Bishop III

Under the warm hues of the setting sun, Stella's approach added a touch of grace to the gathering dusk. Her words carried a genuine concern for her comrades as she asked, "How were you guys?"

Brayan, standing with a measured demeanor, acknowledged her with a nod. "We are waiting for you, Stella," he replied, his gaze shifting briefly to Kanan, who stood by his side.

Kanan, known for his straightforward nature, wasted no time diving into another matter. "Have you sent the prisoner to jail?" he asked, cutting through the formalities.

Stella arched an eyebrow, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. "Settled," she responded, her tone suggesting a confidence in her ability to handle such matters.

As the trio engaged in their brief exchange, the Academy plaza buzzed with activity. The air was charged with anticipation, and the sun's descent cast elongated shadows across the vibrant surroundings.

Brayan, sensing the approaching ceremony, redirected the conversation. "Guys, it looks like the ceremony is about to start. We should make our way to the designated area," he announced, guiding their focus toward the imminent event.

Above the grand podium of the Academy, bathed in the soft glow of twilight, an elderly woman stood with a regal presence. Her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, a testament to the wisdom she carried. The embroidered robes she wore spoke of a lifetime dedicated to the principles upheld by the Academy.

Her keen eyes, filled with the weight of experience, scanned the crowd below. As the buzz of anticipation rippled through the assembly, she cast a glance over her shoulder, seeking the nod of approval from the highest authority – the king himself.

In the royal balcony, bathed in the fading sunlight, King Xesses observed the scene with a measured gaze. His nod, subtle yet decisive, signaled the commencement of the ceremony. A hush fell over the crowd, a collective intake of breath as all eyes turned toward the elevated figure at the podium.

The elderly woman, a revered figure among the knights and nobles, raised her hand in a gesture that demanded attention. The silence deepened, creating an almost reverent atmosphere.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed knights, and aspiring talents," her voice, though weathered, carried a dignified resonance that reached every corner of the plaza. "We gather here today to witness the unfolding of destinies, to celebrate the emergence of the next generation of knights or heroes."

Her words, infused with the weight of tradition and the legacy of countless generations, held the audience captive. The Academy, steeped in history and revered for its role in shaping the kingdom's future, became the stage for the intricate dance of fate.

As the ceremony unfolded, the elderly woman, a custodian of the Academy's principles, guided the proceedings with a grace born of years of dedication. The king, from his elevated perch, observed the aspirants with keen interest, knowing that among them might stand the future defenders of his realm.

As the twilight embraced the Academy plaza, she uttered her name with a resonance that echoed through the ages, Agatha. Principal of the Academy, her authority was rivaled only by the king himself. A guardian of tradition and a beacon for the aspirants who stood below.

"Esteemed knights, noble lords and ladies, and those who aspire to join our sacred ranks," Agatha's voice, a powerful current in the stillness of the evening, resonated across the plaza. Her piercing gaze swept the crowd, a testament to her enduring wisdom and unwavering dedication.

"The Academy," she began, her words carrying the weight of centuries, "stands as a bastion of strength, a fortress built upon the bedrock of valor and commitment. For thousands of years, through the ebb and flow of history, it has weathered storms and witnessed countless wars."

Agatha's words hung in the air, a reminder of the unyielding resilience that defined the institution. "Our origins are rooted in a noble cause — the defense of Elodor from the malevolent forces of the Demon Realm. In those tumultuous times, the Academy emerged as a bulwark against darkness, a guardian of our kingdom's very soul."

The air crackled with the energy of Agatha's speech, each word etched with the weight of history. "Today, as we stand in the shadows of a world free from the Demon Realm's grip, new challenges emerge. The tendrils of ambition and avarice extend from the hearts of neighboring nations, threatening the peace we have fought so hard to secure."

A surge of determination echoed in Agatha's voice as she declared, "Our battle, my dear knights and heroes, will never end. It transforms, adapts, but the essence remains the same — to safeguard Elodor and its people from the encroaching darkness that seeks to exploit our vulnerabilities."

As Agatha spoke, the flames of a collective resolve ignited in the eyes of the assembled knights and aspirants. The call to arms, woven into the very fabric of her speech, resonated with a resonance that transcended the immediate moment. The Academy, a venerable institution, stood as a testament to the enduring spirit of those who embraced the mantle of knighthood.

And so, beneath the gathering twilight, Agatha's words became a rallying cry, a solemn vow that reverberated through the hearts of those who would bear the mantle of the kingdom's defenders.

Agatha's resonant voice continued to weave a narrative that intertwined the threads of history and destiny. "Thousands of knights and heroes have been born within these hallowed walls, standing as living testament to the enduring legacy of the Academy. Today, as we gather beneath the same arches that have witnessed the rise of legends, we shall bear witness to the forging of new destinies."

With a sweeping gesture, Agatha turned her attention toward the center of the plaza, where Viktor, the king's son, awaited the commencement of his coming-of-age ceremony. The cheers and applause that erupted from the assembled crowd echoed through the ancient stones, a symphony of acclamation for the heir to the throne.

"Let us extend our warmest welcome to Viktor," Agatha declared, her words a heralding call that echoed with the weight of tradition. Viktor, in the prime of his youth and draped in regal attire, walked onto the stage below the podium. His presence commanded attention, and the crowd's applause swelled to a crescendo.

As Viktor acknowledged the crowd with a wave, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The ceremony, a convergence of past and present, would not only mark the transition of Viktor into adulthood but also set the stage for the Selection Ceremony that would follow — a rite of passage for those who aspired to walk the path of knighthood or path of a hero.

The air buzzed with excitement, and Agatha, her gaze fixed upon the throngs of eager faces, spoke with conviction. "Today, as we celebrate Viktor's coming of age, we also prepare to witness the emergence of new champions. The Selection Ceremony shall commence, and those deemed worthy shall embark on a journey that transcends the boundaries of ordinary existence."

Academy plaza became a theater of dreams and aspirations, where the echoes of the past mingled with the hopes of the future. The crowd's fervor heightened, each heartbeat resonating with the promise of destiny unfolding beneath the watchful eyes of the Academy's towering walls.