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Whoever’s blood, however much sweat, whatever she has to offer in effort—everything burns. Scorching her skin, peeling away in disbelief as the last rumble topples the final tower of Kinguin castle. Entire villages burned to ashes, plateaus leveled flat, world trees oozing out mist, and people—the betraying people---everyone holding torch fires in manic rage. Their own homes betrayed and families stabbed, her own rule beheading itself. Prophecy be told, prophecy be seen. Every breath scorches her throat, with a mind plague her lips to stop as seven crosses of the seven faithful hold six people: “Rumen…Thean…Adviser…Lord Magister…Mother…Father…” Giza gasps, tearful eyes wide in horror at the vengeful shadow at the final empty cross.
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One silhouette looking over his shoulder, seven silhouettes walking behind and together with him. Two roars bellow from the rubble, whimpers and barks as a two tailed tiger gnaws with unholy and merciless mandibles. No one saves, No salvation in this prophecy. Nothing, absolutely nothing!
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“What did you sin?” A voice come up from behind,
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Giza looks up and terror stomps her soul to pieces, “P-please…Spare me…”
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Bats and gargoyles soar the dark, ash wailing skies. The hand of a monster coming up to touch her unfaithful face. Her lips uttering silent words having Giza shriek for whatever is going to happen, whatever will happen, what torture, what terror, what horror waits for the sinner. The word “spare me” begs in repetition and nobody hears her---Nobody except her, descending from the skies like a merciful angel, arms spread which asks for a hug, that which Giza reaches out for, that which she years, and that which she could never have as she wakes in cold sweat.
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In the royal bedchamber, High Princess Giza tosses and turns, before bolting herself upright. Her heart pounding and her brow and chest drenched. Her own blanket offers solace for her lost tears. With the gentle beards being heard as monster screeches, that which she turns them into stone, that which everything around her is stone. The servant who fixed her bed the night before, the calligrapher, the messenger who stumbled himself on the floor. The door knocks for her guards to ask if the princess is awake and available.
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“What?” She utters miserably with a rough voice, wiping away tears.
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“Lord Jenskin wishes to have an audience”
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Jenskin…the only man whom she has not turned to stone yet. “Wait,” clearing her throat, fixing her hair and turning every stone into pebble. “Okay, let him in.”
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The door creaks open and Lord Jenskin steps in, his expression shifting from casual cheerfulness to concern as he notices Giza's distressed state. "My princess, whatever is the matter?" He quickly and proudly strides over to her bedside.
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Giza swallows hard, trying to regain her regal composure. "It's nothing, Jenskin. Merely a troubling dream." She attempts a weak smile but it falters because of her stoned expression.
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"A dream that leaves you in such a state is no mere trifle." He gently takes her hand in his. "Please, tell me what burdens you. Let me help shoulder the weight, as is my duty and privilege as your loyal lord and…" taking his chance and leaning in, “…lover”
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But she hesitates, holding onto the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes…she cannot help but draw the words from her. "It’s the prophecy” Her voice cracks.
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Jenskin's brow furrows and he squeezes her hand. "Giza, look at me. I’ve heard of the prophecy that troubles my dear princess and if you think of everyone’s betrayal for your kingdom. My own being and my devotion is unwavering to your loyalty."
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"I know...I know you would never. But the dream felt so real." A shudder runs through her. “As if the Gods made me see the future…”
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"Then let me remind you of what is real." He brings her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "My faith. My service. My adoration for you. Those will never change, in this life or the next."
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Giza feels tension uncoil from her muscles at his words, at his touch. She allows herself to lean into him, resting her head on his sturdy shoulder. "Thank you, Lord Jenskin”
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He wraps a comforting arm around her. "Always, my princess. Now, shall we discuss more pleasant things? The festival approaches and I look forward to you outshining the sun itself."
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A small genuine smile curves her lips, though never above the mouth line. "Beautiful words you have, sounds pleasing and have my arms wrap around you.”
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"Merely the truth, Princess. Though I do worry..." He affects a frown though a teasing gleam enters his eye.
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"Worry? About whichever what?"
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"That if your radiance grows any brighter, those common folk may go blind!" He chuckles. "Perhaps we should distribute eye coverage to the peasantry during the festival as well, lest they be overwhelmed."
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Giza laughs, swatting at him playfully. "Hush, we’ve no need to concern ourselves with the lesser."
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"There's the smile I adore." Jenskin grins, tucking an errant strand of golden hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering briefly against her cheek. The stone face, though unshowing of her expression, her own voice and breathing exchanges both with smiles. "I know the burdens of rule weigh heavy, but I have faith in your strength. And I will be here, beside you, to remind you of joy and laughter and of course, for whenever you need company.
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Giza sighs softly, relaxing fully against him. His large ends embracing her head with every pat. “Let’s get back to you” She says, “What made you ask for my audience?”
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Jenskin's expression turns more serious, though he maintains their close contact, his arm still wrapped securely around Giza's shoulders. "Ah yes, the matter at hand. As you know, the Mægfæge festival draws ever nearer. Preparations are well underway, but I had a proposition I wished to discuss with you, my princess."
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Giza tilts her head to better look up at him, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Oh? Do tell, my lord. What proposition do you bring before your princess today?"
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"With the influx of travelers expected for the festivities, I believe it prudent to establish a central authority to oversee the inns and taverns that will be housing and entertaining them." Jenskin's hand absently strokes Giza's upper arm as he speaks. "As one of your most trusted Advisers and a skilled businessman in my own right, I humbly submit myself for the role."
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Giza considers this, a small frown marring her brow. "You wish to be granted oversight of all the festival's accommodations? That is no small request, Jenskin."
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"I'm well aware, Princess." He shifts to face her more fully, taking both her hands in his. "But I assure you, it is not a responsibility I suggest lightly. I only wish to serve you and the kingdom to the best of my abilities. By streamlining the travelers' experience under my watchful eye, we can ensure maximum satisfaction and minimum disruption."
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Giza searches his face, weighing his earnest expression against the magnitude of power he's asking for. Her nightmare still lingers in the back of her mind - visions of betrayal, of thrones toppled. Can she truly trust anyone, even her beloved Jenskin, with such influence?
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"Your words are honeyed as ever, my lord," she says slowly. "But I must consider the implications carefully. Granting you alone such authority over so many... it could breed resentment among the other nobles."
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Jenskin's face falls, but he quickly recovers, squeezing her hands. "I understand your hesitation, Princess. But I beseech you, let my actions speak louder than any honeyed words. Allow me this chance to prove my devotion, not just to you, but to the prosperity of our kingdom."
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He looks at her with such intensity, blue eyes blazing with conviction, that Giza feels her resolve wavering. In spite of the shadows haunting her dreams, the man before her now has only ever shown loyalty and care. Perhaps it is a leap worth taking.
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"Very well," she says at last, a new note of steel underscoring her words. "I will grant you provisional authority over the festival accommodations. But mark me, Jenskin - I will be watching. Closely. Do not make me regret placing my trust in you."
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Jenskin's face alights with triumph and relief. He brings her hands to his lips once more, lingering longer this time. "Thank you, my princess. You will not be disappointed. I swear to you, all I do will be in service of your glorious rule."
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Giza nods, before suddenly getting rolled on top of Jenskin and their lips meeting. The lord, being unable to contain his happiness, shares his joy in unclothed debauchery. Having the princess realize how much it means to him with every thrust and that his happiness is genuine, truly genuine that he even looks down at her as if he has got through the biggest obstacle in his life. Whatever he may have in store with that happiness, Giza does not waste her chances with her legs clinging for it.
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Minutes later and Giza finds her lover peacefully asleep. Tucking his bareness under her blanket as she herself promptly dress up. Her mind, though relishing in the afterglow, is plagued by the thought of prophecies and nightmare. She makes herself towards the throne room where a mair is attending to the bushes and gets called by Giza. “Summon the princesses, elders, secretaries, Advisers and magisters present WITHIN the capital. Not just in the castle.”
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And the servant makes haste scurrying himself to carry out her orders, Giza paces the room, her mind racing with the implications of her dream. She dons her regal attire and makes her way to the throne room, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
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Upon entering the throne room, Giza is surprised to find only Princess Rumen present, two military elders, three Advisers, and five magistrates. Her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Where are the others?" Giza demands, her eyes darting around the room.
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Rumen steps forward, her voice calm and even but her left hand holds a rat while her right holds a syringe. "Orange head leaft with the general. Said that they are going to do some treasure hunting." Her lifeless servants brought in with them her test tubes and experimental wares.
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Giza's brow furrows as she takes in Rumen's odd appearance and unsettling demeanor. The rat and syringe in her hands send a chill down Giza's spine. She clears her throat, trying to maintain an air of authority despite the growing unease in her gut.
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"Treasure hunting? At times now?" Giza shakes her head, dismissing the thought for now. She turns to address the gathered officials. "No matter. We have pressing matters to discuss."
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Giza ascends the steps to her throne, the weight of her nightmare still heavy on her shoulders. As she takes her seat, she surveys the faces before her - the weathered visages of the military elders, the calculating gazes of the Advisers, and the solemn expressions of the magistrates. Each seems to carry their own secrets, their own agendas.
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One of the military elders, a grizzled man with a salt-and-pepper beard, steps forward and bows. "Your Highness, if I may be so bold - what urgent matter has called us here today?"
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Giza leans forward, her fingers steepling before her. "I have had a vision, Elder Thorne. A prophetic dream of great destruction and betrayal." She lets the words hang in the air, gauging the reactions of those assembled.
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Elder Thorne's eyes widen slightly, but his expression remains controlled. The other elder, a severe-looking woman with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, narrows her eyes. "A dream, Your Highness? Surely you don't put stock in such flights of fancy?"
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"Peace, Elder Verna," Giza says sharply. "I know well the difference between idle imaginings and true portents. This dream bore all the marks of divine warning."
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Rumen giggles softly to herself, stroking the rat in her hand. The Advisers and magistrates shift uneasily, murmuring amongst themselves. Giza raises a hand for silence.
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"In this dream, I saw our kingdom laid to waste. Betrayal from within, leading to our downfall." She fixes each of them with a piercing stare. "I will not see this vision come to pass. We must fortify our defenses, root out any potential traitors, and ensure the loyalty of our subjects."
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Elder Thorne clears his throat. "Your Highness, if I may - such measures will require significant resources. Our military coffers are already strained..."
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"Then we shall allocate more funds," Giza snaps. "What good is a full treasury if our kingdom crumbles around us?"
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Elder Verna steps forward, her hands clasped behind her back. "High Princess Giza, I must caution against hasty action based on dreams alone. The people will not understand if we suddenly tighten our grip and expand our armies."
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Giza's eyes flash dangerously. "The people need not understand, only obey. I will keep this kingdom safe, by any means necessary."
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As the officials argue back and forth, each advancing their own concerns and objectives, one of the magistrates, a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard, interjects. "Your Highnesses, if I may redirect our attention to a more immediate matter - the Mægfæge festival."
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Giza takes a deep breath, trying to center herself. "Yes, Magister Orwin. What of it?"
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Magister Orwin clears his throat. "Well, as you know, the festival is a time when we open our gates to dignitaries and visitors from other kingdoms. I was curious about the status of the invitations Princess Rumen and yourself have sent out."
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All eyes turn to Rumen, who seems more interested in her rat than the conversation at hand. She looks up, blinking owlishly. "Invitations? Oh, those. I haven't sent any."
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A collective gasp ripples through the room. Elder Verna's face reddens with anger. "Princess Rumen! The Mægfæge festival is a crucial opportunity to strengthen our alliances and gather intelligence. How could you neglect such a vital task?" In a low voice, deeper the any man Giza has heard,
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Rumen shrugs, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I've been busy with more important matters. My experiments are at a critical stage. I can't waste time on frivolous parties."
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One of the Advisers, a thin man with a pinched expression, scoffs. "More important than the security and prosperity of our kingdom? Your experiments are a distraction, nothing more."
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Rumen's eyes narrow dangerously. "Careful, Adviser Linus. My work will bring glory to Kinguin in ways your pea brain cannot comprehend."
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As the room descends into bickering, Giza slams her hand down on the arm of her throne, the sound echoing through the chamber. "Enough!" She turns to Rumen, her expression stern. "Sister, while I respect your dedication to your craft, our duties to the kingdom must come first. You will send out those invitations immediately."
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Rumen looks like she might argue, but a sharp glare from Giza silences her. She dips her head in reluctant acquiescence.
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Giza then addresses the room at large. "As for the festival itself, I have been working tirelessly to ensure its success We need only to clear out the monsters around the Foggy marsh, and our venue will be safe for the laborers."
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Elder Thorne frowns. "The Foggy marsh? Your Highness, that region is treacherous and difficult to defend. Is it wise to hold such an important event there?"
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Giza lifts her chin, a fierce light in her eyes. "The Foggy marsh is a symbol of our strength and resilience. By taming its dangers and hosting the festival there, we show the world that Kinguin fears nothing. That we will not cower in the face of challenges."
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Her words seem to invigorate the assembled officials, even as unease still lingers in some of their expressions. Magister Orwin nods slowly. "A bold move, Your Highness. Let us hope it pays off."
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As the meeting continues, the tension in the throne room grows palpable. Elder Thorne, his brow furrowed with concern, steps forward once more. "Your Highness, I must express my reservations about the festival venue again. The Foggy Marsh is not only dangerous but also notoriously difficult to predict. The weather patterns there are erratic at best."
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Giza's eyes narrow, her grip tightening on the arms of her throne. "Explain yourself, Elder Thorne. What exactly are you implying?"
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The elder takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Our scouts at the Nebuculos Watchtower have reported signs of an impending storm, far worse than the marsh's usual temperament. I fear that if we proceed with the festival as planned, we may be putting our guests and our own people at risk."
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A murmur ripples through the assembled officials, some nodding in agreement while others look to Giza for guidance. The princess's jaw clenches, a flicker of doubt crossing her face before she schools her features into a mask of determination.
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"Elder Thorne," she begins, her voice icy calm, "I appreciate your concern, but I will not be swayed by mere speculation. The festival will proceed as planned."
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Elder Verna clears her throat, stepping forward to stand beside her fellow military leader. "Your Highness, if I may. With the looming threat of war on our borders, is it not wiser to err on the side of caution? Perhaps we could scale back the festivities, limit the assets we commit to the marsh..."
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Giza's eyes flash with anger, her voice rising. "Scale back? Limit our commitment? No, I will not hear of it!" She surges to her feet, her gaze sweeping over the gathered officials. "This festival is more than mere frivolity. It is a display of Kinguin's strength, our indomitable spirit. To cower in the face of a little bad weather would be to invite our enemies to view us as weak."
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The military elders exchange a worried glance, but it is Adviser Linus who speaks up next, his reedy voice cutting through the tension. "Your Highness, if I may be so bold... there are whispers among the people. Whispers of the prophecy, of the festival heralding our downfall..."
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The room erupts into a flurry of hushed conversations, officials turning to one another with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Giza's hands ball into fists at her sides, her face flushing with rage.
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"Enough!" she shouts, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I will not be governed by fear and superstition! The festival will go on, and it will be a triumph. I will hear no more talk of prophecies or doom. My word is law, and you will all do your part to ensure the festival's success. Is that understood?"
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A heavy silence falls over the room, the officials bowing their heads in deference, some more reluctantly than others. Elder Thorne, his expression grim, makes one final attempt.
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"Your Highness, if the festival must proceed, at least allow us to allocate additional resources to bolster our military defenses. If war does come to our doorstep..."
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Giza cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "Our defenses are more than adequate, Elder Thorne. I will not divert resources from the festival unless you bring me concrete proof of an imminent threat. Until then, your job is to follow my orders, not question them."
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The elder bows his head, his jaw tight with frustration. "As you command, Your Highness."
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As the meeting adjourns and the officials file out of the throne room, Giza remains seated on her throne, her posture rigid and her eyes blazing with determination. She will not let anyone stand in the way of her vision for the festival, for Kinguin's glory.
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No matter the cost.
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She looks to Rumen, who is whispering something to her rat with a manic gleam in her eye. “Rumen” She calls, “I know what you did, who did you invite?”
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“Ughh, do you really want to know!?” She slams her rat dead on her table, splattering its organs and everything
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“I just want to know if you’ve made progress.”
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“I have! Wait, maybe I should introduce him to you really~” Rumen takes out a scalpel and cuts open her palm to draw blood. She lets it drop onto the floor before saying, “Come out, Prince Naberius~” And the blood spilt all seep back into her palm, healing the cut. Strands of crimson and black all swirl in front of Rumen before a bulky, dwarfized man appears and kneeling.
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His red skin burning Giza’s eyes to widen in shock. “You summoned a daemon? What have you done…”
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“The flat plateau is under my authority, right??? So, there is no need to pry on me sis~ Meet Naberius, my handsome, dashing, prince Naberius.”
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“Prince Naberius of House Hellsing” In a low voice, deeper the any man Giza has heard, “from the distant lands of Delrith, a pleasure to finally meet you, High Princess Giza.”
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