocks bordered the edge of the hill on three sides. The remaining space, particularly near the road-facing side, opened into a broad, flat area lined with coarse grass, scattered boulders, and signs of newly cleared land.
Two figures sat by the pond, basking in the glowing remnants of the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon.
One was a young boy, barely fourteen, dressed in a loose white robe embroidered with fine golden threads forming rune-like patterns. His features bore the elegance of nobility: snow-pale skin, a straight nose, and vivid scarlet eyes that shimmered like rubies in firelight. His dark brown hair fell gently over his forehead, brushing against long lashes.
Beside him sat a girl of similar age, graceful and poised. She wore a short, laced gown in pastel pink hues that complemented her slim figure. Her long legs extended effortlessly from beneath the hem, and her black hair, tied with a delicate silver pin shaped like a lotus, cascaded over her shoulder in a silky wave. Her skin was like untouched snow — pale, smooth, unmarred.
The silence between them was comfortable yet heavy, as though filled with unspoken words. The sky burned with color above, and the plains seemed frozen in time. The boy turned to face her and leaned in.
Their lips met — soft, warm, and fleeting.
They held each other for a few precious heartbeats before parting.
"...Was this necessary?" he asked softly, his voice barely louder than the rustle of the grass.
His expression cracked, sorrow leaking from eyes that still clung to hope.
The girl froze, her lips trembling, but before she could speak, his vision began to waver.
Blurred figures—two silhouettes cloaked in shadows—appeared behind her.
Crack—
Crack—
The last thing he heard was the dull snap of bone.
And then — darkness.
___ ___ ___
tap
tap
Each step echoed like a drumbeat in the sterile corridor.
A broad-shouldered man clad in a pristine white military uniform walked with deliberate confidence across a polished white floor. Silver epaulets adorned his shoulders, glinting beneath cold lights. His face was sharp, weathered, and cold — a man who had seen too many wars and survived each one with discipline carved into his bones.
To his sides, rows of men and women stood at attention. Some wore ceremonial armor, others lab coats, but all bowed subtly as he passed.
At the corridor's end, a set of colossal double doors opened with a soft shhhhhhhk, revealing a massive chamber with a raised platform.
Below the platform, a sea of children — boys and girls aged 10 to 14 — stood in perfect formation. Every one of them wore a black uniform, plain but tight-fitted, clearly designed for movement. Their gazes were sharp, their postures straight. Among them, the silence was absolute, military discipline carved into their young frames.
The man stepped onto the platform. Silence swept through the hall like a blade.
He scanned the crowd. Not with warmth, but with calculation.
"Feel Proud!" he said finally. His voice was deep, clear, and unwavering. It echoed across the walls like a command from heaven.
"You stand among the thousand chosen from millions of candidates. You are the elite — the brightest, the strongest, the most adaptive. Willed strong enough to walk the path few dare to tread."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like stones in still water.
"From this moment on, you will walk the final stretch on the path to become the next Emperor of the Ananta Empire."
Murmurs threatened to break through disciplined ranks, but training held firm. Eyes remained forward, though ambition flickered behind young gazes.
"...But only if you survive."
The man allowed a brief, predatory smirk to tug at his lips.
"The Emperor's Path is one of death and dominion. Each step forward is bought with blood. For your first trial, you will each be transported to a randomly selected planet beyond the Empire's immediate reach. A wild, untamed world where the strong devour the weak without mercy."
His voice carried the weight of absolute authority as he continued, "You are between 10 and 14 years old. You either have no cultivation... or have willingly abandoned it for this chance. From millions, only you thousand passed the preliminary trials. Your mission is simple in concept, brutal in execution: conquer your assigned planet within thirty years. Or perish in the attempt."
The children stood motionless, but tension radiated through their ranks like heat from forge-fire.
"Each of you will be given three things. And only three."
He raised a gloved hand, fingers outstretched like claws.
"First — a system created by the Emperor himself. A guide that will assess your progress, offer rewards, and ensure you understand the true scope of your mission."
"Second — a single skill, chosen by your own judgment. This will be your foundation, your first step toward power that can reshape worlds."
"And third — an assistant. A companion whose loyalty will be tested alongside your own survival."
He scanned the silent room again, his gaze lingering on faces that would soon be scattered across hostile worlds.
"Remember, your choices are permanent. Choose with the wisdom of those who understand that failure means not just death, but the kind of death that leaves no mark upon history. They will define not just your survival, but your capacity to rule."
"Each of you wears a numbered tag. Proceed to the building before you. Find the room that matches your number. Inside, you will choose your identity. Your name. Your vow. Leave behind your past. You are no longer sons, daughters, or disciples of whatever minor worlds birthed you. You belong to the Empire now. An emperor's path is carved in blood and sacrifice. And your first sacrifice on this path will be yourself—everything you were dies today."
His voice rose to fill every corner of the vast chamber.
"From this moment on, the Empire is your purpose. The Empire's glory is your glory. The Empire's success is your success. The Empire's survival is your survival."
He extended his arm toward the star-filled darkness visible through the chamber's crystal ceiling.
"FOR GLORY!"
"FOR EMPIRE!!"
"FOR GLORY!! FOR EMPIRE!!" the crowd echoed in thunderous unison, their young voices carrying the weight of oaths that would bind them beyond death.
He lowered his arm and stepped away, his duty complete.
"Proceed."
Among the crowd, a boy clutched a circular tag in his hand, its metal surface warm from his grip.
C-786
His footsteps were steady as he approached a gleaming white building that towered above them like a monument to imperial ambition. Towering and stark, it loomed over him like a judge preparing to render final verdict. The surface seemed to drink in light and reflect it back transformed, suggesting technologies beyond current understanding.
He found his door and paused, hand resting on the handle.
'So this is where it begins... where the boy I was dies, and something else is born.'
The thought carried no fear, only cold calculation. He had willingly walked this path, understanding that survival required the death of weakness.
He pushed the door open.
A brilliant flash engulfed his vision, white-hot and absolute.