[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231109/0ba929c62ce0023295985d603785fcba.png[/img][/center][hr]The ceremony was quite lovely, Ionna thought. She wasn’t the most devoutly religious person, per se, but it wasn’t like there was much to debate when it came to the mother. How often was faith anchored in undeniable fact? In a way, it seemed odd to her to call it faith at all; proof of the Mother’s power was evident in their lives every day, and for some, that power [i]was[/i] their life, forever. 

She supposed her only conflict came in the labeling of that power as a blessing. Her father was a cynic, he had few nice things to say about Scionhood—at least in private—and rarely regarded it with the appropriate level of social reverence besides. But Ionna admired the saints. She found them to be profoundly human, and in each one she found both virtues and warnings. Rosaria Lima blessed wealth with one hand, and unrequited love with another. Saint Durand had his scholarly gifts, but was also quite fond of the drink. And the holy lady Auriel, a figurehead in her own home nation, a symbol of stalwart power—and also the patron of [i]dutiful wives[/i]? They all had flaws, but they also had much to teach.

That was how she viewed Scionhood; as a test. Not of strength, or piety, but rather of humanity. Could someone wield so much power without losing touch? The Church seemed wary, and perhaps rightfully so. Ionna, for now, was only curious. Some seemed perfectly capable, while others justified her father’s views. 

How would Prince Lucas fare, she wondered. At least for Sir Tyler’s sake, she hoped he did well. The poor guy seemed utterly wrung out. Seeing them together at the after party did little to assuage her worries for him—for both of them. 

But there was so much going on, she didn’t worry for long. Ionna hadn’t doffed her armor yet, she was much too excited for that, though she had reeled back the crown and helmet. As well, the transformation was halted at her right shoulder. She’d threaded the crystal’s mana into her prosthetic’s anchor, which felt delightfully seamless, and made controlling the armor quite easy. She spent several moments materializing and dematerializing her cloak, rolling and unrolling it almost like a rug. Blessedly, Dame Irina was not present to scold her for it. 

Or maybe she was. The manor was massive, after all. Ionna wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that all of Veradis was here, mingling, gossiping, drinking champagne out of fancy little cups. She held one herself for a few minutes, just to get a taste of that one-percent lifestyle, before setting it aside untouched. Her tolerance was laughably low, and the last thing she wanted to do was get drunk in front of a mansion full of Estoran nobility. 

She’d given Dom space to mingle, but kept her in view. She hoped her Scion might open up a little, let some of her colleagues see how nice she was. It had taken her all of thirty seconds to find a kindred soul in Sir Zacharie, and she was sure even with her brief interactions that a few of the other Scions would absolutely love her. In the worst case, she would swoop back in and keep her company.

For the time being, however, Ionna set herself towards being social. Not at all a difficult task for her, usually, but with a party this size she felt a bit like a dog surrounded by tennis balls, too paralyzed with choice to snatch any of them. In the end, she decided to eschew the assembled nobility for the time being, and focus on meeting some of the people she’d failed to beforehand. Keen eyes scanned the crowd, and quickly locked on to the first familiar face they saw—

The Scion of Fire. 

A flash of panic sparked alive inside her. Could she be blamed? The man was frightfully large and looked like he’d been grown in a lab with the express purpose of intimidating as many people as possible. Just looking at him, she thought, her father had good reason to be as wary as he was. Of all the Scions, with all of their mystical domains, Theobald Gaumond was perhaps the most dangerous. Or rather, he [i]could[/i] be; Ionna rather believed he could go another way. Regardless, it would be impossible to tell from just standing there, watching. 

“[color=E40040]Your Holiness![/color]” she greeted, swooping to his side with the swiftness and grace that might be unexpected of someone in armor. A testament to the artisanship of its smith, surely. “[color=E40040]We didn’t get a chance to meet back during the ceremony. I’ve heard so much about you! Though I guess these days it’s getting hard to find people back home who [i]don’t[/i] know your name, huh?[/color]”

She stuck out her hand—her real one, after disregarding a worry about how strong his grip would be—and offered a grand smile up at him. “[color=E40040]I’m sure you get this a lot, but, it’s really an honor to work with you! Or, ah, I guess ‘[i]around[/i] you’ is more accurate. Anyway, how’s the party treating you?[/color]”[hr][@Xiro Zean]