The Imperial Cathedral glowed with a thousand magical lights as Lyanna stood before the Eternal Throne.
Her ceremonial armour was polished to mirror brightness. The weight of the moment pressed down upon her, yet her posture remained perfect - head high, shoulders back, every inch the warrior-empress she was about to become.
Incense filled the air, magical smoke forming intricate patterns that symbolised the empire's five thousand-year history.
The gathered nobles formed concentric circles around her, their positions carefully arranged by rank and influence.
Military commanders stood at attention, their ceremonial weapons gleaming. Mages lined the walls, their combined power humming through the ancient stones.
"Not bad," Lyanna thought, allowing herself a moment of pride. Memories flickered through her mind - endless hours in the training yard, muscles screaming as she pushed herself beyond mortal limits. Battle after battle, each victory adding to her legend. The Crimson Blade, they called her. Undefeated in combat, unstoppable in war.
"Your Imperial Highness," High Priest Darius intoned, his voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the vast cathedral. "You seek to inherit the Eternal Throne, ready to take up the mantle of Imperial rule. Are you prepared to bear this sacred burden?"
"I am," Lyanna's voice rang clear and strong. She caught her mother's eye in the front row. Empress Camilla's face showed perfect, calculated, pride. Their shared secret - the poisoned chalice, the careful planning - weighed between them.
"It had to be done," Lyanna reminded herself. "Father was strong, yes, but strength without vision is just violence. The empire needs more than a warrior on the throne. It needs a leader who understands both battle and rule."
The ceremony proceeded with precision. Each noble house approached in turn, offering tokens of fealty.
Duke Silvermane presented a sword of crystallised fire. "May your reign shine as bright as your blade, Your Imperial Highness," he said, his words carefully chosen to acknowledge her martial prowess.
"House Silvermane's support is appreciated," Lyanna replied, the formal words carrying layers of meaning. Their armies had been among the first to pledge loyalty when Father disappeared. "Together we shall forge a stronger empire."
Countess Vale approached next, her magical gifts making the air shimmer around her. "The Mage Councils stand with you," she declared, presenting a staff of office carved from an Elder Wyrm's tooth. "Your wisdom shall guide us all."
On and on it went, each interaction a dance of power and politics.
Lyanna felt the weight of the ceremony settling around her like armour. This was what she was born for - not just to fight, but to rule. To lead. To forge the empire anew in her own image.
Aether stood to one side, his face a mask of perfect diplomatic neutrality. Their gazes met briefly. He would serve as her magical advisor, she'd decided. It was a good position for him - prestigious enough to satisfy his pride, but far from real power.
Bartholomew watched from a specially enchanted chair, his broken aura core preventing him from standing for long periods. She'd let him keep his title, she decided. A gesture of imperial mercy that would play well with the masses.
"The final rites approach," High Priest Darius announced.
The cathedral's magical wards hummed with increasing power as he began the ancient incantations. Golden light swirled around Lyanna as he spoke, each word laden with power accumulated over millennia of imperial rule.
This was it. The moment when everything would change. When all her plans, all her sacrifices, would finally bear fruit. The crown - a masterwork of magical engineering and artistic beauty - floated above her head, waiting to descend.
"I'm sorry, Father," she thought, not entirely sure if she meant it. "But the empire needs this. Needs me. You taught me that duty must come before everything - even family. Especially family."
The crown began to lower, its ancient magics reaching out to bind with her own power. In seconds, it would touch her head, and the transformation would be complete. The gathered nobles held their breath, watching history unfold before them.
Then it happened.
The first wave of power hit like a physical blow.
The civilians in attendance - merchants, craftsmen, and lesser nobility - collapsed instantly, their unprepared minds overwhelmed by the sheer intensity. Many lost consciousness before they hit the ground.
The crown remained suspended in the air while stronger nobles staggered, their faces draining of colour as they felt something beyond their comprehension overwhelm them. Military commanders who had faced armies without flinching now trembled like leaves in a storm. Even the most powerful mages present felt their knees buckle under an impossibly powerful pressure.
Lyanna knew this power. Had felt it once before, in childhood, when Father had lost his temper at a would-be assassin. But this... this was beyond even that. This was divinity given form, strength that bordered on the absolute.
The crown slipped from its magical suspension, clattering to the cathedral floor with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
Lyanna couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could barely think under the crushing weight of that familiar yet terrifying aura.
He stood in the cathedral's main doorway, his frame silhouetted by natural light that seemed dim compared to the power radiating from him.
Emperor Tiberius Ironforge, the Sword Sovereign, Guardian of Human Civilization - titles that suddenly seemed inadequate to describe the being before them.
Without the magical wards and barriers that had contained his power during the duel with Duke Draconus, without the careful constraints he usually placed upon himself, her father's true might pressed down upon them all like the hand of an angry god.
The air itself seemed to crystallise around him as he took a single step forward. The cathedral's ancient stones groaned under the pressure of his unrestrained power. Generations of nobles who had played at politics, who had schemed and plotted, now understood with horrifying clarity why the Ironforge Dynasty had ruled for five thousand years.
Lyanna's perfect posture finally broke.
She fell to her knees, her ceremonial armour suddenly feeling like paper against this overwhelming force. All her strength, all her victories, all her carefully laid plans - they meant nothing in the face of this impossible might.
Every person in the cathedral would have nightmares about this moment for the rest of their lives. They would wake in cold sweats, remembering how it felt to be in the presence of true imperial power. And he was just standing there, making no aggressive moves, taking no hostile action. Simply existing in his natural state.
The silence stretched, broken only by the sounds of rustling cloth as nobles prostrated themselves before this display of divine might.
Tears streamed down faces that had never known true fear before this moment. Hardened warriors whimpered like children.
Emperor Tiberius looked around the cathedral, taking in the decorations, the ceremonial preparations, and his daughter kneeling before him. His voice, when it came, was almost conversational - yet it carried to every corner of the vast space with perfect clarity.
"What did I miss?"