Godslayer's Legacy: THE PATH TO SUPREMACY

In the bustling streets of the capital city, far from the tranquil Kirean estate, a group of scholars and mages gathered in one of the Royal Academy's private halls. The room, normally used for the instruction of advanced magical theory, was now host to a heated debate.

The conversation continued to churn like a tempest contained within stone walls. The chamber was modest by the Academy's standards, but even here, the architecture bore the unmistakable mark of grandeur—high vaulted ceilings, intricate glyphs carved into the walls, and a subtle glow that radiated from the crystalline light fixtures overhead. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, the mood among the gathered scholars was anything but serene.

"The reports cannot be accurate," a man in flowing robes of dark blue said, his voice sharp and dismissive. "Tempered mana before the age of awakening? Such a thing defies established magical principles."

A woman with silver-streaked hair and piercing green eyes leaned forward, her expression cool but determined. "And yet, the Kirean boy stands as proof. You've read the grand mage's account yourself."

Archmage Lysander, a commanding figure draped in robes embroidered with sigils of authority, raised a hand to quiet the murmurs. The room obeyed with a grudging silence, the air thick with the tension of unanswered questions.

"This boy—Rui Kirean," Lysander began, his voice measured yet firm, "represents more than an anomaly. If the reports hold true, his awakening challenges the very foundations of our understanding of mana and its cultivation."

A woman sitting near the front, her robes marked with the sigil of the Academy's Historical Division, interjected. "Archmage, if I may, this situation demands more than academic curiosity. The political implications of a tempered silver core are staggering. The balance of power between the noble houses hinges on the belief that magical potential is an equalizing force, not a disruptor."

Lysander nodded slowly. "Precisely why this matter cannot be dismissed as rumor or hyperbole." He turned to an aide standing at the room's edge. "Bring the accounts."

The aide stepped forward, laying a scroll across the central table. With a flick of Lysander's fingers, the scroll unfurled, and an illusionary projection rose from its surface. The shimmering image displayed a silver core surrounded by waves of mana so dense and intricate that they seemed alive, pulsing in deliberate, controlled patterns.

"The grand mage's testimony," Lysander continued, gesturing to the projection. "He described the mana as 'tempered,' shaped with precision beyond what is expected of a child. This is no accident. The boy's practices, his efforts prior to the awakening, suggest an instinctual understanding of mana manipulation that exceeds even the most gifted prodigies."

One of the younger scholars, his face flushed with excitement, leaned forward. "Could this be evidence of a new method of pre-awakening refinement? If so, it could revolutionize—"

"Or destroy," snapped a gray-haired mage from the rear of the hall. His voice carried the weight of experience, his words steeped in caution. "A core like this isn't just power—it's leverage. If the Kireans can refine mana before the awakening ceremony, what stops other noble houses from exploiting their own children to gain an advantage? It sets a dangerous precedent."

The younger scholar faltered, retreating into silence.

"Enough," Lysander said, his tone sharp but controlled. He turned back to the projection, his eyes narrowing. "We are not here to debate hypotheticals. The fact remains that Rui Kirean's core is unprecedented. Whether it was shaped through conscious effort, instinct, or mere chance, we must prepare for the ripples this will create."

The silver-haired woman who had spoken earlier leaned forward, her voice calm but pointed. "And what of the boy himself? The reports say he collapsed after his awakening. Is he stable? Can his core even be controlled?"

Lysander hesitated, a rare moment of uncertainty flickering across his features. "That remains unclear. The grand mage's final assessment noted no immediate danger, but he also stressed the need for careful oversight. Such density of mana… even the strongest cores require years to balance."

A tall, wiry man in crimson robes spoke next, his tone biting. "Oversight? From whom? The Kireans? Scholars? Do we even trust them to understand what they've awakened in their own house?"

Lysander's gaze darkened. "The Kireans are not fools, nor are they strangers to the nuances of mana refinement. Their methods may be unorthodox, but they have proven themselves capable stewards of balance."

The room fell into uneasy silence again, the weight of Lysander's words settling heavily over the gathered mages. Finally, the silver-haired woman spoke, her voice softer now. "What do you propose, Archmage? We cannot sit idle, but neither can we interfere without justification."

Lysander turned to face the projection, the silver light reflecting in his eyes. "We watch. We wait. The boy's core is still young—raw. Its full potential will not be realized for years. But when the time comes, the Academy must be ready to guide, or if necessary, to intervene."

The words hung in the air like an unspoken threat, their implications sinking into the minds of all present.

Far from the Academy's private halls, in a quiet chamber of the Kirean estate, Soren and Arielle sat across from one another. The space between them was filled with unspoken words, their shared worry heavy in the stillness.

"The letters have started coming," Arielle said at last, her voice low. She gestured to a stack of sealed envelopes on the table between them, their wax seals bearing the crests of noble houses and influential scholars. "Requests for audiences, invitations to councils… veiled inquiries into Rui's future."

Soren's jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes hard. "They see him as a weapon."

Arielle nodded, her expression pained. "A weapon, a tool, a prize. They don't see him as a child—not for a moment."

"We'll keep him safe," Soren said firmly. "The estate is secure, and he is still too young for them to press too hard."

"For now," Arielle replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what happens when they decide that waiting isn't enough? When they come with more than letters and invitations?"

Soren didn't answer immediately. His gaze fell to the table, his thoughts churning. Finally, he met Arielle's eyes, his expression resolute. "Then they'll find that the Kireans are not so easily broken."