I looked at the three of them, seeing shock clear on their faces, and I gestured to them.
“Come on, then…your turn.”
“I…I am Yen. The name of my Birth was Yen’ma Rultahir, and I chose Yen as my common name."
"I am a scout leader in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, and its validity.”
There was silence as the other two looked at Yen in shock, and I frowned as I pieced together the meaning behind the ritualistic phrases.
As I did, I realized I felt something. I’d been feeling it all along, but compared to my panicked need to reach Oracle, I’d been ignoring it. I felt something that tied me to Yen. I felt a…pull…a need… and then Tang spoke up.
“I am Tang, the name of my Birth was Ta’angint Theron, and I chose Tang as my common name. I am a scout in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, .and its validity.”
“I am Amaat. I took my name in battle, and I chose Amaat as my common name. I am a scout in the Dravith Cohortes Praetoria, and I serve the Empire. I acknowledge my Oath, and its validity.”
With each statement, I felt the pull grow, a feeling like a trio of strings pulled taught and struck inside my soul, making them vibrate. The vibration built gradually, rippling through me, and I felt a fourth added to them, as another series of notifications sprang to life, making the world shake around me.
I felt HIM as he…moved forward somehow, I felt my conscious mind pushed gently aside, as Amon moved into primacy.
He opened my eyes, and I felt my lips move; my mana was used as I was wrapped gently in the threads of souls.
“I am all that remains of Amon, Eternal Emperor, and I formally claim my host Jax as Scion of the Imperial Line. I acknowledge your Oaths, and I accept them in the spirit offered. I pass them to my Scion; may he be worthy of your devotion.”
I blinked as he settled back, releasing his hold on me. The world seemed to shake as I flowed forward, back into full control of my body.
“I…I…” I muttered in shock as the vibrations grew…
All three of the newcomers dropped to one knee on the floor and looked up at me.
“All Hail Jax! Hail Scion of the Empire!” they chorused in unison.
Epilogue
Thomas spat blood across the flagstones and gritted his teeth, pushing hard with both arms and coming back to his feet.
The aspirant across from him grinned and gestured for him to step back into the ring. Thomas growled in anger and swept up his gladius again, flipping his shield over and tightly gripping the leather bags sewn into its reverse.
“Still want to play?” Coran shouted out to him, and Thomas nodded, saving his breath. “You’re a stubborn fucker, you know that?” the aspirant said, shifting his stance into a ‘ready’ position again, as the sergeant called the round to resume.
“Yeah, well, blame my brother. He hits harder than you,” Thomas replied, dropping his shield, and throwing the sand he’d concealed in that hand forward, blinding his opponent.
Coran backed up quickly, blinking and trying to see, only to have Thomas’s sword smash down on his forearm, making him drop his own weapon.
“Oh, you cheating bastard!” Coran cursed him, shaking his hand and trying to get the feeling back as Thomas grabbed his shield and yanked him forwards, his gladius coming to a rest over Coran’s clavicle.
“Maybe, but I won, didn’t I?” he asked, stepping back. He picked up a water skin and poured it over Coran’s face, giving him good natured abuse as he washed the sand away from his training partner’s eyes.
“Thomas!” came the shout from his left, and both men straightened reflexively, their hard taught, and now instinctual, response to the voice of their master, Sir Edvard Tunnik, Paladin of Nimon and Lord of the Third Legion.
“Sir!” Thomas responded, ramrod straight as he stood at attention.
“I saw the end of that fight, boy; what did you do?” Edvard asked, and Thomas swallowed hard before replying.
“I cheated, Sir! I threw sand in Aspirant Soldier Coran’s eyes when he wasn’t expecting it.”
“Cheated? Did someone make up a fucking rulebook for war when I wasn’t looking?” Edvard’s response came, and the tall man stepped up close to the pair standing in the ring.
“No, sir,” Thomas responded, and Edvard nodded.
“Damn right, son. I don’t give a shit how you win, just that you do it.” The Paladin turned and shouted out to the rest of the training cadre, bringing a momentary halt to the afternoon session as the baking summer sun reflected off his black and gold armor. "Fall in and assemble on this pit!”
Everyone dropped whatever they were doing and sprinted inward, in response to the order, sergeants and corporals quickly surrounded by the aspirant soldiers of Nimon’s Legion.
“Since this boy arrived, he’s fought easily half of you, and beaten most. Does anyone dispute his rise from Slave-Aspirant, to Aspirant Soldier?”
Thomas felt his heart speed up. To move from a Slave-Aspirant to an actual Aspirant Soldier was a huge thing. It meant he’d been accepted; he’d gain the right to move around the barracks freely; his slave collar would be removed! He could pick his specializations!
“I dispute!” A voice rose from his left, and Thomas locked eyes on Frankin, a huge half ogre recruit from the prisons, the same as he’d been.
“I dispute!” came the inevitable shout from Frankin’s bootlicker, Grey Rat. In short order, a dozen other voices rose. The obvious approval that Edvard had shown Thomas since lifting him from the rabble had fostered simmering resentment, and now it was coming to the fore.
“Well, Thomas?” Edvard asked, and Thomas let an evil grin curl his lips.
“I claim the right to face my disputers!” Thomas growled; the words had been beaten into him since he’d joined. The Legion of Nimon trained
