The more Donald rejoiced, the more he lost his composure—and with every flicker of exhilaration on his face, Robert felt the weight of solitude pressing deeper upon him.
"My body is undergoing ever more profound changes… but what of Yal? Where has that peerless beauty, that radiant goddess among mortals, vanished to?"
The first Divine Crystal Sphere had been delivered to the dean's chamber. It was the most treasured relic of Aemiseil Academy—towering as tall as a man. Were it not for the opulent extravagance of Donald's office, with its enormous doors and windows, the wall itself might have needed tearing down to allow such a monolithic gem to pass through.
A dozen venerable professors, seasoned in theory and rich in experience, accompanied the sphere. Their eyes fell upon the carpet of shattered crystal fragments, and one gasped in awe:
"Even the Fourth Sphere has been shattered… Robert, just how formidable is the gift within you?"
Donald's voice quavered with excitement as he turned to them: "Gentlemen, the Fourth Sphere burst apart too swiftly—I could not even glimpse its internal changes. Robert, begin at once! Everyone, observe closely. This time, we must ascertain the true measure of his gift!"
The professors exchanged uneasy glances. From the dean's tone… could it be that even he lacked confidence in the First Sphere—the most precious, the most absolute measure of divine potential?
Robert, amused by the gathering of startled old men, coughed lightly and pressed his left hand—the hand that bore Yal's mark—upon the sphere's surface.
The crystal did not shatter at once… but only for a moment. With the touch of Robert's palm, sharp cracks crackled within the towering sphere. One fissure… then another… and another still.
Balanced on the brink of explosion, the sphere's interior seemed to bloom with layer upon layer of rippling waves, each circling outward. With those ripples arose the delicate, ethereal strains of a harp, filling the dean's chamber with a melody at once crystalline and divine.
Donald's eyes widened; he both saw the transformations within and heard the heavenly chords. His expression twisted in wild ecstasy as he cried aloud:
"Alarén Divine Lineage—the Celestial Hymn! By the Goddess above, it is the unparalleled gift of the Goddess of Harmony!"
No sooner had the words escaped him than a thunderous crack rang out. The First Divine Crystal—the grandest, the mightiest measure of all—burst apart in a cataclysm of shards!
On the continent of the Divine, countless deities reigned, each bestowing gifts of differing natures upon mortals. Thus, divine endowments were classified by the attributes of the gods themselves. A devotee of the Sun God might wield the flames of dawn, and his gift would be known as—Sun Divine, Flame Affinity!
The Goddess Alarén, whose statue had been destroyed only yesterday, bore another revered title: the Goddess of Harmony. As the name implied, her dominion was sound itself, in all its myriad forms. Legends whispered that among her countless powers, the most transcendent was none other than the Voice of the Heavens.
Donald's cry of "Alarén Divine Lineage, Celestial Hymn" meant but one thing: Robert now bore the divine bloodline capable of cultivating the Voice of the Heavens itself. And such a bloodline could only be described by one word—unparalleled.
As Robert came to understand the truth of his transformation, his concern for Yal reached a fevered height. Tormented by dread, he suddenly heard a crystalline, melodious voice within his mind:
"Master, Yal has returned! Please set aside your trivial affairs at once—there are matters of great import I must reveal to you."
Robert's spirit surged. A glance told him Donald and the professors were still enthralled by the fragments strewn across the floor. He coughed lightly and smiled.
"Dean, esteemed professors, in truth I came today… to withdraw from the academy."
Donald seized his arm at once, forcing a laugh, then leaned close to whisper in Robert's ear:
"Nephew, you are a clever man—and now, one who can bring immense honor both to the Academy and to your uncle. I shall not speak further, but give your uncle some face, and you shall not find me ungrateful."
Robert smiled faintly, thinking, Old fox, now that you have seen my gift, you would so easily retract my expulsion?
Still, Donald was, after all, the dean appointed by the Alarén Church, a man of high authority. Robert would need to show some measure of deference. He changed his tone and replied:
"Yet I would much prefer to remain and contribute further to the Academy. Dean, might I… might I continue my studies here?"
"Ha! But of course! Nephew, your gift is so rare it belongs among the annals of the Academy itself. I and the professors shall fashion for you a cultivation plan most worthy."
Drawing Robert aside, away from the ears of the other professors, Donald murmured:
"My dearest nephew, your records of the past six years… are not without blemish. But fear not—your uncle shall see them amended. Henceforth, you will not be remembered as one who repeated six years for incompetence, but as one delayed by 'ill health.' Is that acceptable?"
Robert thanked him with genuine delight. Records followed one through life, ever under the scrutiny of the Church. Donald's offer was the erasure of disgrace, a gift of immeasurable worth.
Feigning gratitude, Robert exchanged a few more pleasantries, but his heart remained with Yal's urgent voice. He rose to take his leave, only to be halted at the door by a stern, severe-faced professor.
"Robert, you may not depart yet! For six years you have shown no trace of divine blood, and now suddenly you claim the Alarén Celestial Hymn? Such a miracle demands explanation. Tell me—whence came your gift?"
Robert froze. He knew well the truth: that Yal was its source. But to reveal her would mean the Church severing his left hand on the spot, dissecting it to uncover her nature.
He could not speak truth. Yet if not by blood, then… let it be credited to the inscrutable will of the goddess herself.
Scratching his head, he mused aloud: "Yes, whence did my gift arise? Could it be…?"
With theatrical fervor, he slapped his brow and cried out in feigned revelation:
"Dean, professors, only yesterday my father ordered me to aid the patrol when a thunderbolt struck the cathedral. I beheld with my own eyes the destruction of the goddess's statue. In desperation, I did what any devout believer would—I shielded her effigy with my life. Could it be that my paltry devotion moved the heart of Alarén, and that she herself bestowed her blessing upon me?"
"You claim that in defending the statue, you stirred the goddess to grant you her benediction!?"
The stern professor glanced at the dean, bewildered. True, divine gifts came by two means—inheritance or direct bestowal. Yet in these times, the gods rarely deigned to grace mortals so directly. Especially the Goddess Alarén, whose majesty had not descended upon humankind for over a century.
And yet… what else could explain Robert's transformation from failure to prodigy?
Donald nodded gravely. "Robert, it seems your gift is indeed a direct blessing of the goddess. My congratulations. But such an event is no trifling matter—I must report it to the Church. Until further inquiry is made, you are forbidden to leave Moonwatch City. Do you understand?"