At that moment, Raynor refused to yield. In the silent sanctuary of his mind, he fiercely affirmed his own identity as a noble and pure son of humanity.
Something shifted deep within his soul.
That distant, grand gaze was no longer a faint, indistinct sweep of consciousness. It focused. Like starlight traveling billions of light-years to pinpoint a single speck of dust, the gaze locked onto him.
Raynor sensed that the entity behind that gaze harbored no hostility, nor did it possess any emotions that could be understood by a mortal. There was only an absolute, calm "measure." It was judging. It was confirming.
Raynor's heart skipped a beat, then hammered back to life with renewed vigor. He sensed the change immediately. It wasn't the scepter or the hall—it was his soul that had received a profound "acknowledgment." His identity had been fundamentally validated.
Time resumed its flow.
The clamor of the main hall rushed back into his ears. The deep red gemstone at the top of the scepter was still flashing wildly, energy surging through its facets. But Raynor was no longer angry. He closed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips as he shook his head.
"Oh dear," he whispered. "You've really put me in a difficult position."
He opened his eyes and looked down at the Governor's Scepter. The patterns etched into the metal began to transform. The original red glow was overtaken by a pale, radiant gold. The color spread upward from the base of the staff, flowing through every sacred inscription until it converged at the gemstone.
Inside the ruby, the violent vortex slowed. The deep red was pierced by a wisp of golden light that spread from the core outward. The invisible barrier between the relic and Raynor's spirit dissolved, replaced by a stable, innate connection.
The scepter acknowledged him. Not just as a biological match for the body he inhabited, but as the true essence of the soul within. Though he had never expected to gain the Emperor's personal approval, he stood now as the true Chosen One.
"Hahahahahahaha!"
Raynor burst into a loud, unrestrained laugh. It was the laugh of a man who had survived a disaster, a release of long-suppressed tension, and a roar of arrogant pride.
To the audience, however—save for Goodwin and his pupilless eyes—the situation looked dire. Gus sat slumped in his chair, his spirit seemingly departed. Hearing Raynor's laughter, Gus assumed the Governor had finally snapped after being exposed as a heretic.
The nobles and dignitaries shared this view. They saw a "heretic" who had failed the soul-binding and was now laughing in the face of his execution. Powerful figures began signaling their guards to surround the pulpit.
Goodwin saw the guards approaching and prepared to intervene, but he stopped when Raynor raised his right hand. The gesture was clear: Move aside. I will handle this.
Raynor turned to face the crowd, his expression turning stern and solemn. He saw the barrels of guns leveled at him. He smiled again.
"What? Are you going to shoot your Governor?"
He raised the scepter high. The jewel at its peak erupted with a holy radiance so dazzling that many were forced to shield their eyes.
Suddenly, a golden beam of light pierced through the glass dome of the cathedral without warning, striking Raynor with surgical precision. The beam was so pure and brilliant it seemed to originate from a star itself. It enveloped Raynor, gilding his form in celestial light.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the enclosed hall. His black hair whipped in the radiance, his robes billowed, and his purple eyes shone like jewels amidst the gold. It was an indescribable "Holy Wind." It rushed over the pulpit and across the faces of everyone in the hall, carrying the faint, ethereal sound of a sacred hymn.
In that moment, everyone realized the truth. Raynor was no longer merely the mortal "Kerry von." He was the "Chosen One"—the Governor of Brevis, recognized by the Supreme Being.
"Ave Imperator!"
The first to fall was Archbishop Goodwin. The old man, the voice of divine authority on Brevis, knelt on one knee without a second's hesitation. He bowed his head, paying the highest respect to Raynor—or rather, to the will that had chosen him. If the Emperor had made his choice, the State Religion would follow, regardless of the soul's complexity.
The Archbishop's kneeling was the signal. Whoosh. Every monk and priest in the hall dropped to their knees, shouting in unison:
"Ave Imperator!"
The mockery and suspicion on the faces of the elite froze. They looked at Raynor, bathed in golden light, at the scepter radiating divinity, and at the kneeling Archbishop. They understood.
The Emperor had manifested. In this remote galaxy, isolated by warp storms and light-years of darkness, the Emperor's will had personally touched this tiny hive world to approve its new Governor. In centuries of history, none of Brevis' hundreds of governors had ever received such an honor.
"Splash, splash!"
The sounds of the wealthy rushing to their knees echoed through the hall. The guards who had been approaching the pulpit with drawn weapons scrambled to throw them aside, kneeling faster than anyone else and kowtowing in terror.
Even Raynor's own retinue was stunned. Gus knelt on the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief. He had just been preparing to die in a hail of bullets, regretting ever boarding Raynor's "pirate ship."
But now... golden light? Holy wind? The Archbishop in worship?
Gus felt his worldview shattering. This man who commands the swarm and kills without blinking... not only is he human, but his soul has the God-Emperor's seal of approval?
Does the God-Emperor have four arms too? Gus wondered wildly.
He quickly realized that it didn't matter how many arms the Emperor had. Raynor had passed the test. He was the Governor. And most importantly, Gus wasn't going to die.
"AVE IMPERATOR!" Gus shouted, louder than anyone else in the room.