Space warped, the familiar, quiet tear of Grey folding reality around me. The scent of Stella's workshop, solder and ozone, vanished, replaced instantly by the unique, sterile tang of high-grade, ozonated mana and the dry, ancient smell of parchment and preserved artifacts. I stood in a place I had not visited in far, far too long. The 200th floor of the Tower of Magic, the personal sanctum of the Tower Master, a space so heavily and intricately warded that its defensive arrays were considered a national treasure, supposedly impenetrable.

"You certainly make an entrance, Second Hero." A dry, amused voice cut through the absolute, library-like silence.

From behind a massive desk that was a chaotic storm of flickering holograms, stacked data slates, and glowing arcane foci, a pair of sharp jade eyes looked up. Charlotte Alaric, her vibrant red hair a familiar, fiery cascade over her shoulders, rested her chin on her palm. She regarded me with an expression that was equal parts fond exasperation and profound, analytical awe.

"I simply wanted to see you, Master," I said with a genuine smile, taking the chair opposite her without being asked. It felt familiar, comfortable. The chair, I noted with a small, nostalgic smile, still subtly adjusted its form to my posture, a feat of high-end enchanting I had once marveled at.

"Master, hm?" She leaned back in her own chair, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I appreciate the sentiment, especially from a man who just bypassed several dozen layers of warding as if they were a beaded curtain." She gestured to the empty, quiet room, the massive windows showcasing a breathtaking, gods-eye view of Avalon city. "And you even made sure to come when I was alone, sensing my schedule perfectly. Your perception, Arthur, is… frankly, terrifying."

"Just because the student surpassed their master doesn't mean the master still isn't the master," I responded easily, and I meant every word. "Master Charlotte, your lessons in spellcasting, the way you taught me to think about magic, to see it as a system, as architecture… they were invaluable. More valuable than any raw power."

"Yet you haven't called me 'Master' in a very long time," she said, her tone light and accusing, though her eyes twinkled with mirth.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "I have been busy, Master," I chuckled. "Wars, apocalypses, the usual. It tends to shift one's priorities."

"So I've heard," she said, her smile softening. "Killing gods, I read? A bit above what I covered. It is good to see you, Arthur. Truly." Her gaze became more serious, analytical, as she, in turn, read the new, settled state of my Divinity. "You've changed. Not just the power, though… my gods, that's palpable. But you. You feel… heavier. More settled. Like a mountain that's decided where it wants to sit."

"It was a difficult fight," I admitted. "But it's good to see you, too. And you haven't been idle." I let my own senses briefly scan her aura, the quiet, dense power circulating within her. "Mid Radiant-rank. That's an exceptional achievement, Master, especially while running this entire continent's magical infrastructure."

She gave a small, self-deprecating sigh, waving a hand as if to brush away the compliment. "Please. 'Strong' is relative in an age with people like you, Lucifer, and Ren Kagu running around. I can't keep up with you geniuses at all," she said, though her voice held no real envy, only a sort of weary, pragmatic acceptance. "My ambition to be the strongest faded a long time ago. Much like the other Radiants of my generation, my attention has shifted." She tapped a hologram, and familiar images flickered past – Cecilia, Clara Lopez, her own sister Kathlyn. "Better to nurture the new talents. They are the future. We are just… the custodians."

"You've been a very good custodian, Master," I said quietly. "And speaking of the future, I've brought you something. A gift. A new curriculum for the Tower."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh? A gift? What, your 'Nightingale Method'? A bit specific for the general student body, don't you think?"

"Something more fundamental," I said. I raised my hand between us. I didn't cast a spell. I simply willed it, and the architecture of magic itself became visible in the air. A complex, shimmering lattice of nine interconnected circles of light appeared, the 9-Circle system that was the foundation of all modern magic, the pinnacle of mortal understanding. Charlotte herself was one of the few mages alive capable of wielding its full power.

"This," I said, gesturing to the complex diagram, "is what we teach. This is what we know. The Nine Circles."

"It is the foundation of all magical theory," she agreed, her gaze watchful, curious.

"It's not," I said softly. "It's a subset. A simplified model that works for our level of perception. But it's incomplete. Flawed, even."

I focused. Drawing on the new, profound understanding my Grey Divinity had granted me, the knowledge I'd synthesized in the crucible of that final battle, I asserted a new truth. I didn't add a "Tenth Circle," which would be Divine Magic, usable only by me. Instead, I reimagined the existing nine. The diagram in the air began to shift. Old, inefficient pathways dissolved. New, more elegant conceptual linkages formed between the circles. The very structure of the spells they represented, from a First-Circle 'Mage Light' to a Ninth-Circle 'Meteor', began to rewrite themselves, becoming faster, more stable, vastly more efficient.

"My Divine perception didn't just show me new magic," I explained, as she watched, mesmerized. "It showed me the flaws in all magic. It showed me the fundamental architecture. What we've been using is like a crude, inefficient engine. This... is a complete redesign."

I gestured to the new, glowing framework. "This is a new, generalized system for all Nine Circles. It redefines the core spellcasting methods, making them more stable, more powerful, and significantly less demanding on the caster's core. It's a new foundation, based on the true laws of mana, not just the ones we were able to perceive before."

Charlotte stared, her breath catching in her throat. She rose slowly from her chair, her jade eyes wide, unblinking, tracing the new, impossible pathways with a trembling finger. She, as a 9-Circle wielder, understood the implications instantly. This wasn't just an update. This was a revolution. It would elevate the power of every single mage on the planet.

"This... this is not my personal magic," I clarified, letting the construct hum gently. "It is not The Grey. This is the generalized, universal framework. The philosophy that the Tower of Magic can research, codify, and, eventually, teach. It will allow us to truly understand what we're fighting... and perhaps, give us a chance to build a future where others can defend themselves."

Charlotte sank back into her chair, her face pale, her hands visibly shaking. She looked from the glowing, universe-altering diagram to me, her expression one of profound, world-shattering awe. "You… you haven't just discovered new spells, Arthur," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "You've… you've given us a new world of magic. This... this changes everything."

"It's a gift, Master," I said, letting the construct fade, leaving her in the sudden silence. "For the Tower. For what's coming."

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