The air inside the cavernous hall of the International Confederation of Wizards was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the gathered delegates hushed only by the rhythmic toll of the enchanted chimes that signaled the final moments of the election. Gellert stood at the heart of it all, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face, his pale eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

Beside him, you could feel the charged energy rolling off him like a storm barely contained. The qilin, its delicate form kneeling in reverence before him, had sealed his victory in the eyes of the world. No accusations of manipulation, no interruptions from Albus' little band of rebels-just the resounding voice of the wizarding world declaring him winner of the election.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as the final pronouncement echoed through the grand chamber, met with a mixture of cheers and uncertain applause. He turned to you, his voice smooth as he murmured, "And so, my dear... the world is finally ours to shape."

His hand reached for yours, a silent invitation to stand at his side as history unfolded. The weight of the moment pressed upon you-whatever happened next, one thing was certain. Gellert had won.