“Right this way.”

Ren walked down an old, damp fortress hallway as a younger man guided him and the Cohtarch. Men in peculiar garb, including various uniforms and seemingly partially-modernized Roman armor, walked up and down the hallway, taking special care to stay out of their way. 

Stopping in front of a door, the younger guardsman and the Cohtarch spoke for a second in Novolatin before the former walked off.

“You’ll have this room for a few hours. I’ll be doing your interview, and, following that, a signifer - er, an administrator - will come and review paperwork with you.”

“...interview, sir?” Ren said, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, did I not mention that? Yes, it’s a part of the officer selection packet.”

‘Officer selection? This is all coming out of nowhere… though perhaps this explains why such a man of rank had come.’ he thought to himself.

“Apologies, sir, but I was unaware th-”

Cutting him off, the Cohtarch spoke over him. “No worries, no worries. Now, let’s begin, shall we?” he said, motioning into the room.

The small room immediately gave off a cold disposition, not unlike the rest of the ancient-seeming fortress; the slightly yellowed walls, originally colored with a primitive white paint, showed its age clearly, while in the room’s center sat two basic wooden chairs with an empty table. Quite obviously, this wasn’t the officer’s personal workspace.

Ren entered the small space as the Cohtarch closed the door behind them. 

“I understand your confusion, of course, and am willing to answer whatever questions you may have regarding the process.” the Cotarch said, clearly with some unknown underlying intent, as the two sat at the table across from one another. 

“Pardon me for asking this, sir, but how can you trust me to loyally lead a platoon of soldiers for a country I’ve been in for less than a week? I had expected something lower, I don’t even speak the language yet.”

“A great question! And the answer is: what are your alternatives?” The officer smiled. “Unlike on your world, there are no rival powers, nor are there even fledgling city-states or rebellious territories; all falls under the Empire. We trust in your loyalty because your only choice is loyalty.”

‘How ominous…'

Ren continued to question him. “Em, I mean, even so, to be provided an officer rank so easily is surprising. Just the other day I met another outsider who joined the Imperial Guard earlier, and he wasn’t any sort of officer.” 

The Cohtarch suddenly sat straighter in his seat. “When I mentioned the needs of the Empire earlier, I meant nothing else. Based on your self-profile you provided to the guard station’s Decurio that I received, you are more than qualified to fill a certain role that the Empire and its Imperial Guard demands.”

Looking more intent than previously, the Cohtarch continued to speak. “As per new efforts in understanding that ‘other world’ and its inner workings, the Imperial Guard is seeking out outsiders with an experienced, insider knowledge of their military training, bureaucracy, structure, so on and so forth. You, a man both educated well beyond any Valentian commoner and with this needed experience, are a perfect fit.”

He leaned forwards. “Oh, and, about that experience… while we’re taking your word for it presently, you’ll need to prove it. In the schoolhouse, in the fields, on your tests. So no, we’re not ‘providing’ you the rank. We’re providing you the opportunity to earn it, should you meet our demands.” 

•  •  •

“Trust me, this wasn’t my plan for the day.” Sara said, sighing once again.

The two, in the letter the day prior, had been “voluntold” by their uncle to attend a public event (in place of him) as guests representing the imperial nobility, as was customary in any opening ceremony.

“...though I think it’ll be relatively quick and, hopefully, painless.” She leaned back in the motor-carriage, arms crossed.

“I’m kinda excited though!” Elia exclaimed, optimistic as always. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a guest like this before… except for that school opening at home...”

“Ugh, don’t even mention that.” Sara said, rolling her eyes.

Elia giggled. “I remember, one of the boys thought you were gonna be a student there! Then he tried to ask-”

“I said not to mention that…” Sara replied, now flustered and sliding further into the leather seat.

“I think that’s it, right o’er there, ma’ams” the driver interjected, slowing the vehicle down and pulling over to park on the roadside.

Still a noticeably busy and populated part of the city - even moreso given the upcoming coronation - a nonetheless obvious small gathering stood out in front of what appeared to be newer, red-brick construction, surrounded on either side by rowhouses. The real give-away, however, was the presence of journalists.

“I think you may be right.”

The chauffeur got out of the vehicle, opening the doors for the sisters. Dressed in more formal attire, the two approached the crowd. Elia’s brightly-colored coat and dress brought her much attention compared to the more casual-appearing crowd, while Sara’s black overcoat and round hat, mixed with her white blouse, red dress, and crimson amulet brought to attention their status as regal Upyirs among commoners.
Their chauffeur, too dressed more formally than usual, walked directly behind the two, for little reason other than as an expected symbol of status

“May I have your attention, please! Make way for the guests of honor, Miss Sarai and Miss Eliane of the house of DuVoncouer!”
A hole formed in the crowd; Sara and Elia walked forward, while the chauffeur stayed behind, right outside the concentration of the crowd.
In front stood a small group, standing directly below a small set of stairs leading up to the new structure’s main doorway. Thirteen young children, two female caretakers, and what appeared to be an older local official standing behind a podium. “We’ll be starting the opening ceremony shortly.”

The two walked over to the group, Sara standing beside the podium. Journalists approached in order to record the event for the newspapers; this was nothing she was unfamiliar with. Not at all. For her sister, though, it could be a learning experience.

The official opened his speech thanking all for attending, and describing the crowded conditions at the old orphanage, what it took to commission the building of an additional one, and the work the community put into building it. After another moment or so speaking about who would take up residence there, he opened to podium for Sara to say a few words.

She cleared her throat, and looked out towards the crowd. “Thank you. As we gather here today for such a joyous achievement for this community within the heartstone of the Empire, Palanti, we must not forget His Majesty’s graciousness in not only permitting, but funding such a risk-prone structure in the Empire’s crown jewel; truly, if this does not showcase the kindness of His Majesty and the Empire, what does? Indeed, what you see here is no mere orphanage, but rather a monument to the future subjects of our heavenly Empire, ordained by the gods: its hearth to kindle the ambition of these young souls; its contemporary design to display the Empire’s unending generational progress; its doorway to show that all ye poor and weary may enter into the Empire’s glorious arms.” Speaking with fiery intensity, her tone rose once more: “On this date, I declare, with his powers vested in me by His Majesty, the Empire, and the Gods Above, that the Florus Orphanage be open to the public.”

Applause quickly followed thereafter and, while certainly not her longest speech at such an event, it clearly met the expectations of the public. Journalists took note; nothing remarkable, but nonetheless enough to be reportable.

As the applause died down, the official walked up the stairs and unlocked the door, immediately prompting the orphans to scramble to be the first through the door. While they did, a smaller child, in the back of the pack, tripped on the staircase, landing face-first and immediately starting to wail, eliciting a gasp from the onlookers.

While the others watched, waiting for a caretaker to respond, Elia sprung into action. Rushing over to the child, she started to comfort him. “Are you okay? Please, hold still…” A second later, her right palm began to glow a deep red.

Hovering her hand over his wounds, the wailing child, perhaps 4 years of age, began to calm down, and after a moment was laughing. “Is that better? Does anywhere else hurt?” The only answer she received, however, was continued tickled giggling.

While the wounds partially remained, the bleeding had stopped, as well as, apparently, the child’s pain. Quickly, the onlookers began to applaud once more; as she helped the young boy back up to his feet, with his guardians coming to take him back, the handful of journalists rushed over to Elia, immediately overwhelming her with questions.
“Ma’am, where did you learn thaumatic healing?
Miss, what led to such a quick response?
As a member of Upyir nobility, do you believe it’s your duty to help the common people so directly?” and so on.

Elia, somewhat intimidated and flustered by the sudden attention, smiled and tried to wave them off. “Ehehe… it’s nothing, really… I didn’t even fix the wound entirely… I try to make people feel good, is all. That’s what I’m best at doing…”

Sara stood by, arms crossed but smiling; without any effort, Elia had bested whatever PR she had hoped to achieve. Perhaps she didn’t need as much help as she thought.