Damon Bloodborn's POV
We sat cross-legged on the stone floor, separated from the cold stone by thin, woven mats arranged in aligned rows. Order was paramount in these gatherings. Without it, the eager lamians gathered here would turn this gathering into a riot.
In the center of the courtyard, standing upon a slightly elevated dais, was Zaire. He was a senior among the younger generation, a Lamian who already worked alongside the Citadel's elders. His specialty was the complex web of healing magic woven from blood mana. A field that was unique to Lamians.
Zaire was the image of Lamian perfection. Not in his well embroided coat nor his posture that showed decades of study. But in his words that carried the calm, certainty of a Lamian who had refined his knowledge of this world.
He had just concluded an exhaustive discussion on the primary forms of mana. The mana forms that maintained Enora's existence. He had discussed the causes of mana-density, the effects of elemental shifting, and the necessity of blood mana as the embodiment of our race. It was a standard, masterful lecture that fulfilled every criterion required for such a vast topic.
Had a scholar proceeded with even a grain less preparation, the congregation of scholars before him would have torn his theories apart. If that were to be someoneof Zaire's standard, they would have at least shown him face. But he didn't need that.
Zaire was confident. He offered a chance for questions. This was a customary art to ensure everyone had a say.
Zaire did not expect Kalon.
Beside me, Kalon had been fidgeting throughout the entire speech. His fingers tapping in a frantic rhythm against his knees. Over the past few months, he had become a ghost within the Citadel, isolating himself in the Hall of Knowledge.
I couldn't understand my friends motive. Did he really want to be a manifestation of the books than a living boy.
Each time I had gone to retrieve him for our small outings with Clovis, Nora, and Jared, I felt a shift in his aura.
Selene had once told me that the magical power of a being can be sensed by others, a phenomenon I had only ever experienced among the seniors, the elders and soldiers. But Kalon was beginning to emit that same pressure.
Kalon rose from his mat with a suddenness that suprised the scholars around us. Zaire's speech was flawless, many looked thoughtful, considering there was nothing to question.
Still, Kalon called out to the dais, his voice ignoring the murmurs of the crowd.
"A well-thought-out speech, Zaire," Kalon began. A subtle shift in his posture and the attention of the courtyard was on him. "You explained the features of the different mana forms with great care: pure mana, wind, water, earth, fire, darkness, metal, plant, and of course, our own blood. It is indeed our very embodiment, a thread that ties us to the world."
A ripple of light laughter moved through the crowd at his closing words. A brief moment of levity in an otherwise dense afternoon I experienced while sitting besides him.
"But," Kalon's voice dropped, the humor vanishing instantly, "I disagree with you concerning spirit energy."
Silence followed was absolute. Then, like a dam breaking, the murmurs filled the courtyard.
"Why?"
"Perhaps I heard wrongly... "
"What is he saying?"
"Who is this boy?"
A chorus of confusion and of disbelief. Many in the congregation leaned forward, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinized the young Bloodborn. Some even whispered that he had imbibed too much wine before the gathering.
Zaire's smile faltered. The great scholar looked confused. Scholars respected knowledge, but was he willing to peer out to Kalon outrageous logic.
"And how did you come to such a conclusion, Kalon? Spirit energy is traditionally classified as a high-concept sub-sect of pure mana. Are you suggesting our understanding of the elements is flawed?"
"Spirit energy isn't just another form of mana," Kalon replied, his voice steady even as the weight of a hundred gazes pressed against him. "It's a distinct kind of energy on its own. A variable, if you will. We Celestials are embodiments of mana. Our control over mana is absolute because we are mana in physical form. But spirit energy? I see it as the energy of sentience. It is the force that allows a soul to occupy a vessel of mana without dissolving into the ambient."
Kalon stepped into the aisle between the mats, his hands gesturing in the air. "Think of how the soul feels when you channel. Mana forms the body. A clay, the blood, and the bone. But spirit energy is what makes us sentient. I believe that it is the presence of this spirit energy in the world that made it possible for us to exist in the first place. Without spirit energy acting in some way to maintain our form, we would be nothing more than mindless storms of elemental power."
Zaire interjected, his voice rising to maintain control over the restless crowd. "Are you suggesting that our physical forms limit our ability to wield this spirit energy? That the very thing we are prevents us from mastering it? Does the Guardian, Enora's protector, fall under this theory as well?"
The skepticism in the crowd turned to hostility. It was one thing to debate the nuances of blood-flow. It was another to question the nature of the Guardian.
'What is Zaire thinking? Is he baiting Kalon?' I would need to warn my senior later to not make things hard for my friend.
"By studying the grimoires in the Hall of Knowledge, that's how I've come to this," Kalon stated firmly.
"You lie!"
A voice cracked like a whip from the back of the courtyard. An aged Lamian stood up, his face a mask of indignation. I recognized him.
Elder Edgar, a lamian of the old guard who believed that the grimoires were sacred and that their secrets were not for the young to reinterpret.
He pointed an accusatory finger at Kalon, his hand shaking with rage. "The books never mentioned a 'Spirit Variable.' Such a distinction does not exist in the canon! To indulge in such fringe arts is not only foolish. It is forbidden!"
The tension in the air was thick enough to slice. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I looked around at the other Lamians, realizing with a jolt of anxiety that they knew Kalon and I were friends.
The Genius of the younger generation now mingled with a madman.
If Kalon branded himself a heretic today, he would drag my reputation down into the mud with him. I considered standing up, pulling him back to his mat, and ending this before the Elders decided to make an example of him.
But I couldn't move. There was a calm confidence exuding from Kalon. He wasn't afraid. He was determined to unlock a mystery that the rest of us were too cowardly to even acknowledge. Despite my fear for my image, I found myself leaning in, and my heart beating steadily. I wanted to hear his truth.
"I reckon the books speak of various magical attributes," Kalon said, ignoring Elder Edgar's trembling finger. "We've all mastered the guides, yet we remain blind to their true essence because we only look at the results, not the source. We can only manifest greater power by daring to dive into the unknown. I daresay even the Guardian lacks authority over spirit energy. If he did, the scourge of demons would have been vanquished long ago."
A gasp moved through the courtyard. To question the Guardian's absolute authority was to back the heavens. The Guardian was a being of foretold strength, a transcendent entity wielding Chaos magic. A legacy magic passed down through the Oracle herself.
"The Guardian's magic is beyond the confines of Enora's law," Kalon continued, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Can you truly equate it with simple mana? If not, why can't there be another kind of magic? Why must we limit our existence to the elements we can see and touch?"
The murmurs turned into contemplation. People weren't just angry anymore. Now, they were thinking. Kalon had planted a seed of doubt in the center of their certainty.
Zaire sat back down on his dais, his expression unreadable. He looked at Kalon not as a nuisance, but as a puzzle he couldn't solve. The discussion began to simmer to a close as the crowd deliberated. The heavy silence of deep thought replacing the earlier hostility.
As the congregation began to disperse into smaller, whispering groups, I stood up and walked to Kalon's side. He looked exhausted. His eyelids were swollen from weeks of sleepless nights in the Hall of Knowledge, and his braids were a ramshackle mess. Yet his eyes... were burning.
"You really wanted to let that out, huh?" I said, trying to keep my voice light despite the knot in my stomach. "You're determined to unlock this mystery even if it causes riots in the citadel."
Kalon looked at me, a weary smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, Damon. We have a lot to do to achieve that."
"Indeed," a cracked.
"One of those things being the Patriarch's blessing." A voice emerged from behind us.
We both spun around. Standing there was Elder Larry, one of the most honored figures in the Citadel. His receding hairline and recognizable mustache, so prominent it nearly obscured his nostrils. He could not be mistaken.
Kalon and I immediately dropped into a deep bow, our foreheads nearly touching the mats.
In the presence of an Elder like Larry, the intellectual debates of the afternoon felt like children playing with sticks.
"Stand," he commanded. "The Lord has called for you, Kalon. You've surely piqued his interest, boy. Here, let me show you the way."
I watched as Kalon prepared to follow the Elder. My mouth was agape in surprise. I had expected a reprimand, not an invitation to the Patriarch's private study.
Kalon noticed my expression and leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. "I'll come looking for you once I'm back. Don't worry, I'll be sure to put in a good word for you." He shot me a quick wink.
I watched him walk away, feeling a mixture of envy and profound respect. I had always been the 'Genius,' the one the instructors pointed to. But as Kalon disappeared into the corridors of the inner Citadel, I realized that I was but a flickering candle, and he was the sun.