A Throne in the Balance

All Arga could do was take a deep breath, offering a faint smile and a slow nod. "Ningning, I'm sorry. I couldn't hit that man for you. It turns out his father's protecting him," he said, his tone laced with regret.

Ningning shook her head gently, her smile remaining steady, sincere, and warm. "It's okay, Arga," she said softly. "You were already amazing back there." She gave him a thumbs-up, as if brushing away the weight in his heart.

That smile brought a small sense of relief, creeping quietly into Arga's chest. It was as if Ningning's admiring gaze whispered that he was enough—at least for now.

Elsewhere, a heated debate involving the elders, Ayato, and arpin finally reached an unexpected conclusion. The city of Kashgar , once fractured by uncertainty, now stood united under an emperor they had never imagined.

The night passed swiftly. The townsfolk returned to their respective districts, carrying with them a mix of emotions about the monumental decision that had just been made. Behind closed doors, conversations unfolded in hushed tones, dissecting Arga's extraordinary background while questioning his ability to lead. By dawn, a grand declaration and oath of loyalty would take place, ushering in new hopes as well as the weight of great expectations.

At dawn, the morning sky blazed golden orange, stretching out like a painting that heralded a new chapter for Kashgar . In the City Hall square, the crowd had already begun to gather, faces filled with hope mixed with lingering doubt. Some whispered quietly, while others were caught up in heated debates.

"Does he truly deserve to be emperor?" a man murmured to his friend.

"He's a military strategist," the other replied. "If anyone can protect this city, it's him."

Yet, doubt lingered in the air like a stubborn morning mist, refusing to dissipate even as the sun began to rise. The City Hall itself stood grand and imposing. Golden drapes adorned the oath-taking podium, and seats for the elders were neatly arranged on the left side of the stage. At the center, the scepter of sovereignty—carved with coiling dragons—stood firmly, flanked by a ceremonial robe radiating an aura of authority.

Inside the building, Arga sat in the preparation room. His face appeared calm, but his restless feet tapping against the floor betrayed the unease he struggled to conceal. Ningning, standing by his side, observed him intently.

"Are you nervous?" she asked, her tone light but sharp enough to pierce the tense atmosphere.

Arga offered a faint smile, though it was clearly forced. "No, I'm fine. It's just a habit," he replied, striving to maintain eye contact. But the slight tremble in his gaze gave him away.

Sana, standing not far from them with Nico, chuckled softly. She stepped closer and handed a sheet of paper to Arga. "Here's your speech," she said with a wide grin. "Don't forget it. Whatever happens, make sure your words are strong enough to convince them."

Arga took the paper with slightly trembling hands, staring at it for a moment before nodding. Deep down, he knew those words had to carry more than just conviction—they had to bridge doubt and hope, proving to Kashgar that he was the leader they needed.

Gripping the paper tightly, as if it were his only anchor in a storm of anxiety, Arga tried to steady himself. Outside, the crowd grew louder. One of the city elders, a dignified figure draped in a long black robe, stood at the oath podium. His commanding voice broke through the murmur of the crowd, echoing to every corner of the square.

"Brothers and sisters, esteemed citizens of Kashgar ," he began with fervor. "Today is a historic day. A day when we, together, solidify our unity and build a future. For the safety of this city, for our descendants, we shall appoint an emperor who will lead us to glory. Let us welcome our emperor-to-be, Arga!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd, though some chose to remain silent, their gazes filled with contemplation. The atmosphere was tense, like the wind carrying a distant storm, hanging heavily over them.

Inside, Arga took a deep breath. Ningning patted his shoulder, signaling that it was time. With the ceremonial robe draped over his shoulders, Arga stepped out toward the stage. His steps were steady, though he knew every eye in the square was weighing whether he truly deserved to be their emperor.

The crowd filled the City Hall square, a sea of humanity brimming with enthusiasm tinged with skepticism. Some cheered with genuine excitement, while others clapped halfheartedly. Amidst the commotion, Arga emerged from the massive doors of City Hall, his steps slow but deliberate. Ningning, his ever-present shadow, was by his side. Her presence provided a calming counterweight to the roar of the crowd, which felt almost oppressive.

The people's cheers accompanied Arga as he approached the coronation stage. Though dressed simply, his aura that day radiated something far greater than an ordinary young man. In the distance, the stage stood magnificently adorned with emblems of sovereignty that would soon be his. The midday sun reflected off the golden drapes and carved wood of the stage, as if spotlighting the destiny that awaited Arga.

He glanced at Ningning beside him. Their eyes met briefly, and without a word, her gaze conveyed, "You can do this." That silent assurance was enough to calm the storm brewing in his chest. "This is just the beginning," he thought to himself, trying to steady his heavy breathing.

Step by step, Arga moved closer to the center of attention. On the stage, the city elders waited, standing in orderly formation. In their hands was a small yet meaningful crown—a symbol of power that would soon be bestowed upon Arga. The crown's metallic gleam caught the sunlight, reminding him of the weight of responsibility now looming over him. The air felt heavier, as if every breath carried the hopes and doubts of the thousands before him.

When Arga finally reached the throne, the once-clamorous crowd fell silent. The silence was almost sacred, like the long pause before a new act began. Sana stopped walking, allowing Arga to advance alone to the center of the stage. A small smile played on her lips, offering one last push of encouragement.