"How long had he been there?" Elena asked, looking through the one-way mirror at the youth huddled in the corner of the brightly lit restraint cell.

It had been a long time, that much she could tell at a glance. He was filthy and malnourished, his matted hair peppered with dust from the brittle white stone used in so much of the local architecture. His clothes were new and ill-fitting, but better than the foul-smelling rags that sat on a pile on her side of the window. The child was an unfortunate sight, but sadly, one all too familiar to someone in her position.

War bred orphans. And even though they were nearly a decade past the annexation of Ashad, the end of the war and the end of hostilities were not remotely the same thing.

"By the state of the bodies down there with him, I'd say a year at most." Kaphle's words were stifled by the ice pack held on the bridge of his shattered nose.

"Even six months in the Old City is impressive," the woman mused, turning her back on the injured man to study the boy again. That he'd apparently killed a full-grown man with his bare hands was equal parts impressive and frightening. "Pay the scavenger, have a medic see to his nose, then send him to the stockade for twenty lashes."

"Wait, what?! You can't be serio-"

"You did not think we'd overlook the infraction, did you?" Elena interrupted him coldly. "Laws are not merely suggestions. We do not ignore them when convenient. Your reward will more than pay for further healing, but the pain will remind you and others that rummaging in the Old City for trinkets is forbidden for a reason."

Kaphle was still pleading his case as two guards dragged him from the room.

"What do you think of him, Ordinate?"

Her aide stepped forward, joining her at the window. Dressed in simple grey robes, he was the epitome of an imperial functionary. The sort of useful bureaucrat that could almost phase out from the scenery when needed, and disappear just as quickly when told to depart. "An apprentice to one of the local bandit clans, working under Baylan Fairhaven. A stupid one at that, given that he did not realize that his mentor was sending him to take the punishment, while Baylan would reap the reward."

"Cute," she scowled in his direction. "I meant the boy."

"Children are malleable. We know this well enough." There was a slight hesitation as he considered his words. "However, if the scavengers are telling the truth, this one may be too feral to be useful."

"Feral," Elena repeated the word, as though tasting it. "You think he should be euthanized?"

"It is not our place to make such suggestions. And it would likely be premature. If nothing else, it responds well to positive motivation. It did not attack the last group that came in to feed it. We even learned its name. Alarion."

"Progress." She said wryly. The young man had taken several swings at the first group, but food was a powerful motivator when one was hungry. "The bodies found in the cellar?"

"Physical trauma. Knives, most likely, though they were badly decomposed," The Ordinate replied without a hint of unease, despite the grim topic. "We have contacts with the locals attempting to establish lineage, but currently our working theory is that the family were refugees. Squatters living in the wreckage of the Old City. Ones who fell afoul of the sort of violence one can expect."

"Not any of ours that did the deed then? Good. A lack of direct animosity should make this easier. Shall we introduce ourselves?"

Elena strolled the few steps to the nearby door, which slid open with a wave of her gloved hand. Across the room, she saw the youth flinch, retreating further into his corner. He stared daggers at them from beneath a swollen eye, but was otherwise silent as The Ordinate followed her into the room and sealed the door behind them. She sat on the bench opposite the boy's bed, then smiled in his direction, "Good Evening, Alarion. My name is-"

"Madam," her assistant said, pointedly.

<Oh, yes. My apologies, Alarion,> she said softly in the boy's native language. <My name is Elena. I am an Assessor for the local provisional governor. Do you know what that means?>

Alarion shook his head, though he visibly relaxed as she kept her distance and spoke a language he understood.

<That is alright, child. The provisional governor is the man in charge of this province. The Vitrian Empire installed him after this province was annexed, taken over, eight years ago. Are you familiar with that name?>

Alarion's brows knit together for a moment as he considered the question. <I don't know Vitrian. The Numbered Empire?>

<Yes. That is another common name, though it is not one we prefer,> Elena said. <And an Assessor?> When Alarion shook his head once again, she smiled. <An Assessor works with the local magistrates to locate, identify, and categorize local Awakened populations for various duties within the empire. You know what an Awakened is, yes?>

<Someone strong.>

<To put it extremely simply, yes. To be precise, however, an Awakened refers to a person who has met the minimum conditions for, and obtained, their first class level.>

Alarion nodded slowly, finding in her words before replying. <You think I'm Awakened.>

<Smart boy,> Elena replied. <Those men who found you were searching for enchanted objects, items with magical properties left behind in The Old City during the war. That they found you instead suggests that you have considerable potential, enough that their primitive meter could not tell the difference. I have ways of getting a more refined answer, but I wanted to run a simple test with you in the short term. Would you be alright with that?>

<Will it hurt?>

Elena shook her head. <No, child. I have no intention of harming you, I promise.>

To his credit, Alarion still weighed her request before he agreed to it. <Alright. What do you need me to do?>

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<Take a deep breath. Focus only on the sound of my voice and repeat after me,> Elena said. <Status.>

<Status.>

The last syllable had barely fallen from his lips before Alarion jerked back in fright, one hand flailing at the empty air before him.

<It is okay, it is alright,> she reassured him with an open palm. <What you are seeing is perfectly normal. It will not harm you.> Elena waited several seconds for the boy to compose himself, to marvel at the vision in front of him. Awakened herself, she knew full well what he was seeing, though she'd mentally restrained herself from activating her own status window when she'd said the command. <Tell me what you see.>

<A bright box,> Alarion said, his sudden fear having given way to curiosity as his head turned this way and that, the invisible menu always floating at the center front of his vision, awaiting his commands.

<Of course,> Elena said, biting her tongue to keep the mild annoyance from showing. <I meant more specifically. We are interested in your class, attributes, and, most of all, your Aptitude. Despite my title, I do not possess an evaluation skill, sadly, so would it be possible for you to write it out for me?>

Alarion's brows furrowed. <No.> At Elana's frown, he quickly added. <I don't know how to.>

Elena closed her eyes, took a breath, and counted to three before continuing. <Of course not, silly me.> She quickly glanced over her shoulder and said, "Ordinate."

"Yes, madam?"

"The boy does not know how to read or write, " she explained. "Do you know the Ashadi alphabet?"

"Yes, madam."

"Wonderful. Well, this will not be tedious at all." She sighed and turned her attention to Alarion. <Alright, here is what we are going to do. My friend here is going to write out all the letters and numbers, and go character by character. This will be very boring, but we will get you a warm meal and a comfy bed when you finish. Alright?>

<Alright,> he replied with a glimmer in his eyes, the prospect of fresh food overwhelming all lesser concerns.

Two hours later, Elena sat in her office halfway across the building. The Ordinate stood opposite her, his expression inscrutable as ever. He'd already had some time to consider the information, while Elena could only stare at it, then back up at him.

"This is accurate?" She asked, voice skeptical.

"It could be lying, but we had it repeat the procedure. The second time was in reverse. If it is lying, it is quite proficient." The functionary said, matter-of-factly. "We have already sent someone to wake an Appraiser. We should have a proper evaluation done before midnight."

"Push it to the morning," Elana said, looking back at the page. "Let the boy sleep."

General Information

Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age – Fourteen Years HP – 113/113 [+0.004/sec](-15 Malus) MP – 90/90 [+0.0125/sec] Stamina – 133/133 [+0.22/sec](-3 Malus) Aptitude - 238%

Attributes

STR – 19 [16] (-4 Malus) AGI – 29 [23](-7 Malus) VIT – 15 [12] (-3 Malus) INT – 19 PER – 31 WIL – 21 LUK – 192

Classes Known

Orphan - Level 3 - Progress - 67% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress – MAX

General Skills Known

Stealth - Level 2 - Progress 82% Detection - Level 3 - Progress 56% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 3 - Progress 88%

Class Skills Known

None

Traits and Feats of Strength

Avian Bane - Rank I

Flaws

Unknown – Major Unknown – Moderate Unknown – Minor

None of what she saw was particularly unusual. He was missing class skills, but that made sense given that he had no grasp of the System. That he had selected classes at all was curious, but it was possible that he had accepted a System prompt without understanding, or that someone had talked him through it. It was even conceivable that he was more clever than the Ordinate gave him credit for and was lying to them, as unlikely as that might seem.

Most of his attributes were lower than they should have been at his level, even without accounting for the malus for his obvious starvation. But that was no doubt explained by his absurd luck. Elena had never heard of an [Orphan] class before, but she felt safe in assuming that it must have tremendous luck growth and little else. Even his age made sense, despite what her eyes told her at first glance. Hunger had stunted his development, but he was clearly not the child she had initially assumed.

Three flaws were a bit on the high side for a child, particularly when none of them were obvious at a glance. But again, not any more unusual than his apparent massacre of the local bird population.

Everything in his status could be accounted for—all except for that Aptitude.

"Two hundred and thirty-eight," Elena murmured incredulously.

Everyone had an Aptitude score, even the as yet unawakened. A person's Aptitude directly corresponded to how fast they could gain skills and classes, and, in part, how powerful those skills and classes were likely to be as they advanced. It described a person's innate potential for growth and power.

In the eyes of the Vitrian Empire, Aptitude was a person's most important characteristic. Aptitude had long defined their culture, your caste, placement within the hierarchy of your house, and the opportunities you had in life. In the more extreme or desperate of the Numbered Houses, a newborn's aptitude was a literal matter of life and death.

No house could afford to be seen as having weak blood.

They had known for centuries that Aptitude was heritable to some degree. Pure-blooded Vitrian families prided themselves on this. The seventy-seven Numbered Houses had an average aptitude of 80, and that potential had played a pivotal role in the empire's expansion over the last several centuries.

That level of stability also allowed them to track the rate of deviance from the norm. Perhaps 1 in 5 Vitrians had an aptitude as high as 100, 1 in 50 could boast 130, 1 in 500 might reach 160, and 1 in 50,000 were as strong as 190. Those handful that exceeded 200, and survived, wielded positions of extreme importance and authority, or were spoken of as whispers and rumors, kept secret as hidden weapons or powerful artisans.

Areas like Ashad could not hope to compete. The average in their population had proven to be somewhere in the low 30s, and their armies had been correspondingly weaker. Every so often, a meaningful talent would emerge, here or there. A Blacksmith, a Farmer, a City Guard. For most of the last decade, Elena's job had been to find, assess, and, if necessary, put them down. For every ten who were willing or submissive, there was one who thought themselves a hero, a resistance leader, a freedom fighter for their people.

Children were ideal for her profession. Those who gained their first class levels as children would, almost by definition, have higher Aptitude. They were also far more malleable. More open to indoctrination, their skills and potential easily molded to fit a niche required by the Governor or the Empire as a whole. Still…

"Two hundred and thirty-eight." This time, the words were a curse.

The number was almost certainly a death sentence. If there was anything Vitrians cared about more than a person's Aptitude, it was the Empire itself and the sense of superiority that came with being a part of it. As far as she was aware, an Aptitude this high was unheard of in a human, even one born from the Numbered Houses.

His very existence was a slap in the face to the national pride of a very proud people. Generations of arranged marriages, outdone by an urchin found in a decrepit basement. It was unconscionable. After decades in the provinces, Elena herself was positively liberal by her people's standards, and even she felt the sting of comparing her Aptitude of one-fifty-five to that ridiculous monster.

There would be senatorial hearings over the matter when it came to light, of that she had no doubt. To say nothing of the press attention. He might lose his life to an assassin's blade within the year, or disappear into the harem of some truly disreputable house. Ultimately, she might be ordered to snuff out that potential, before it grew out of control.

Until then, however.

"What are we to do with it?" The Ordinate asked, shattering her thoughts and reminding her, abruptly, that he had not left the room.

"You say that as though there is anything else to do with him." Elena replied brusquely. She felt some measure of pity for the boy, but with a stroke of her pen, she signed his induction order, the same as any other. "Laws are not merely suggestions."

Though one could interpret them.

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