[The Host is experiencing Nanite fatigue. Power and reflex output are temporarily reduced by 25% for the next twenty minutes.]
‘A much better outcome than the last Command. The backlash really scales with what you’re doing.’ She mused to herself, trying to rise into a standing position without letting people see her legs shaking.
A furry head tickled her arm. Leta looked down to see Bonnie pushing into her side to offer support, her expressive eyes looking up at her as if to offer comfort and assistance.
“Good girl.” She breathed shakily as she put one hand on the wolf’s neck and hoisted herself up on her feet as gracefully as possible.
Freed from the limitations of the duel, the sparks of lightning and energy floated above her head like a halo to tangle in her white locks and over her shoulders.
With her swirling blue eyes glowing as if lit by the hottest of fires and her regal stature, she looked like a celestial being made flesh, here to bless those that pleased her and condemn those that brought her ire.
Her eyes caught John’s bewildered stare as he poked and prodded his previously injured arm and legs.
“Bloody hell…” He breathed as he ran a finger over his shoulder, only to pause and look at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “My scars are gone.”
Leta winced. “Sorry about that. I didn’t specify to only heal your current injuries.”
John was suddenly bursting with energy as he tore off his chest armor and ripped open his button shirt in a flurry of movement as if he were frantically looking for something.
“It’s gone!” he hooted in excitement, his mouth splitting into a wide, joyous grin as he placed a hand over smooth skin. “Gods above, the brand they stuck me with is gone!”
Leta’s eyes shot up to Mic with a questioning gaze that was both disapproving and curious.
“Not I.” He shook his head, “From before his Rising. He was part of a London fighting gang. When he displeased a boss, they branded him and took away his authority, making him just another soldier.”
‘That explains why he was so hung up on elevating his station in the Sect.’ Leta thought to herself before movement drew her back to the present.
John had pulled himself up to one knee and was kneeling in front of her with his head bowed.
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“There is not a word in any language that can express my thanks to you, your Majesty. Both for my life and removing the physical marks that bound me to a time long gone. I have already pledged my service to the Crowns, but to you, I hold above all others. Should you call on me, I will answer.”
In the audience, several people put one fist over their heart and lowered their heads as hushed words such as ‘Long live the Queen’ and ‘So shall it be’ echoed around the room.
Confused about what to do or how to act, Leta looked to Atreus and the team for help.
Allister was giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up while Atreus was slowly shaking his head no.
‘Very helpful.’ Leta exhaled before turning to the still kneeling man in front of her. ‘What would the Queen have said in this situation?’
“Your skills are remarkable.” She spoke in an even but firm voice. “If it was anyone else, you would have been victorious. I think we both learned our lesson, didn’t we?”
John raised his head slightly to look up at her with a perplex expression, which only grew when he saw her smirk of amusement.
“You learned never to go a Queen, even in her infancy.” She chuckled, “And I learned this armor won’t protect me from a punch dagger to the rib. That stung.”
At her wince of mock pain, John’s face broke out in a wide grin.
Leta shook her head ruefully as she slapped his shoulder. “Get up. I’m not some delicate princess that needs people bowing and scrapping.”
He did just that, his large frame towering over her, though his sheepish expression hinted that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with addressing her so casually.
“Thank you for your… understanding, your Majesty.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “I was fully expecting you to finish me off. The duel doesn’t exactly have a clause explicitly stating ‘no killin’’, and it’s never good to have an enemy at your back.”
“If someone tries to jump me from behind, they’ll accidentally get tasered.” Leta raised an eyebrow. “I think I’m covered on that front.”
“You’re Majesty.” De Mar’s voice broke through the banter and drew Leta’s attention to the Judge who motioned with one arm towards the Blade. “Time grows short. The Vault will close in the next thirty minutes.”
“Always cutting it close.” Leta sighed and stepped forward.
The crowd whispered as they followed behind her like moths to a flame as if in expectation of a miracle or another impossible display of magic.
Though they pressed forward in anticipation of something monumental, none stepped over the Vault’s threshold, leaving only De Mar and her in the space.
The hum of the weapon seemed to resonate even louder in her ears, as if it knew she was close by and was calling out.
De Mar looked down at the Blade with a frown of confusion, his amber eyes roaming from one end to another as it to discover some hidden secret.
“I can hear it.” He said slowly, drawing out each word as if he didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “I have been present for a handful of Claimings, but never have I heard a Blade make such a noise.”
Leta gave a halfhearted shrug. “Just add it to the growing list of things going off the rails in my presence.”
Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, she gently raised a hand and placed it over the weapon, her fingers wrapping around the rough stone and ancient barnacles as the vibration seemed to snake its way from the pads of her fingers to her elbow and up to her shoulder.
It was as if her vision narrowed, focusing solely on the Blade.
‘Gada?’
[Does the Host wish to imprint on this Protector-Commander Class Weapon? Yes/No?]
[The Host has selected Yes.]
[Standby for imprint.]