The examination hall loomed before them.
A monolithic structure, its sleek obsidian surface reflecting nothing, devouring the light around it. Hexagonal in shape, it had no visible windows, no ornamentation—only a single entrance, a massive door embedded seamlessly into the black stone.
It stood like an executioner's block, unmoving, eternal.
And as the examinees approached, the weight of it pressed down on them—not just the sheer physicality of the structure, but the knowledge of what it represented.
This was where their futures would be decided.
Where the Imperium would measure their worth.
Where those deemed insufficient would be discarded.
Gaius walked in silence, his gaze fixed forward. Around him, the other examinees were less composed—some walked with stiff postures, their breaths controlled but forced. Others whispered among themselves, nervous, uncertain.
Even the nobles, for all their arrogance, were not untouched by the gravity of this moment.
Because even they were not exempt from judgment.
The air was thick with unspoken tension, broken only by the measured footsteps of the Operators who guided them. The elite aerial legionnaires moved with absolute precision, their dark uniforms pristine, their presence cold and efficient.
No words were spoken.
There was nothing to say.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the doors slid open without a sound.
And they stepped into the unknown.
Inside, the world shifted.
The corridor was vast, stretching endlessly in either direction, illuminated by thin veins of cold blue light running along the seamless black walls. The air was sterile, too perfect, the temperature calibrated to an exact degree.
Gaius walked forward, the other examinees moving in silent formation beside him.
Then, they entered the central hall.
It was massive—an open chamber of pure, unbroken obsidian, so large that their footsteps did not echo.
In the center, a massive holographic display shimmered to life, the emblem of the Imperium burning into existence.
A synthetic voice followed, deep and mechanical, devoid of emotion.
"Examinees. You will now be processed."
At those words, the walls shifted.
Dozens of openings appeared, leading into individual testing chambers.
Gaius barely had time to process before a drone descended from above, scanning him with a thin beam of blue light.
"Subject 2779-G7-113. Assigned chamber: 47-A."
A directive. An order.
He obeyed.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward, entering the chamber that had been prepared for him.
The door sealed shut behind him with an airtight hiss.
Gaius stood in the center of the perfectly symmetrical room, the walls smooth and black, the only source of light a soft glow emanating from the ceiling.
There was no furniture. No screens. Nothing but silence.
Then—
The air shifted.
A soft chime echoed through the chamber.
And the testing began.
The first thing they took was his blood.
A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, a needle sliding into his vein with surgical precision. There was no pain—only the sensation of something being extracted.
On the opposite wall, a holographic display flickered to life, showing a live breakdown of his genetic structure.
Lines of golden code scrolled at impossible speeds, displaying raw data that even he couldn't fully decipher.
"Analyzing subject's genome... evaluating hereditary bloodline markers... processing deviations and mutations..."
He watched as the screen mapped his very existence, the Imperium reducing him to numbers and calculations.
They were looking for something.
Some metric, some undeniable proof of his potential.
Or his lack of it.
Minutes passed. Then—
"Bloodline potential—undetermined."
Anomalous.
Unclassified.
Gaius narrowed his eyes.
He had expected something.
Either confirmation that his lineage was worth something, or the opposite—proof that he was nothing more than another soldier-born orphan with no true potential.
Instead, he was somewhere in between.
And in the Imperium, uncertainty was dangerous.
The machine did not elaborate.
The test simply moved on.
Next came the neurological scans.
A thin metal frame lowered over his head, cold against his skin. A series of pulsing lights flickered across his vision, and suddenly—
His mind was not his own.
Memories surged.
Childhood. Training. The battlefield. The blood.
He felt every moment with perfect clarity, his thoughts stripped bare, dissected, analyzed at speeds beyond human comprehension.
The Imperium was testing more than his intelligence.
They were measuring his mind itself.
How he processed information. How he recalled, reacted, adapted.
How he thought.
The machine pressed deeper.
His left hemisphere—logical, structured, calculating.
His right hemisphere—intuitive, instinctive, creative.
Both were tested. Pushed to their limits.
Time became meaningless.
All that existed was thought, response, adaptation.
Then—
The lights faded.
Gaius exhaled sharply, his body slick with sweat.
The results flashed across the screen.
"Neural plasticity—high.
Memory recall—above standard deviation.
Cognitive adaptability—measured at 94th percentile."
He stared at the numbers.
Not exceptional.
But not insignificant.
The Imperium was not simply testing for raw intelligence.
They were looking for potential.
And so far—
He was passing.
Then came the physique test.
The chamber shifted.
The floor beneath him sank, revealing a circular combat platform, its surface lined with shifting energy fields.
The voice returned.
"Engaging biometric evaluation."
Without warning, a solid construct emerged from the floor.
A combat drone.
It moved like a human, its stance shifting, its weight balanced.
And then—
It attacked.
Gaius reacted instantly.
His body moved before his mind could process, instincts honed through years of training kicking in.
The first strike came—a precise, blindingly fast thrust aimed at his center mass.
He twisted, just enough to avoid the blow, his muscles coiling as he launched into a counterattack.
His fist slammed into the drone's side, the impact reverberating through the chamber. The machine staggered, but did not fall.
It adjusted.
Adapted.
It was learning.
Good.
Gaius pushed forward.
His movements were flawless—fluid, efficient, honed through endless battles. Every step was measured, every strike calculated. No wasted energy, no unnecessary movement.
He drove his elbow into the machine's center, following up with a precise, snapping kick to its knee joint.
The drone collapsed.
The fight was over in seconds.
The machine did not rise.
Instead, the results appeared on the screen.
"Biometric evaluation—passed."
Gaius exhaled slowly.
The test was over.
Or so he thought.
Because then—
The walls of the chamber shifted once more.
And another figure stepped forward.
This time—
It was not a machine.
It was a man.
A figure clad in black, his presence far heavier than any machine could ever be.
And as he stepped onto the platform, his eyes locking onto Gaius—
The real test began.