"Princess Eleanora Arcane is entering with her escort Knight Finnian Clarx," the Hall guard announced in a voice that echoed through the grand chamber. The air shimmered with anticipation as the crowd turned their gaze toward the entrance.
Eleanora stepped forward, her presence commanding attention. She wore a Red Robe adorned with a Golden Dragon pattern, its scales glinting as if alive. The fabric flowed like liquid fire, and the dragon's eyes seemed to follow every move she made. Around her waist, a golden-colored Ribbon cinched the robe, its edges embroidered with delicate Red rose patterns—a symbol of passion and courage.
Upon her head rested a Majestic Brilliant yellow crown, its intricate design reminiscent of ancient dynasties. The metal seemed to hold the very essence of sunlight, casting a warm glow upon her brow. A thin white translucent veil trailed from the crown, covering her face. Only those worthy could glimpse the visage hidden behind that ethereal barrier.
As she walked, her steps graceful and deliberate, her eyes remained lowered. The veil concealed her expression, leaving only a hint of curiosity in the tilt of her chin. Her escort, Knight Finnian Clarx, stood by her side—a loyal guardian with eyes as sharp as his sword.
The moment arrived—the climax of years of training and destiny. The Sword of Founding Dragon's Scale lay before her, its blade forged from the very essence of the Ancient Dragon God. As she reached for it, the air crackled with energy. The blade responded, its metal awakening. Ethereal Purple flames danced along its edge, recognizing her as its rightful master.
The king's voice resonated through the hall, solemn and proud. "As soon as Eleanora reaches the True God realm, she will replace me as the Monarch." The weight of her lineage pressed upon her—the blood of ancient rulers flowed through her veins. She raised her eyes to the king, her gaze unwavering.
"In the name of my ancestors," she began, her voice steady, "I vow to honor their legacy. Their sacrifices, their triumphs—they live within me. I shall wield this sword not as a mere weapon, but as a bridge between past and future."
The crowd hushed, their breaths held. Eleanora continued her words echoing through the hall. "To protect my people is my sacred duty. Their hopes, dreams, and fears—they are my own. I shall stand at the forefront, shield their homes, and weave magic into our defenses."
Her fingers tightened around the hilt.
"Wisdom," she whispered, "shall guide my hand. Not blind ambition, nor reckless valor. I shall seek counsel from the ancient texts, consult the spirits of forgotten sages, and listen to the wind that carries secrets."
The king nodded, approval etched in his eyes. "Princess Eleanora Arcane," he intoned, "may your path be illuminated by the stars, your heart tempered by compassion, and your resolve unyielding. Go forth, and may the Sword of Founding Dragon's Scale serve as both protector and beacon."
And so, Eleanora stepped into her destiny—a promise etched in fire, a vow whispered to the winds. Finnian watched her as she took the oath, her eyes brimming with conviction and he knelt before her.
Eleanora's fingers tightened around the hilt, her resolve unyielding. Staining her blade crimson after cutting her hand, she raised the blade, its edge touching Finnian's shoulder.
Finnian clenched his jaw, his knuckles white. He had pledged his life to protect the princess, but this moment transcended mere duty, this was a blood pact, a solemn agreement made between these two individuals, their relation was not of master and Knight anymore, but of individuals making a commitment to support and protect each other unconditionally.
He grabbed the blade and squeezed it, cutting his hands.
Blood welled from the cut on his palm, mingling with the crimson stain on Eleanora's Ethereal flaming blade. Their life force merged—a silent oath, sealed in pain. The Ethereal Violet Flame Circled the ground around them, recognizing their oath.
"Eleanora," he murmured, the words heavy with promise. "I am yours."
She nodded, her eyes reflecting the flames. "And I am yours."
The hall watched—the courtiers, the guards, the very stones. The king nodded, though dissatisfied. Eleanora lowered the blade, and Finnian rose, his hand still stained. They stood side by side, bound by blood and purpose.
The Flames then died, the blade absorbed their blood, and the sword's overwhelming ancient aura flowed out and got absorbed in both of them healing their cuts and giving them power.
And, so ended both, the Ascension ceremony and their Blood pact, leaving an imprint on everyone's soul of their divine pact's sight.