The Council's Summons

Chapter 25: The Council's Summons

Days passed in a blur of anticipation, each one dragging longer than the last as Alden awaited word from the Council of Scholars. He threw himself into his work, overseeing the final touches on his laboratory and continuing to refine his ideas. He couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Every crop he bred, every note he took, brought him closer to the goal he had envisioned so clearly in his dream: a world where genetics was not just a curiosity but a cornerstone of understanding.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the capital in shades of gold and deep violet, a knock came at his door. It was a messenger, dressed in the distinctive robes of the Hall of Scholars, bearing an official scroll.

Alden's heart raced as he broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment. The text was simple, but it was everything he had hoped for:

"The Council of Scholars has reviewed your request and finds your proposal worthy of further discussion. You are hereby summoned to present your findings to the council on the third day of this week. Be prepared to defend your ideas in detail. May your knowledge serve the realm."

The weight of the moment settled on Alden's shoulders. This was his chance—his first real step toward changing the way the people of Eryndor viewed science, nature, and magic. But it wasn't just excitement he felt. There was fear, too, creeping in at the edges. The Council of Scholars was known for its rigorous questioning, and many who sought their favour left with their ideas in tatters. Alden knew he would need to be ready for anything.

The Day of the Presentation

The third day arrived quickly, and Alden found himself standing once again before the towering arches of the Hall of Scholars. He had dressed simply but neatly, his research notes carefully packed into a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. The air was still, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

Inside, the hall was quieter than usual, the scholars gathered in their private chambers, preparing for the day's meetings. Alden was led through winding corridors, past chambers filled with scholars and apprentices engaged in quiet debates or spellcasting demonstrations. He could feel the weight of knowledge pressing down on him, a tangible force that seemed to emanate from the very walls.

Finally, he arrived at the council chamber. It was a large, circular room with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves. In the centre was a wide table, around which sat the Council of Scholars—seven individuals, each dressed in robes denoting their field of expertise. At the head of the table sat an older man with a long, silver beard, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Alden as he entered.

The council members represented various disciplines: magical theory, agriculture, alchemy, history, and even religious studies. It was a diverse group, and that gave Alden some hope. If they were open-minded enough to gather scholars from different fields, perhaps they would be open-minded about his work as well.

"Step forward, Alden of Eryndor," the man at the head of the table intoned, his voice calm but authoritative. "We have reviewed your proposal with interest. You claim to have developed new agricultural techniques, rooted not in magic, but in what you describe as the 'natural laws' governing life itself. We are eager to hear your explanation."

Alden nodded, stepping into the centre of the room, where a large map of Eryndor and its surrounding lands was displayed on a low table. He placed his satchel down, pulling out the documents he had prepared—diagrams of his selective breeding experiments, notes on plant genetics, and the first rudimentary explanations of how traits were passed from one generation to the next.

He took a deep breath and began.

"My work is built upon the principle that living things, just like the elements manipulated by magic, follow certain natural laws. By understanding these laws, we can influence them—just as a fire mage might control a flame or a wind mage commands the air. What I have done is observe these laws in plants, particularly crops, and applied a process of selective breeding to produce strains that are more resistant to drought."

He gestured to the diagrams, explaining how he had bred crops with desirable traits over several generations, selecting those with stronger root systems or higher water retention. "This method does not rely on magic but on careful observation and patience. By selecting the strongest plants, we can naturally strengthen future crops without the need for constant magical intervention."

The council members leaned in, their faces a mix of curiosity and scepticism. Alden could see the wheels turning in their minds—some intrigued by the potential practical benefits, others clearly struggling to understand how such a method could exist without magic at its core.

"Intriguing," said one of the scholars, a woman with sharp eyes and a deep green robe that marked her as an expert in agriculture. "But how can you be sure these traits will continue to appear in future generations? Without magic, how can you guarantee that these plants will retain their strength?"

Alden had expected this question. He had been studying Mendel's work long enough to know that even in his world, many had struggled to accept the concept of hereditary traits.

"Through careful record-keeping and consistent selection, we can observe patterns in how traits are passed down," Alden replied confidently. "This is not random. It follows a predictable system—what I call genetics. If we understand these patterns, we can predict and guide future generations of crops, just as we have with these."

The woman raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, clearly mulling over his response. Another council member, this one a mage with intricate runes glowing faintly on his hands, spoke next.

"If your method is as reliable as you claim, then what is stopping us from simply enchanting these crops with protective wards? Wouldn't that be more efficient?"

Alden shook his head. "Magic is powerful, but it is not infallible. Wards can fail, especially in times of crisis. And not every community has access to skilled mages. This method provides a natural solution—one that any farmer can apply, regardless of magical ability."

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Then, the man at the head of the table leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"This concept of 'genetics' you speak of—it sounds... familiar. Almost as if it is an extension of the divine order that we, as believers in Aeloria, hold sacred." His voice was measured, but Alden could sense the weight of his words. "Are you suggesting that these natural laws are the work of Aeloria herself?"

Alden hesitated, feeling the tension in the room shift. He had known from the start that religion played a crucial role in this society, and to align his work with their beliefs could make or break his case.

"I believe that if Aeloria wove the stars into being, then surely she also wove the fabric of life," Alden said, choosing his words carefully. "These laws are not separate from her will—they are a part of it. Understanding them is, in a way, uncovering the very threads of her creation."

The council exchanged glances, and Alden could see that his answer had struck a chord. Whether they accepted it or not was another matter, but at least they were listening.

Finally, the silver-bearded man nodded slowly. "You have given us much to consider, Alden of Eryndor. We will deliberate on your findings and summon you again once a decision has been reached."

With that, the session was over. Alden bowed and left the chamber, his heart racing. He had done all he could. Now, it was up to the scholars—and perhaps Aeloria herself—to decide the fate of his work.