You Are Dying...
The collective gasps of the nobles echoed through the throne hall as Thunder, the ceremonial sword that had rejected countless hands throughout history, didn't just fly gracefully into Alora's grasp but blue flames danced along its restored blade, casting an ethereal glow across her face.
"The sword... it answers to her!" an elderly nobleman breathed, his weathered face filled with awe. "Just as the legends foretold – only a true Roosevelt can command Thunder!"
Elder Roosevelt, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. His voice carried the weight of centuries as he declared, "Behold the true heir of Anka!" No more coronation quest is needed for them to accept Alora as the crown princess.
The whispers of "witch" and "impure blood" that had poisoned the court died in the throats of those who had spread them. In their place, a wave of reverence swept through the hall as nobles bowed before Alora's display of pure Roosevelt power.