The throne room fell silent after the scholar's report, the air growing dense with an unspoken tension. Regardless of rank or position, everyone in the room could feel it—an invisible tide sweeping through their kingdom, altering the very fabric of their existence. Arman, the majestic king of the imperial dragons, leaned forward on his golden throne, his scaled hand gripping its armrest with anticipation and unease.
"A miracle?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, both authoritative and contemplative. His golden eyes narrowed, scanning the faces of his advisors. "Miracles are rarely without cost. Summon the seers immediately. I want their insight on this event."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" the scholarly official replied, bowing deeply before hurrying out of the chamber.
Another voice broke the silence. "Your majesty, this cannot be mere coincidence."
All eyes turned to the source of the voice—a striking young woman with long, flowing hair that shimmered like molten gold and eyes that glowed with an intense, fiery hue. It was an astute young genius and a celebrated warrior among their people. She stood tall and resolute, her presence commanding respect.
"The youngest prince's birth, the resurgence of our people's strength, and now this inexplicable phenomenon…" She stepped forward, her tone measured but firm. "Something greater is at play. We cannot ignore the possibility that his arrival has awakened forces beyond our understanding."
Arman regarded this woman with a proud but cautious expression. "Do you believe this event to be tied to him?"
"It is a possibility," she admitted, her gaze steady. "The timing is too precise to dismiss."
The other officials murmured among themselves, their voices a mixture of curiosity and concern.
At that moment, the double doors of the throne room creaked open, revealing an elderly figure dressed in flowing silver robes adorned with intricate dragon motifs. The seer, an ancient oracle named Lysander, entered the hall with deliberate steps, leaning heavily on his staff, which emitted a faint blue glow. His eyes, clouded by age but sharp with wisdom, swept across the room before settling on the king.
"You summoned me, Your Majesty?" Lysander's voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in his tone.
"Yes, Lysander," Arman said. "We require your wisdom. Our people have experienced a… miracle. The injured have healed, cultivation realms have leapt, and our crops have flourished unnaturally. I need to know: Is this a blessing, or are we on the precipice of disaster?"
Lysander's expression darkened. He closed his eyes and began to chant in a language so ancient that it resonated deep within the bones of all who heard it. A circle of golden light formed beneath his feet, expanding outward as an ethereal dragon's roar echoed through the chamber. The light coalesced into a shimmering orb above Lysander's staff, casting intricate patterns on the walls.
After several tense moments, the orb shattered into fragments of light, which swirled around the seer. When Lysander opened his eyes, they glowed with an unnatural luminescence.
"The child," he intoned, his voice layered with an otherworldly resonance. "The youngest prince is the catalyst. His birth has awakened dormant energies within the kingdom, energies tied to the very roots of our existence."
The room erupted into murmurs once more, the implications of Lysander's words rippling through the gathered officials like shockwaves.
the astute woman clenched her fists. "What does this mean for us, Seer? Is it a boon or a bane?"
Lysander's glowing eyes flicked to her. "That depends on how the child is nurtured and guided. His potential is boundless, but unbridled power can lead to chaos." He paused, his gaze turning to the king. "Your Majesty, the prince must be safeguarded and trained. Forces beyond this world have already taken notice of him. They will come."
The atmosphere grew heavy with the weight of Lysander's prophecy.
Meanwhile, in the royal nursery, Sly lay in his mother's arms, his tiny form radiating warmth. Daenarys hummed a soft lullaby, her voice soothing and melodic, while Kayla sat nearby, watching her baby brother with a mix of curiosity and protectiveness.
Sly, for his part, was deep in thought. The influx of knowledge about the Transcendent Dao Pupils still swirled in his mind like a chaotic storm. He had learned that the pupils' power extended far beyond what even his grandfather knew. At higher levels, they could manipulate reality itself, bending the laws of existence to his will.
'This is insane,' Sly thought, his infant face betraying none of the turmoil in his mind. 'I can't let this power consume me. I need to understand it first.'
His musings were interrupted when Kayla leaned closer, her golden eyes scrutinizing him. "You're thinking about something, aren't you?" she said with a sly smile. "Don't think you can hide from big sister. I can already tell you're going to be a troublemaker."
Sly stared at her, and for a brief moment, the faintest glimmer of crimson and gold danced in his pupils. Kayla blinked, startled, but quickly laughed it off.
"See? I knew it!" she teased. "You've got that mischievous look already."
Daenarys chuckled, gently rocking Sly in her arms. "Kayla, he's just a baby. Give him time to grow before you start accusing him of mischief."
"But Mother," Kayla said, feigning a pout, "you didn't see it! He looked at me like he was planning something!"
Daenarys smiled warmly. "That only means he'll take after you. I suppose I should prepare myself for double the trouble."
As the two women laughed, Sly felt a warmth spread through him—a sense of belonging that he hadn't experienced in his previous life. For the first time, he allowed himself to relax, content in the knowledge that he was surrounded by family who cared for him.
'Maybe this life won't be so bad after all,' he thought, a small glimmer of hope stirring within him.
Back in the throne room, Arman dismissed the court, his expression grim but determined. As the officials filed out, he turned to Lysander.
"Seer, tell me truthfully: What must I do to ensure my son's safety?"
Lysander hesitated, his glowing eyes dimming slightly. "You must prepare for war, Your Majesty. The forces that will come for him are not of this world. They will test the limits of your kingdom, your people, and your resolve."
Arman's jaw tightened. "Then we will be ready. Let them come."
Lysander nodded solemnly. "May the ancestors guide us all."
As the seer departed, Arman sat alone on his throne, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on his shoulders. Yet, despite the looming threat, a spark of hope remained in his heart. His son was no ordinary child, and together, they would shape the destiny of their people.