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AMELIA

Although it shouldn’t bother me, being out among the people, it does. In ways I never imagined once the war was over. The people have requested I be at more public gatherings than ever, and while that wouldn’t have bothered me before, it does now.

Shannon glances over at me from where she sits in the seat opposite. “Are you okay? It looks like you’re about to lose your breakfast.”

Truth be told, I am. Morning sickness hasn’t been awful for me since I got pregnant, but when I have situations where I must be awake and ready for early, it starts to mess with me.

Then there’s the threat of being in front of the people.

While many of them thought it was good that I would make daily addresses, there were an equal number who saw Haldonia as aggressors because we dropped bombs, just like Crona did.

“Yeah, worried that there’s going to be protests,” I admit.

“If there are, we’ll deal with it.”

That’s easy for her to say because not everyone looks for her to make a statement. They don’t expect her to come out and be one with the people. To be fair, she isn’t in that type of role, but I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to understand, besides Tristan.

As we pull up to the event I’ve been invited to, a crowd has already formed. Nerves cause my stomach to roll, especially as I see there is a group of people there with protest signs.

The signs are bold and angry, vivid colors screaming for attention. Words like “Warmonger!” and “Peace Now!” clash against each other, creating a sea of conflicting emotions. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“All right, let’s do this,” I say, more to myself than to Shannon. She gives me a reassuring nod, and we step out of the car. The air is cool, a gentle breeze weaving through the crowd. The noise is a mix of chants from the protesters and cheers from those who have gathered to support me.

As I make my way to the stage, I see the faces of those who’ve come hoping for words of reassurance.

There are families, young people, and elders—all looking at me with expectation.

I pause for a moment, letting their energy wash over me, grounding me in the present. They need hope. I need to be that hope.

The protesters’ voices rise in volume. I can hear fractions of their chants penetrating the hum of the supporters.

It would be easy to get lost in that sound, to let my anxiety take root, but I refuse.

Instead, I focus on the people who’ve come seeking something only I can give—peace of mind, a promise of a better future.

I step up to the podium, the microphone catching my breath before I’ve even spoken. The crowd quiets down, anticipation vibrating in the air. I clear my throat, my heart hammering in my chest. This is it. This is why I’m here.

“Thank you all for being here today,” I begin, my voice steady and strong, even as the protesters’ chants linger at the edges. “We stand here not just as citizens of Haldonia, but as members of a world reshaped by struggle, pain, and ultimately, hope.”

The words flow, a river of acknowledgment for the past and a beacon for the future. I focus on the families in front of me, some holding small flags, others with joined hands—a tapestry of unity despite the turmoil.

“We have seen darkness,” I continue, “and we have felt despair. But in that darkness, each of you has become a spark, a light that refuses to be extinguished.”

A small cheer rises, and I see nods of agreement. My confidence builds, born from their reaction, their belief in my words.

“The world is watching us, questioning every move, every decision. And while we cannot erase the scars of yesterday, we can choose to build a tomorrow defined not by fear, but by courage.”

I pause, letting the words settle. The protesters’ chants are loud, insistent, but they are not my focus. My gaze sweeps across the crowd, catching eyes filled with tears, determination, and something else—hope.

“Haldonia will not forget,” I say, voice ringing clear. “We will honor those who fought and those who fell, by working tirelessly to rebuild, to heal, and to stand tall once more. Together, we shall cultivate a legacy of peace.”

A wave of applause crashes over me, the sound buoying my spirits. This is why I’m here. For them. For this moment of unity amid the chaos.

“As long as we hold on to each other, as long as we believe in our collective strength, we will find a way forward. We are more than our past actions. We are the architects of our future.”

The energy shifts subtly, a palpable change, as the chorus calling for peace intertwines with my message, finding common ground. The protesters are quieter now, some even lowering their signs, their expressions softening as they listen.

“We must strive for understanding,” I urge, glancing briefly toward the protesters, acknowledging their presence. “It’s only through open hearts and open minds that we can bridge the divide that separates us.”

The murmurs of agreement ripple back to me, and I feel something spark, a connection weaving among us all.

“Haldonia is strong, not because of its power, but because of its people—each and every one of you.” I pause, letting my gaze settle on individual faces, young and old. “Let us continue to stand together, to support one another, and to be the change we wish to see in the world.”

The applause that follows is thunderous, an overwhelming response that swells my heart with pride and gratitude. I step back from the microphone, letting their energy wash over me, a reminder of why I lead, why I speak.

One voice, a young woman, calls out from the crowd, “We believe in you, Amelia!”

Others echo her sentiment, a chant of support rising up like a clarion call.

As I step down from the stage, Shannon is there, offering a supportive smile. “You did great,” she says, her voice laced with genuine warmth.

I nod, the weight of the moment still settling on my shoulders. “Thank you,” I whisper, knowing that today was just one of many battles for the soul of our nation.

The protesters still linger at the edges, holding their signs, their expressions less confrontational now. I walk toward them, feeling an impulse to reach out, to extend that olive branch.

“Thank you for being here,” I say, meeting their eyes, allowing myself to be vulnerable, open. “Your voices are important—let’s use them to build something beautiful.”

A few of them nod, and I see a flicker of understanding pass between us. It’s a start.

I turn back to the crowd, seeing faces alight with newfound hope. For a moment, I close my eyes, capturing this feeling of unity, of purpose.

This is not just a speech, it’s a promise. A promise I intend to keep, with every beat of my heart and every breath in my body. Together, we will shape the future. Together, we are unstoppable.