"Heyyy, it's you!" Mabel stopped mid-stride, her long gown swirling around her legs as she pivoted, her jeweled pins catching the light.

  The sudden attention caused Ilyas to stiffen, the unexpected spotlight made his muscles tense. He was unnaturally anxious. Uncertain of the proper protocol—was this a royal greeting? A casual encounter? I know we met once, but that was an accident—all of a sudden her immense authority began to make sense to him, how she had summoned Harkon with ease, and even pushed a General of the Ashen Sanctis orders aside without worry. His mind flashed back to the way she was so casual about giving orders to a general. He glanced desperately towards Aeon and Callaia for guidance. Aeon offered a nervous, lopsided grin that did little to ease Ilyas's anxiety, while Callaia maintained her stoic posture, her amber eyes darting intermittently, offering no reassuring cues. The weight of potential social misstep pressed against his shoulders, making him acutely aware of every breath, every potential movement. His heart was in full sprint.

  "Oh don't be like that. Ilyas, are you shy all of a sudden? Is it because we aren't shoulder to shoulder this time?" Her voice was a playful whisper. She lowered her head, creating a bubble of space between them, her emerald eyes forcing him to meet her gaze.

  His cheeks burned like the midday sun, a betraying flush spreading across his olive skin. "I uhh, no, I'm just not sure if I can speak to you," he stammered, his usual cocky demeanor dissolving like sand in water.

  She giggled, the sound both musical and sharp, and gave him a light shove that carried more strength than her delicate frame suggested. "Don't be silly. You're a part of my guard now, it's fine. Even if you weren't," she leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear, "it still wouldn't matter." Her smile was a dangerous thing, both invitation and challenge. She pulled away, returning to her route with a dancer's grace. "We'll talk later." He nodded, his throat suddenly dry, swallowing hard enough that he was sure everyone could hear.

  Aeon's smile stretched wider than the horizon, his eyes glinting with barely contained amusement. From his peripheral vision, Ilyas noticed Callaia's head beginning to turn, her interest piqued. "Hey man!" Aeon called out, "You didn't tell me you were like that with the princess. No wonder she wanted you here."

  "You idiot! It's nothing like that!" Ilyas bore his fangs. "I don't know why she said it like that, but you’re completely misunderstanding!"

  "Mhm, yes sir," Aeon drawled, his disbelief as thick as their cloaks.

  Ilyas looked at Callaia, whose cheeks were now also tinged with an embarrassed red. Not you too! The universe, it seemed, was conspiring to make this moment as mortifying as possible.

  When Mabel stood at the podium, the enormous crowd suddenly went quiet, a sea of expectant faces hushed by her mere presence. Her eyes held a steely intensity that cut through the silence like a blade. The ornate jeweled pins in her flowing red hair caught the light, creating a subtle gleam that matched the gravity of the moment. Her playful demeanor had vanished completely, leaving behind a regal and commanding figure that seemed to transform the very air around her. She scanned over the gathering with a deliberate, calculated gaze, each sweep of her eyes carrying the weight of royal expectations and unspoken challenges.

  Mabel's eyes swept over the gathering as the wind stirred the folds of her robe. Chatter began again. "Silence," she commanded, her voice firm and resonant. "I know your fears. I see the uncertainty in every gaze. I know that war threatens our doorsteps, and I know that you are scared."

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled people. A young woman stepped forward, her voice wavering: "So how are we supposed to deal with it? A cult bringing back the dragon?"

  Mabel's lips curved in a determined smile. "Because I stand with you. I have listened to your cries on these streets. I have seen the trembling hands and heard the hushed rumors through every alley of Endorica. I promise you this: as long as Endorica is under my care, I will ensure that this country—our land—remains as is and vibrant."

  An anxious father called out, cradling his baby, "Our homes, our families... are they safe?"

  "Safety," Mabel replied, pausing only a heartbeat before her tone grew resolute, "is something you won’t have to worry about. I pledge to confront the threat head on, to defy it with every resource at my disposal, no matter the cost."

  A murmur of hope stirred among the crowd. "But will you really fight them, or are our soldiers just being tossed onto a battlefield!”

  “How dare you!” One of the guards looked ready to grab the man.

  Mabel stepped closer to the dais, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with those who doubted. "I will fight. I will do it for you, and all of my people," she said plainly. "I will lead our forces, unite our lands, and rally every willing heart to push back this tide of chaos. I do not promise an easy path, for our challenges are great, but together, our resolve will forge a future brighter than the darkness that looms. We will ensure that the Darkdwellers pose no issue."

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  A young soldier, hand resting on his sword hilt, shouted, "Then let us stand by you, our princess! Endorica shall not be broken! Vita Endorica!"

  At that, the crowd's murmur turned to a unified roar. "Vita Endorica!" came voices from all corners, clashing in a rising tide of defiance and determination.

  Mabel's voice carried a spark that ignited courage. "You are the foundation of our strength. I understand your doubts, and I feel your pain. Your struggles are my struggles, and your victories will be my victories. I promise you, no matter the storm that threatens us, I will deal with it. I will marshal every ounce of strength and every drop of resolve within me to protect our beloved Endorica."

  A pause settled over the crowd as each ear absorbed her vow. "Together," Mabel concluded, her tone transforming into a call to arms that resonated with unwavering certainty, "we will defy those who seek to break our lives. As long as Endorica flourishes under my watch, no darkness shall quench its light, and no enemy will stand unchallenged. I don’t care if it is a bloody dragon."

  The assembly erupted with cheers, voices blending into a singular declaration of loyalty and hope, a promise bound by determination and the unyielding strength of their leader. Ilyas could see cameras pointed at her, even film crews towards the front. He couldn’t help but find it all dramatic. I doubt they’re that much of a threat, the Darkdwellers are the real issue.

  She spread her arms like wings, the sunlight catching the intricate golden embroidery of her royal gown. "I will ensure that the best of the best are working tightly with me as well. Leading my frontal guard will be Jet Magnus, and his paladins." As she called out the name, the man beside Callaia moved with an eerie level of practice, his silver armor gleaming under the cloak, each step precise and calculated. Behind him tailed a few others, their polished armor and synchronized movement creating a ripple of anticipation through the crowd as they joined him next to the princess. "The high paladin of Endorica, Jet Magnus. The Unbeatable Light." She presented him and the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar. Some chanted his name, others simply screamed in raw excitement, their voices blending into a cacophony of adoration. It was evident the paladin was more than a mere soldier—he was a legend to them.

  "Some nickname," Ilyas whispered, his voice low and tinged with skepticism.

  Aeon snickered. "It's true, he really has been unbeaten."

  Ilyas raised his eyebrows, his initial doubt wavering. Taldris’s performance in Umbratara made him think there might have been a chance.

  As the Paladins left, their footsteps echoing like a martial rhythm traveling toward the gates, she cleared her voice once more, the crowd falling into an expectant hush. "And my personal bodyguards will be three capable individuals like none other. Callaia Genisi." Callaia moved to the call with a fluid grace that drew his eyes. She stood next to Mabel, her posture straight. "The Arcus Sacerdotis, a wonderful woman to have at my side. Her skills with the blade are something to be seen." Callaia waved, a subtle gesture that nonetheless commanded attention, as the crowd roared her chant. 'Arcus Sacerdotis! Arcus Sacerdotis!'

  Mabel's voice, rich with enthusiasm, began again. "Aeon of Kyneris! The highest ranking magician to ever be tested at the grand college." Her proclamation echoed through the packed assembly hall, causing Aeon to nudge him with a playful elbow before ascending the platform. With theatrical flair, Aeon waved to the crowd, who responded in thunderous chants of 'Kyneris! Kyneris!' - his name rippling through the sea of expectant faces.

  "And finally," she paused, drawing a deliberate breath that seemed to pull the room's collective attention, "Ilyas Al-Bey Altaria!" The name dropped like a stone into stillness. He froze, muscles locked, standing like a deer caught in merciless headlights as both the crowd and the stone-faced guards fixed him with penetrating side glances. Each step toward the others felt weighted, laden with unspoken judgment. "The last member of the Al-Bey bloodline," Mabel continued, her tone carrying the gravity of legend, "a descendant of the hero Erebus, who once stopped the threat of Bahamut with the help of the others."

  Beads of sweat traced nervous pathways down his temples, glistening under the harsh light. The stares intensified, becoming almost tangible - a living, breathing entity of curiosity and barely restrained whispers. The crowd began to murmur, trading hushed speculations about the name and its dark, vampiric implications.

  Mabel moved with grace, positioning herself before the three chosen individuals. "Tell me," she challenged, her voice cutting through the tension, "how can fear amongst you still exist when I stand before you with such capable allies - allies who will help us lead our simple lives, as if the darkness never happened?"

  She spun dramatically, her gown swirling like a banner of defiance, and approached Ilyas. Her hands, warm and firm, seized his. He instinctively pulled back, startled by the unexpected touch, but she held firm. Her gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto his, creating a moment of profound connection that seemed to transcend the crowded hall.

  "You see, as you all know, my family too descends from the hero, Sanctus Turina," Mabel proclaimed, her voice rising with a passionate tremor. "After two millennia, we reunite for a cause as noble as our ancestors' – to forge a new generation of heroes who will not just meet the expectations of our people, but shatter them." Her emerald eyes blazed with fierce determination as the words came forth, each one electrifying the air. "Isn't that right?"

  He nodded, his cheeks burning crimson. As she released his hands, she spun back to the crowd, her arm sweeping out like a conductor summoning a symphony. The response erupted – a thunderous, primal roar of "Vita Endorica!" The chant cascaded through streets, ricocheted off palace walls, and reverberated even within the fort's thick stone chambers. With each repetition, the ancient fear seemed to crumble, replaced by a rising tide of hope and defiance.