"People of the Imperium! We are gathered here today to witness a long-awaited and deeply desired ascension. This momentous occasion has been decades in the making. Ever since the miraculous birth of our Imperium, the people have longed and begged Deus to propagate his divine line. Those prayers were answered when he graced us with this fragment of his brilliant light. Our Dominus. Our Princeps."
The Pontifex gestured grandly toward Octavian.
"Now, the time has come for that fragment to become a blazing beacon of his own. At last, having gained the approval of Deus himself, I am profoundly pleased to announce that Dominus Octavian has been formally elevated to the supreme position of Prorex Magnus."
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
"Dominus Octavian is the final voice of Deus and THE ONE. Let us rejoice, People of Rome! Let the Ceremony of Ascension begin!"
At the Pontifex's booming declaration, the crowd erupted into absolute jubilee. Trumpets blared, and the war drums pounded a triumphant rhythm.
Amidst the joyous cacophony, Octavian moved to the very centre of the raised platform and gracefully lowered himself into a seated, lotus position.
The Pontifex raised his hands, signalling the commencement of the sacred rites. The young Cardinal and the veiled Saintess stepped forward in perfect synchronization, each bearing a heavy, ornate jug. They took their positions to Octavian's left and right.
"With the pouring of this milk, he is purified into the very life-sustaining force of the world," the Pontifex intoned.
The Cardinal tipped his jug, and a steady stream of pure white milk washed over Octavian's bare shoulders, soaking his golden-filigreed garment. The Princeps did not flinch.
The Saintess then stepped forward, tilting her own polished vessel.
"With this holy oil, he is anointed as the most high, the most revered, and the most loved below THE ONE and his Son," the Pontifex declared, as the fragrant, golden oil was poured over Octavian's bowed head.
Finally, the Pontifex himself lifted a massive silver jug, pouring a cascade of crystal-clear water over the Regent.
"With this holy water, he is entirely cleansed of sin and misfortune."
The Cardinal swiftly handed a folded garment to the Pontifex. It was a magnificent, sweeping cloak of deep emerald.
"With this cloak, he is entirely embraced by Deus as his Chosen."
The Pontifex draped the heavy fabric over Octavian's shoulders. The moment the material settled, a pulse of raw magic rippled through the air. In the blink of an eye, the soaked, golden-filigreed garment and the ceremonial green cloak violently transfigured.
A collective gasp of awe echoed through the hall as Octavian was suddenly, flawlessly attired in full Imperial Regalia. A perfectly tailored, midnight-black silk tunic now hugged his frame, its collar and cuffs intricately woven with shimmering emerald lace. A heavy, blood-red velvet cloak cascaded from his shoulders, fastened at his collar by a massive golden chain bearing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.
The Pontifex, entirely unfazed by the casual display, raised his hands high.
"Rise, Grand Regent of Rome. Figulus Octavian Hadrianus!"
The crowd's cheering reached a fever pitch as Octavian stood. He turned away from the crowd, stepping off the back of the platform to face the daunting, seven-tiered staircase leading up to the dormant Emerald Throne.
He began his final ascent.
The very instant the sole of his boot met the first marble step, the colossal emerald crystals of the throne violently flared to life. A deep, resonant thrumming pulsed through the bedrock of the palace, sending a wave of vibration crashing over the assembly.
The cheering crowd instantly fell silent, struck dumb by the display of power.
With every measured step Octavian took, the thrumming intensified, vibrating in the teeth and bones of every soul present. When he finally reached the summit, the thrumming reached a deafening, chest-rattling crescendo—before abruptly snapping into absolute silence.
Octavian turned around, his piercing green eyes gazing down at the thousands of mortals standing below him. He sought out his sister in the front row, offering Lily a faint, dangerously arrogant smile.
He silently mouthed two words: Watch this.
Octavian seated himself upon the throne.
The moment his weight settled into the stone, all the ambient light within the cavernous hall was violently snuffed out. The grand chandeliers died in an instant. Total darkness reigned for a fraction of a second—before the Emerald Throne erupted.
It blazed with blinding green luminosity, a light so intensely pure and divine that those who dared stare directly at it were forced to shield their eyes.
Then came the pressure.
A crushing, physical wave of raw mana slammed down upon the throne room. It was not the lethal, pinpoint pressure the Emperor used to compel truth, but a vast, suffocating blanket of absolute authority.
The weight of it forced the common folk to their knees instantly. The wealthy merchants and families followed, gasping as the air grew heavy.
The Praetorian Guards remained standing, their enhanced discipline holding them upright against the magical tide. In perfect, terrifying unison, they slammed the butts of their heavy spears against the marble floor—a booming, rhythmic command.
Kneel.
The Senators, the Generals, and the Magistrates finally succumbed to the overwhelming pressure and the military demand, dropping to the floor.
Within moments, the entire, massive assembly of the Imperium was on its knees, bowing in breathless reverence to the blinding green light of their new Grand Regent.
The suffocating weight of mana slowly receded, lifting from the shoulders of the thousands gathered. A collective, trembling breath filled the cavernous hall as the commoners, patricians, and legionaries tentatively pushed themselves back to their feet. The blinding green light of the Emerald Throne dimmed just enough to allow the assembly to gaze upon their new Grand Regent in absolute awe.