THE PATH TO SUPREMACY

As the ceremony unfolded, the air remained charged with expectation. Each child that stepped forward brought a new ripple of energy, their cores illuminating the hall in shades of Amber, Verdant, or Azure. The occasional Teal Core drew appreciative murmurs, but the earlier spectacle of Amara's Crimson Core still lingered in the minds of the crowd.

"Leoray Valden," the grand mage announced, his voice cutting through the steady hum of conversation.

A boy with sharp features and a proud stance stepped forward. His richly embroidered robes of deep green and gold reflected his noble lineage, the Valden family crest stitched prominently across his chest. He moved with the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance, his chin held high as though the room owed him its undivided attention.

Rui glanced at him briefly, noting the air of self-assuredness Leoray carried. The crowd quieted as he stood before the grand mage, the crystal staff poised to reveal his core.

The moment the crystal touched Leoray's chest, the air seemed to shift, a hum of energy filling the space. For a moment, there was silence, then a flicker of light—rich, deep, and commanding. A vibrant purple hue began to emanate from Leoray, growing in intensity until the entire hall was bathed in its regal glow.

"An Amethyst Core," the grand mage declared, his voice carrying a weight of significance. "Rare and unparalleled in refinement. A core that embodies extraordinary control and precision, a mark of prodigious talent."

The reaction was immediate and electric. Nobles leaned forward in their seats, whispering excitedly to one another. Some clapped politely, others exchanged looks of envy and admiration. A few older mages nodded knowingly, their expressions suggesting they understood the gravity of such an awakening.

"An Amethyst Core," one nobleman murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "The Valdens have produced a true prodigy this year."

"To think a child so young could awaken such a core," another added. "The future of the Valden family just grew much brighter."

Leoray's lips curled into a confident smile as he basked in the attention, his purple aura casting long shadows across the hall. He turned to face the crowd, his gaze briefly flickering toward Amara, as though seeking her reaction. Her expression remained impassive, her focus elsewhere, but Leoray's pride was undeterred.

The grand mage stepped back, observing the boy with a measured look. "An Amethyst Core is not merely a gift; it is a challenge. Such power demands mastery and discipline. Leoray Valden, your path will be one of great trials—but also great potential."

The boy gave a sharp bow, his confidence undiminished. As he returned to his place among the children, the hall buzzed with speculation. Whispers of alliances, future achievements, and the Valden family's rising influence filled the air. Leoray stood tall, the purple glow still faintly visible around him, his presence impossible to ignore.

Rui watched the display with quiet interest. The sheer intensity of the crowd's reaction to the Amethyst Core was telling. While a Crimson Core was rare and powerful, an Amethyst Core carried with it a sense of awe-inspiring potential—a level of refinement and control that few could achieve.

And yet, Rui felt no envy. His thoughts were focused elsewhere, on the moment that was fast approaching. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the grand mage raised his staff once more.

The ceremony pressed on, the nobles alternating between whispers of intrigue and polite applause as each child's core was revealed. The air was thick with anticipation, but not every revelation was met with celebration. For all the brilliance of Amara's Crimson Core or Leoray's Amethyst Core, there was an unspoken truth that lingered in the room—a truth no one wished to confront.

"Marcel Trithan," the grand mage announced.

A boy stepped forward, his movements stiff and hesitant. Marcel's plain brown robes marked him as a lesser noble, his family far removed from the prestige of houses like the Kireans or Valdens. He was slightly taller than Rui, with a mop of unruly hair and wide eyes that darted nervously between the grand mage and the crowd.

The hall fell silent as the grand mage lowered his staff toward Marcel. The faint hum of mana filled the air, followed by a sharp, expectant pause. Marcel stood perfectly still, his hands trembling at his sides as the crystal made contact with his chest.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a faint flicker of light—so faint it was almost imperceptible—shimmered weakly beneath the surface. The crystal pulsed once, then twice, before falling completely still. The silence that followed was deafening.

The grand mage's expression remained neutral, though there was a subtle tension in the set of his jaw. He stepped back slightly, his gaze fixed on the boy. "No core," he said quietly, his voice low enough to carry only to those nearest the center of the room.

Marcel's face crumpled, his wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. A ripple of hushed murmurs spread through the hall, the nobles exchanging pointed looks and whispered judgments. Though no one spoke outright, the weight of Marcel's failure was palpable, a heavy presence that pressed against everyone in the room.

"Unfortunate," one noblewoman whispered, her tone cold and dismissive. "The Trithan line has always been weak."

"It's rare, but not unheard of," another man murmured, his expression tinged with pity. "Some children simply lack the affinity. Without a core, there is no magic."

Marcel stood frozen, his shoulders hunched as though bracing against an invisible blow. The grand mage placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, his voice soft but firm. "The path of magic is not yours, Marcel Trithan. But paths beyond magic may still await you. Walk them with your head held high."

The boy nodded mutely, his face pale as he turned to leave the circle. His steps were slow, hesitant, as though the weight of the entire room's judgment bore down on him. He disappeared into the crowd, his figure swallowed by the sea of nobles who barely spared him a second glance.

Rui watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening. It wasn't pity he felt for Marcel—nor fear, exactly—but something deeper. A recognition of the fragile line between success and failure, of how much rested on this one moment. He didn't dwell on it long, though. His name would be called next.

The grand mage straightened, his staff glowing faintly as he scanned the gathered children. "Rui Kirean," he announced, his voice steady and clear.

The room fell into a hush once more, the weight of expectation shifting toward Rui. He stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. His eyes met the grand mage's, and he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

From the crowd, Soren and Arielle watched with quiet intensity. Soren's arms were crossed, his face a mask of stoic composure, while Arielle leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped tightly against her chest. She could feel the tension in her own breath, not from doubt, but because she knew how much this moment mattered to her son.

As Rui moved past the seated nobles, Arielle whispered softly, almost to herself, "You've worked so hard for this, Rui. You've always pushed yourself, even when you didn't have to."

Her voice carried just enough to reach Soren, who glanced at her. "He'll do more than fine," he said, his tone low but resolute.

Arielle nodded, her lips curving into a faint, proud smile. "I know. But he's carried so much weight on his own shoulders. He deserves this."

Her words hung in the air as Rui reached the center of the hall, standing tall before the grand mage. The staff was raised once more, its crystal shimmering faintly in the light. The air seemed to hold its breath, the entire room waiting for what would come next.

As Rui stood before the grand mage, the crystal lowered toward his chest, and the hum of mana filled the hall once again. This time, it was different—stronger, sharper, as though the air itself was vibrating with energy. Rui closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling deep within him, the quiet presence that had always been there, waiting.

The moment the crystal touched him, the world seemed to erupt.