human
Dreizen Volakia:  "Being chosen by the sword is the first requirement for any who hope to assume the imperial throne.”
gpt
Dreizen Volakia:  No one made a sound. "Your destiny stands before you in the form of the sword. Now! Draw it forth. It is the fate from which there is no escape.” As he spoke, the emperor—or rather, the former emperor—Dreizen Volakia stood, and the hilt of a sword appeared above him as well. He reached up and grasped it firmly—and in that instant, his body was wreathed in flames.
human
Dreizen Volakia:  It was the sign that the sword itself was finished with the previous emperor and now sought a new owner. With the end of Dreizen Volakia, the throne now sat open. This, the destruction of the old ruler, was the sign that the contest had begun. The Rite of Imperial Selection, by which the emperors of Volakia had been chosen for generations.
gpt
Vincent:  “Prisca.” While everyone else stood transfixed by the sight of their father’s incineration, Vincent said.
human
Prisca:  Prisca turned at his call, his black eyes meeting her crimson ones. An understanding was established between brother and sister. And then without hesitation, Prisca reached out for the sword in front of her…
gpt
Prisca:  “This world bends itself to suit me.” The sword allowed itself to be drawn into her hand. The Rite of Imperial Selection, which would determine the next ruler of the Volakian Empire, had begun. The relentless, remorseless shedding of blood among the imperial siblings had started.