Since you're asking for prose that can be directly used in the novel, I'll write it as a draft scene.
The Traxian Auditorium had grown quieter.
Not silent.
Never silent.
There were too many people here now for silence to survive.
The newly recruited candidates whispered among themselves beneath towering pillars of black-gold architecture. Some stared upward at the floating structures overhead. Others remained close to the people who had recruited them, as though afraid the strange city might swallow them whole if they wandered too far.
Yet despite the chatter...
Banjo couldn't stop thinking about Airious.
He stood near one of the auditorium balconies, staring through the translucent walls of Flex City.
His probability cube rolled across his fingers.
One.
Seven.
Three.
Fifteen.
The numbers meant nothing right now.
For once.
His mind was elsewhere.
"You've been quiet."
Androsha's voice pulled him back.
Banjo glanced sideways.
The Nicronian girl stood beside him with her usual confidence. Her recruits lingered nearby, talking amongst themselves. Some laughed. Some explored.
They looked comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Banjo sighed.
"Can I ask you something?"
Androsha folded her arms.
"You just did."
"Then can I ask a second thing?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Get on with it."
Banjo stared at the recruits behind her.
The Nicronians.
The people who had once devoted themselves to Airious.
To Avia.
To the Airien legacy.
Or at least...
that's what he had always assumed.
"What exactly happened on Nicron?"
Androsha blinked.
"What kind of question is that?"
"The honest kind."
Her expression narrowed.
Banjo continued.
"When I was in Airious..."
His voice slowed.
"...I saw students resisting corruption."
The probability cube stopped rolling.
"I saw initiates."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"People who hadn't advanced in years."
The memories returned immediately.
Students screaming.
Students doubting.
Students crying.
Students fighting.
Students refusing.
The possessed.
The hesitant.
The terrified.
The stubborn.
All of them.
"I saw people who hated what they were going through."
Banjo looked toward the floor.
"Yet they still fought."
Androsha's confidence faded slightly.
Not much.
Just enough.
Banjo noticed.
"They weren't winning."
He continued.
"They weren't special."
"They weren't prodigies."
"They weren't chosen heroes."
His gaze drifted toward the distant city lights.
"But they resisted anyway."
Silence.
Androsha didn't interrupt.
Banjo's voice grew quieter.
"Then I come here."
His eyes shifted toward the Nicronian recruits.
"And I see hundreds of people accepting Omega Devia."
Androsha frowned.
"So?"
Banjo finally turned toward her.
"So what happened?"
The question hung between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
Androsha's expression hardened.
"It wasn't easy."
Banjo said nothing.
"I've been trying to convince them for years."
Still nothing.
"You think they just listened because I showed up?"
Her voice sharpened.
"You think they accepted me overnight?"
Banjo remained silent.
That annoyed her even more.
"I spent years proving myself."
She pointed toward the recruits.
"Years."
Her voice echoed slightly throughout the balcony.
"They ignored me."
"They doubted me."
"They mocked me."
"They treated me like a child."
Her fog briefly swirled around her feet.
"I fought for every single one of them."
Banjo nodded.
"I know."
Androsha paused.
That wasn't the response she expected.
"What?"
"I know."
Banjo leaned against the railing.
"I believe you."
The tension shifted.
Because he wasn't attacking her.
That made the conversation harder.
Not easier.
"I know you struggled."
Banjo looked toward the recruits again.
"I know you earned this."
Androsha's mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
Banjo wasn't denying her effort.
He wasn't denying her success.
Which meant something else was bothering him.
Something deeper.
He took a slow breath.
"When I look at your recruits..."
His voice lowered.
"...I see relief."
Androsha nodded.
"Exactly."
"I don't see conviction."
Her smile disappeared.
Immediately.
Banjo noticed.
That bothered him too.
Because for a split second...
the expression on her face looked familiar.
The same expression he had seen on the Nicronian elders.
The same uncertainty.
The same hesitation.
The same crack.
Androsha looked away first.
"What does that even mean?"
Banjo stared into the distance.
"It means..."
He searched for the words.
"It means they look free."
His eyes narrowed.
"But they don't look certain."
The recruits laughed behind them.
Celebrating.
Talking.
Relaxing.
Banjo watched them.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
"They look relieved."
His voice became almost a whisper.
"As if something heavy finally came off their shoulders."
Androsha folded her arms.
"That's the point."
Banjo nodded.
"I know."
Silence returned.
Longer this time.
More dangerous.
Then Banjo asked the question.
The one he had been avoiding.
The one that had been bothering him ever since he returned from Airious.
"Were they loyal to Airious?"
Androsha immediately answered.
"Yes."
"No hesitation?"
"No."
Banjo looked directly at her.
"Were they loyal to Avia?"
Androsha froze.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Just enough.
Just for a second.
But Banjo saw it.
And once he saw it...
he couldn't unsee it.
The probability cube slipped from his fingers.
It rolled across the balcony floor.
Twenty.
The number stopped.
Banjo stared at it.
Then back at Androsha.
Neither of them spoke.
Because the answer wasn't simple.
Airious was a kingdom.
A civilization.
A legacy.
A protector.
People could love those things.
People could devote themselves to those things.
People could spend generations honoring those things.
But Avia?
Avia was different.
Avia asked questions.
Painful questions.
Questions about identity.
Questions about truth.
Questions about authenticity.
Questions that couldn't be delegated to kings.
Or mentors.
Or traditions.
Questions only the self could answer.
Banjo remembered the students in Airious.
The initiates.
The failures.
The stubborn ones.
The ones who barely progressed.
The ones corruption targeted first.
Some had fallen.
Many had fallen.
Yet others remained.
Not because Avia was easy.
But because they had chosen it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Even when it hurt.
Even when it disappointed them.
Even when they wanted another answer.
Banjo looked toward the Nicronian recruits.
Many were smiling.
Many seemed lighter.
Freer.
Happier.
But now a disturbing possibility entered his mind.
Maybe the Nicronians truly loved Airious.
Maybe they respected the Airiens.
Maybe they admired Avia.
Maybe they genuinely believed in everything Airious represented.
Yet perhaps...
deep down...
they had never chosen Avia for themselves.
The realization settled into his chest.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Complicated.
Because if that was true...
then Omega Devia hadn't conquered conviction.
It had filled a vacancy.
A space that had always existed.
A question that had never truly been answered.
Banjo's eyes drifted toward his probability cube.
Still resting on twenty.
The highest possible outcome.
The future he had once celebrated.
The future he now doubted.
His voice emerged quietly.
Almost to himself.
"Maybe that's the difference."
Androsha glanced at him.
"The difference between what?"
Banjo watched the recruits.
The Nicronians.
The converts.
The relieved.
The uncertain.
"The difference between believing in a kingdom..."
His eyes drifted toward memories of Airious.
"...and believing in yourself."
For once.
Androsha had no response.
And for the first time since arriving in Flex City...
Banjo wasn't sure Omega Devia had won this conversation.
Nor was he sure Avia had.
That uncertainty followed him long after the discussion ended.
Like a question.
Waiting patiently.
For an answer.