ElaraFiction

B8 - Chapter 27: First Deployment II

Leo stared at the stream, his mind dazed.

Slowly, he extended his hand into the waterfall. Warm. Hot. Inviting. Before he even realized it, his armor was off, his muddy boots discarded somewhere across the spacious room. He couldn’t have cared less.

The water soaked his hair, turning from crystal clear to muddy brown in an instant. It flowed down his back and chest, taking on a reddish tint as it carried away the filth of battle. What reached the drain at his feet bore no resemblance to the clean water falling from above.

This feeling—

It was pure bliss. The most exquisite sensation he had ever known. Joy, unfiltered and overwhelming. There were no words for the relief of seeing his own skin again, of feeling layer after layer of grime, sweat, and blood melt away beneath the steady rush of scalding water.

Leo’s gaze lingered on the full-length mirror positioned just outside the shower. It had been cleverly installed so he could see himself without the glass fogging up. Through it, he watched as the grime and filth of battle washed away, revealing something that resembled a human being again. Only when even the hardest-to-reach spot on his back was clean did he finally step out—though with great reluctance.

He grabbed a towel from the nearby rack. It was warm, dry, and impossibly soft. Wrapping it around his waist, Leo stepped into the adjoining room: his room.

Just as when Zeke had first shown it to him, he froze at the sight before him. The space was large—luxurious, even.

It was easily the most opulent room he had ever set foot in.

The old Alexandria had been comfortable enough, but its constant hum and subtle vibrations had made it impossible to forget he was aboard an airship. Here, on this new vessel, there was none of that.

No sound. No motion.

If he hadn’t seen the flying fortress with his own eyes, he might have believed Zeke had brought him to a noble’s manor or a hidden safehouse.

But there was no denying it—he was aboard an airship.

…One with a library. And a medical deck. And a foyer. And a sparring yard. And a kitchen. Even a pool.

Leo’s smile turned crooked. Was this really right? To wage war like this? If he were honest with himself, seeing this airship made him feel like a fool. For months, he had spent his nights on flea-bitten mattresses, scraping together whatever scraps he could find to feed himself and his people.

Aside from the fighting and dying, it had been the lack of basic necessities that wore them down the most. How hard it had been to keep morale alive in those conditions—to keep himself moving forward through the darkest nights.

And now, he realized that hardship had never been mandatory. It wasn’t an inevitable part of war.

Zeke had joined the front lines, yes—but instead of sharing their straw beds, he had changed the very nature of what it meant to fight a war. He had looked at the suffering and simply rejected it.

That thought made Leo both envious and deeply impressed.

His brother didn’t simply accept reality as it was handed to him, just because it was seen as 'normal.' He questioned everything, refused to bow to convention, and reshaped the world to fit his vision. 

To Leo, that was the true mark of a prodigy—not magic, not intellect, not brute force, but the ability to see not just what is, but what could be, and to have the will and resourcefulness to make it real.

That train of thought lasted only a moment, though—until he saw the bed.

All other thoughts vanished. It looked impossibly soft, warm, and inviting. The sight alone reminded him of how bone-deep his exhaustion ran. Not just physical, but mental—the toll of the battle, the acceptance of his own impending death, had hollowed him out completely.

It had been the most exhausting day of his life, and the closest he had ever come to dying.

He dropped the towel without care, not even bothering to hang it. Toes first, he slipped under the blanket and let his head sink into the pillow. Silk? No. This wasn’t silk. He’d slept on silk before. This was softer, richer. Monster silk, maybe...

That was his last coherent thought before sleep claimed him.

He fell into a deep, blissful slumber—the first in weeks, maybe months. No nightmares. No fears clawing at the edges of his mind. Only warmth, safety, and the comforting knowledge that, for the first time in a long while, the world no longer rested on his shoulders.

***

[Notice]
He has fallen asleep.

Zeke smiled faintly but didn’t lift his gaze.

He stood at the very heart of the Alexandria—the control nexus of the entire ship. Captains Morris and Linus stood nearby, their eyes also fixed downward. The reason was simple: the command center was designed to display a complete view of the world outside the vessel.

The floor, if it could even be called that, appeared as a vast, endless abyss. When active, the system projected a live view of the surroundings, as if one were standing outside the ship—or seeing through its very walls.

At the moment, the three men watched the events unfolding in the forest below. Normally, Zeke would have relied on his Spatial Awareness, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough to cover such a vast area. That left him with no choice but to rely on sight alone.

To the north, a massive fire raged, punctuated by regular bursts of thunderous explosions. That was where David had intercepted the Feuerkranz Archmage.

To the east, Ash and his Icefang tribesmen were already on their second rescue run, heading toward the next-largest resistance pocket after bringing in the biggest one earlier.

Directly below, Raileh tended to the wounded. They were in bad shape, though Zeke had no doubt the elf would see them all healed before long. Gravitas stood nearby as her personal guard, while Elder Dragon and Tiger secured the area and oversaw the survivors’ organization.

That left the west—the direction Zelkara had taken with the Bloodguard, marching straight into the heart of the enemy formation.

All three men’s gazes lingered there. Contact was imminent, and Zeke found himself silently eager to see how his people would fare against the Empire’s elite.

[Notice]
Hostile aerial entities have registered our presence and are initiating engagement protocols.

Reluctantly, Zeke pulled his gaze from the west and swept it across the rest of the display. Akasha was right: a swarm of Wind Mages circled the Alexandria like vultures. At first, they’d kept their distance, wary of the fortress that had appeared out of nowhere. Now, apparently convinced it was safe, they had drawn closer to investigate.

Fools.

“Are your men on standby, Morris?”

“Yes, young lord. Everyone not maintaining the ship’s systems has been assigned to the offensive arrays.”

Zeke nodded, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Clean them up, Akasha.”

[Affirmative]

***

A bright flash drew Zelkara’s gaze.

The sky had turned into a storm, with the Alexandria at its center. Dozens of lightning bolts streaked across the heavens. At first glance, it seemed like a natural phenomenon—but it wasn’t.

The strikes were deliberate. Each bolt stopped midair before crashing into tiny silhouettes, sending them tumbling toward the earth. They looked like moths drawn too close to a lantern, their wings scorched before falling to their deaths.

Clearly, this was her lord’s doing. The marvels he could conjure were endless.

Despite the brief distraction, her feet never slowed. She glided through the forest like wind incarnate, her bare steps soundless as she moved with the speed of a loosed arrow.

Behind her, the Blood Legion followed like a tide. They flowed around the trees like water, never breaking formation even on uneven ground. Each soldier carried a thick spear in hand and half a dozen javelins strapped to their back.

The sight made her blood sing.

This was the kind of force she had always dreamed of commanding—the kind her father had never managed to build. Their eyes were sharp, focused, and not a single word passed their lips as they followed her like her own shadow.

Zelkara rounded a tree, kicked off its trunk, and sailed several dozen paces through the air. The motion was effortless—another reminder of how much stronger she had grown since swearing herself to her new Progenitor.

Her progress had already been remarkable under the Bloodboil Technique, but with his miraculous machine, she had shattered every limitation. The time she spent within it had yielded greater results than all her life-and-death battles combined.

And unlike those desperate struggles, she could now sustain that growth for hours at a time.

How strong would she become? Would she one day rival her father’s prodigious might? She hoped so. The stronger she grew, the greater her use would be to her Progenitor. She would be his spear—carving a path ahead of him.

It was her truest, most heartfelt desire.

Zelkara’s gaze drifted to the tip of her new spear. It still felt unfamiliar in her hands, but as the first gift given to her by her Progenitor, she would treasure it always.

And truthfully, it suited her tastes perfectly.

The shaft matched her height, carved from intertwining strands of Voidiron and Adamantine that formed the shape of two coiling serpents. The materials made it both resistant to magic and impossibly durable. Yet the most striking feature was the tip.

Tip... 

The word seemed so lacking to describe what it truly was. 

It looked as though her lord had broken the blade off a sword and fixed it onto the shaft. Overlord Spear—that was what he had called it. Zelkara had never heard the name before, but from the moment she laid eyes on the weapon, she knew it was meant for her.

Its only drawback was its weight. Forged entirely of solid metal, the weapon was at least twice her own mass. Once, that might have made it unwieldy. Now, it only made her stronger. 

She wielded the heavy weapon in one hand, feeling its weight—but never hindered by it.

A flick of her wrist sent the spear spinning across her palm, dancing over her shoulders before she caught it cleanly in her other hand. The motion took less than a heartbeat.

A predatory smile spread across her face. It would do. It would do well.

Her tongue slipped across her upper lip as she tasted the wind. Fire and ash drifted from all around—but straight ahead came the scent of sweat and blood. They were almost there.

She raised her spear, signaling the Bloodguard. Then she slashed it down, cleaving the air in two. The message was clear: there would be no strategy, no formation, no hesitation.

They would strike with full force.

Like their Progenitor, they would be lightning.

B8 - Chapter 26: First Deployment

Genuine joy.

Those were the only words Leo could find to describe Zeke’s expression in that moment. A look of pure relief at seeing a family member alive and well.

Leo rose. Before he even realized it, he was standing just an arm’s length from his brother. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, he buried his face into Zeke’s Shoulder.

A silent sob shook his entire body.

For everyone else, he had worn the mask: pretending to have answers when he had none, pretending to be brave when he was terrified. He had carried their hopes and their fears, failed them more often than not, and still forced himself to rise each time, unshaken in appearance if not in heart.

No longer.

Before he knew it, hot tears soaked his brother's robes. Zeke said nothing, one hand resting gently on the back of his head.

Leo allowed himself that weakness only for a moment before pulling back. A quick, angry rub at his eyes cleared away the tears and snot, though it smeared his face with soot and ash. It didn’t matter. He was far more used to being dirty than clean.

Zeke looked him over, a faint twinkle in his eye. “You look like shit.”

Leo snorted, unable to fully suppress a smile. “...Believe it or not, they don’t allow regular bathing during a war.”

Zeke’s face took on a look of horror. “Dreadful!”

Leo grinned, but only for a heartbeat before reality pressed back in. “We should get moving, Zeke. The Legion came in force this time, and there are Flyers overhead. It’s only a matter of time before we’re found if we stay out in the open.”

Zeke shook his head, completely ignoring the urgency of the situation. “Let them find us then.”

“…Let them?” Leo repeated, glancing around at the members of the Ehrenlegion still standing like statues. Was this what gave his brother such confidence?

“The ones you control are just regular soldiers, Zeke. They don't stand a chance against the Flyers or the Flamecallers.”

Zeke looked momentarily puzzled before his gaze settled on the soldiers around them. “Oh,” he said after a pause. “Completely forgot about them.”

He raised a hand and flicked his finger. The sound was sharp, echoing in the still air.

Then, as if awaiting the command, the soldiers moved.

It was a sight Leo knew he would never forget.

Each soldier dropped their spear, drew their dagger, lifted it high—and, without hesitation or expression, slit their own throats.

Dozens of crimson fountains erupted as jugulars were expertly severed. In that instant, they seemed to awaken from their trance, gasping and clawing at their wounds in a futile struggle to survive.

Moments later, the forest fell silent once more.

A thick, metallic stench filled the air—an overwhelming flood of iron and death. It was a bloodbath unlike anything Leo had ever witnessed. 

Zeke, on the other hand, took a deep, deliberate breath, as if inhaling the scent of roses. “Lovely.”

Without waiting for a response, he went on. “It's about time our reinforcements arrive. Then we can clean up this mess.”

Leo frowned. “I don’t know how much the house has grown since I left, but do you really think you can take on the Legion, Zeke? They’re not some band of bandits…”

Zeke smiled. “…Neither are we.”

“They brought hundreds of elite troops to this battlefield alone.”

“…So did I.”

Leo shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “Zeke! They brought a fucking Archmage!”

Zeke’s grin only widened. “So did I.”

Before Leo could even process the words, a deafening sound split the air.

It was so loud that all other noise vanished. Deep and resonant, like a warhorn—yet not quite. It was as if the call of a horn had been fused with the cry of some ancient, nightmare creature.

Even after it faded, a low, mournful wail lingered in its wake, echoing like the song of a whale.

It was pure instinct that made Leo lower his posture and scan the skies, as if some voice in the back of his mind whispered that doing anything else meant certain death.

“Finally,” he heard from the side.

Zeke was still standing, hands folded behind his back, his gaze drifting lazily upward.

“Zeke, what—what the fuck was that?”

His brother looked at him, a faint smile curling his lips. “You'll see.”

The evening sky, already dim from smoke and ash, suddenly darkened completely—as if a cloud had suddenly blotted out the sun.

Leo’s gaze snapped upward, and his breath caught. A colossal shape filled the heavens, vast enough to eclipse the light. It looked like a mountain that had somehow learned to fly. No—closer now, he saw the truth. Not a mountain. A fortress. A city.

And it was hovering directly above them.

Before Leo could even process what he was seeing, an entrance yawned open on the fortress’s underside, and a figure stepped into view—close enough that Leo could make out the shape of a man.

Without hesitation, the man leapt from the edge, plunging into a free fall. Leo felt an unprecedented amount of danger from this newcomer. His Mana was like a lake, making the Mind Mage from earlier seem like a child. 

Leo’s instincts took over. He dove aside, eyes scanning for the sword he’d lost earlier. Ripper appeared beside him, claws out, ready to strike.

The man landed lightly. A small bend of the knees was all it took to absorb the fall. Instead of rising, he lowered himself into an elegant bow.

“It’s been a while, young lord Leo.”

“D-David?”

“It is I indeed.”

“Y-you’re… an Archmage?”

“Thank you for noticing,” David said with a grin. “I’ve recently achieved that rank.”

Leo’s eyes widened. How much had he missed?

“Enough chatter,” Zeke cut in.

David straightened instantly, all levity gone. “Your orders?”

“There’s an Archmage with a Fire affinity headed this way—likely a Feuerkranz. Stall him.”

“Stall? Not kill?”

Zeke shook his head. “Kill him if you can, but don’t take unnecessary risks.”

David nodded without hesitation. His body sank into the ground, merging with the shadows until he vanished completely.

Before Leo could ask anything, another figure dropped from the sky—a striking woman with pale white hair and an oversized fur coat.

She didn’t land on her feet. Instead, she fell to one knee, head bowed low.

A heartbeat later, another shape touched down beside her—someone Leo recognized.

“Ash?”

The Chimeroi smiled faintly at him, nodding toward Ripper.

“Zelkara,” Zeke said in a somber tone. “Scorched earth. Don’t leave a single soldier standing. Anything without pointed ears goes down. Understood?”

The woman rose, a look of fierce determination on her face. “As you command, Progenitor.”

With a wave of her hand, she called unseen forces to move, then sprinted off.

An instant later came the impacts—one, then another, then dozens more. Not footsteps, but something heavier.

When the ash settled, Leo saw them clearly: dozens—no, hundreds—of humanoid creatures with serpentine lower bodies racing after her. Their formation was tight, their movements disciplined, trained.

“…Ash,” Zeke continued, turning to the Chimeroi. “You’re to rescue as many members of the resistance as possible.” He handed over a scroll. “That’s a map of every pocket I found on the way here. Make haste.”

Ash nodded, and with a similar wave, summoned a few dozen figures from the flying fortress—wolf-like beings, each bearing the same fierce presence as Ash himself.

“...Who are they?” Leo asked, his gaze following the two groups as they vanished deeper into the forest.

“Shock troops,” Zeke said, as if that explained anything.

Leo turned to ask for clarification—but the words died in his throat.

From the flying fortress, another figure emerged. She didn’t fall so much as glide, the air itself seeming to cradle her descent.

She landed softly, like a leaf kissing the surface of a still lake.

The first thing Leo noticed were her long, elegant ears—far sharper than those of the half-elves he’d been fighting beside for months. The next thing was her beauty. It was the kind that defied words, so flawless it made every other woman seem imperfect by comparison.

If this was how all elves looked, it was no wonder they carried such an unshakable sense of superiority.

But her appearance wasn’t what stole his breath. It was the sheer magnitude of her mana. It poured from her like the tides from an endless ocean, each pulse stronger than anything Leo could summon with his most powerful spell.

This woman was stronger than David. Stronger than almost anyone he had ever met. 

The instant her feet touched the ground, the earth itself seemed to stir. Withered grass lifted, color returning to faded leaves. Even the ragged breathing of the injured Chimeroi eased, as though the world itself had remembered how to live.

Her gaze surveyed the forest without any emotion. Only when she saw the figures of Leo's comrades that had been preserved by Zeke's Magic did her brows furrow slightly. 

She closed her eyes and spread her arms. A moment later, Leo felt Mana pouring out from her like a ceaseless flood. It sank into the injured like rain into the desert. And, just like that desert, their bodies seemed to drink it eagerly. 

Leo witnessed the changes in real time.

Pale, lifeless faces regained their color. cleffing wounds nit themselves together. Laboured breathing turned effortless. 

In no more than a few moments, all his comrades, balancing on the edge between life and death, had become whole again, seemingly enjoying a peaceful sleep. 

Not only Leo, but also Ripper behind him could barely keep their jaws from dropping. Who was this woman? 

“Raileh,” Zeke said in the same commanding tone he’d used with the others. “I’m making you personally responsible for everyone’s lives.”

The woman opened her eyes, focusing on him.

Leo expected her to frown, to argue, or at least to bristle at his tone—but she didn’t. She simply stood there, silent and attentive.

“Without my permission, nobody in this forest dies. Not a single life. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” the elf replied, her voice soft and ethereal.

Zeke held her gaze a moment longer. “Elder Tiger and Elder Dragon will handle your protection, but you’re free to command them as you see fit.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Zeke turned to Leo, his tone shifting. “Let’s go.”

“…Where?” Out of the hundred questions crowding his mind, it was the only one Leo managed to voice.

Zeke grinned, the hard edge fading from his face. “Where else? To the Alexandria. I’m going to show you around.”

Leo glanced upward, searching for the familiar shape of the Hohenheim airship—but all he saw was the massive, floating mountain blotting out the sky.

Zeke caught the look and chuckled. “Wondering where she is?”

Leo nodded silently, and his brother’s grin widened.

“You’re looking at her, little brother.” He gestured toward the colossal fortress overhead. “Alexandria—meet Leo. Leo—meet the new Alexandria.”

Leo’s face went blank. This... this was too much. 

David being an Archmage? Plausible. Zeke commanding hundreds of elite troops? Conceivable. An elven healer working for him? Still within the realm of possibility.

But this—this floating city that seemed to defy every known law of air travel—belonged to their household? Not a loan from the Alliance, not a strategic asset for a special mission, but theirs?

And the fact that Zeke had called it the Alexandria… that likely meant he’d built it himself.

“…Sure, let's go.”

The words came out flat, voice devoid of emotion. Leo’s mind, overwhelmed by the avalanche of impossibilities, had apparently decided to stop questioning reality altogether and just go along with it.

Zeke grinned and lifted his hand. A faint layer of mana wrapped around Leo’s body like a second skin. Then came a soft snap—and the world vanished from sight.

B8 - Chapter 25: Little brother

Leo had no words to describe the feeling of relief he felt in this moment. His brother had come for him, had arrived just when it seemed that all hope was lost.

But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came, smothered by reality’s weight. They were still in the heart of Rukia—surrounded by the Ehrenlegion and facing a Geistreich. Zeke might have come to save him, but more likely, he’d only join him in death.

Another name. Another corpse on his conscience.

“Run, Zeke!” The word tore from Leo’s throat before he could think better of it. “He’s a Geistreich!”

Ezekiel turned slightly, one golden eye meeting Leo’s. For a fleeting instant, his expression softened, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips.

“I know.”

Then he faced forward again, toward the waiting ranks of the Ehrenlegion.

“Ezekiel von Hohenheim,” the Mage said, his tone as calm and measured as ever. “I did not expect to meet you here.”

Zeke said nothing. He stood perfectly still, unmoving. A knot of dread twisted in Leo’s chest. Had the paralysis spell caught him too?

“…No matter how much of a prodigy you consider yourself to be, you can’t possibly expect to do anything here,” the man continued. “Or is this a misguided attempt to save your brother? Utter foolishness. Coming here alone is the height of arrogance.”

Still, Zeke neither spoke nor moved, like a statue carved from the very earth.

“…Even if I cannot prevent your escape,” the Mind Mage went on, “you won’t get far while burdened with your brother and his slaves, will you?”

Leo’s heart sank further. The thought that he might become the weight dragging his brother down, that he might be the reason Zeke failed, was more unbearable than death itself.

“Surrender willingly, and I swear on my name that your brother and his slaves will be released unharmed.”

Zeke still didn’t react.

“I would hurry if I were you; those injured slaves will bleed out soon.”

For the first time, Leo caught a flicker of impatience in the Mind Mage’s voice. Being ignored for so long was clearly grating on him—or perhaps the chance to capture Ezekiel von Hohenheim was too tempting to ignore.

“Hey,” Zeke said at last, his voice calm, almost playful. It sounded so absurd in this setting that Leo wondered if he’d misheard. “Are you sure you’re a Mind Mage?”

The man froze, his blank expression faltering for just a moment. The question, as senseless as it seemed, had clearly caught him off guard.

“In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk so much nonsense.” His voice was laced with that particular brand of exasperation Ezekiel sometimes held when he found something utterly ridiculous but was too polite to laugh in your face.

Then, his Mana erupted, thick, heavy, and suffocating. The air turned metallic with the scent of blood. Even on a battlefield drenched in death, it was overwhelming. Nauseating.

“No, little Geistreich. They will not bleed out. Not in my presence.”

Leo’s head snapped toward the fallen bodies of Raze and Slash. Against all reason, he searched for proof of those words, praying Zeke wasn’t lying. The sight that awaited him was not promising. The awls had punched clean through their chests, rupturing their hearts. No one survived such wounds.

And yet…

Their chests were rising, barely, faintly, but undeniably moving.

The Mind Mage paused, reevaluating the situation.

“…You are surprisingly calm,” he remarked after a moment.

Zeke shrugged. “First rule of fighting a Mind Mage: Don’t allow them to get under your skin. Isn’t that right?”

The Mind Mage nodded. “You’ve learned well. Unlike your brother. That doesn’t change your situation, though.”

Zeke nodded. “It doesn’t. But then again, I am not the one who’s in trouble.”

“No?” the Mind Mage echoed. “Are you not surrounded, outnumbered, and forced to sustain your dying comrades?”

“No.”

The word carried such conviction that Leo almost believed it—despite the undeniable truth before his eyes.

“You’ve got it backwards,” Zeke said. “It’s not I who am surrounded. It’s you. You’re the one outnumbered. You’re the one standing among the dying.”

The Mind Mage frowned. “It seems there’s no reasoning with you. Regrettable.”

He turned to the rows of elite soldiers standing motionless behind him. “Get him.”

No one moved.

“GET HIM!” he barked, louder this time.

Nothing.

Zeke crossed his arms. “You lot should’ve known better,” he said casually. “Leaving your minds so unguarded… did your emperor teach you nothing?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Secure the perimeter.”

This time, the Legion moved. As one, they shifted formation—retreating a few paces before forming a tight square with Zeke and the Mind Mage at its center.

Leo’s jaw nearly dropped. The same elite soldiers who had nearly driven him to his death moments ago now followed his brother’s orders like obedient hounds recognizing their master.

Was this real? Or had he already died and stumbled into some twisted afterlife?

At least he wasn’t the only one stunned. The Mind Mage’s composure cracked, his expression hardening into something almost human: unease.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the synchronized rhythm of armored feet and the distant crackle of the burning forest.

“…I can’t feel them at all,” the Mind Mage said at last. “How are you doing that?”

“I put their minds to sleep.”

“To sleep? Then how are you controlling them?”

Zeke smiled, tapping the side of his head. “You tell me, Geistreich.”

The Mind Mage fell silent, eyes darting rapidly as he ran through possibilities. Whatever conclusions he reached, he clearly didn’t like them—his expression darkened by the second.

“Impossible,” he hissed.

“For you? Certainly. For me?” Zeke’s grin widened. “Child’s play.”

“You expect me to believe you’re controlling them all individually—through their blood?”

Zeke shrugged. “It’s your conclusion, not mine. Believe what you want. I’m just about done on my end anyway.”

“…Done?” the Mind Mage echoed, wary.

Zeke’s grin turned razor-sharp. “You thought I didn’t notice that you were stalling for time? Did you really think you were the only one doing it?”

He pulled back his aura, and the suffocating stench of blood receded with it.

Leo blinked. Now that the pressure was gone, he noticed that his comrades’ breathing had steadied: Raze, Slash… even Hook and his sister Fang. The latter two had advanced deep into enemy lines, but now that the Legion had fallen back, their figures were visible once more. They were still alive.

“Tell me, Geistreich,” Zeke said. “Do you know the first rule when fighting a Blood Mage?”

The Mind Mage narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he swept his cape aside, revealing two more awls strapped to his belt. With a flick of his fingers, they shot into the air, hovering over his shoulders and pointing straight at Zeke.

“…Don’t let them get close,” he answered at last.

Zeke nodded and tossed the two awls he’d caught earlier to the ground. It looked casual, but it wasn’t. The blades drove into the earth beside his feet, sinking so deep that not even their ends remained visible.

“And?” Zeke asked, his smile turning predatory. “Think you’re fast enough?”

“I am—oof!”

The Mind Mage hit the ground like a sack of grain.

Leo’s eyes went wide. The exchange had been over in a blink, yet he’d seen it all.

Before the Mind Mage could even finish his sentence, Zeke was on him—no warning, no flicker of movement, no buildup of mana. One heartbeat he stood several paces away; the next, he was in front of his opponent, fist buried in the man’s gut, driving the air from his lungs and caving in his chest.

Leo had not known Zeke could do this, hadn’t even known it was possible.

“…I’ll take that as a no.”

Zeke stared down at the crumpled figure gasping for air, and clicked his tongue. “Half your ribs are broken, the other half pulverized. Truly pathetic. Is that all you amount to?”

The Mind Mage didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. His dry heaves had turned into wet, bubbling sounds—one lung punctured, slowly filling with blood.

Zeke reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and lifted him off the ground. Up close, the difference between them was stark. The Mind Mage’s feet dangled uselessly, his frame slight and fragile compared to Zeke’s lean, powerful build.

Now that his sharp tongue was silenced and his body hung limp like a rag doll, the menace he once carried had vanished entirely. Was this really the same man who had seemed so untouchable only moments ago?

"…Consider this a lesson," Zeke said, his nose inches away from the Mind Mage’s face. "There will be others. Each one will cost you, until you and your kind finally learn to keep your filthy hands off my family."

“Y-you’ll… khh… r-regret… th-this…”

Zeke answered with a headbutt that sent a spray of teeth flying.

“Th—the… Em… gkhh… Emperor… won’t… l-let… you… g–go…”

Another headbutt. The crack of bone echoed as the man’s nose shattered, one eye socket collapsing inward.

“St–stop… gkkh… pl-please… s-stop… i-it…”

Zeke grinned—but there was no warmth in it. It was the kind of smile that promised only suffering.

“Beg,” Zeke ordered softly. “Beg me to stop.”

“I… b–beg y-you… ghhk… pl-please… s-stop…”

Despite the obedience, the words only seemed to fuel Zeke’s fury. He hurled the Mind Mage’s broken body to the ground and drove his boot into the man’s chest. The impact was sickening—whatever remained of his ribs turned to powder beneath the blow.

“Did you stop when Leo begged you? Maximilian? DID YOU!?”

Leo stood frozen, unwilling to even breathe too loudly. He saw Ripper slowly backing away from the scene, taking cover behind his body.

The current Ezekiel seemed more terrifying than the Mind Mage had ever been. In this moment, Leo realized that the facade his brother had been wearing ever since he had arrived had been just that: a facade.

Zeke had not allowed himself the slightest trace of emotion, unwilling to give the Mind Mage an edge. However, now that he had stopped holding back, all these suppressed feelings were gushing out like water through a broken dam.

All the anxiety, anger, and vengeful fury he had felt upon finding Leo and the Chimeroi on the brink of death now surged to the surface as he allowed emotion to take the reins.

This wasn’t Ezekiel the strategist. Not Ezekiel the Mind Mage. Not Ezekiel the diplomat.

This was Ezekiel von Hohenheim: facing, for the first time, a member of the Geistreich family. The first real outlet for his fury ever since he had learned of Maximillian’s death.

Leo swallowed hard. This would not be pretty.

Punches and kicks descended like a hailstorm, turning extremities to paste.

The Mind Mage was already little more than a shattered husk—more broken bone than whole. Even with the body of a Grand Mage, he couldn’t withstand this kind of punishment. If it continued, he’d be dead within minutes. Less, if Zeke kept going.

Fortunately, he seemed to regain some control at this moment. He stood over the wrecked form, glaring down with cold fury.

“…Are you watching?” Zeke asked, his voice like ice.

For a moment, Leo thought he was being addressed. But something in his brother’s tone said otherwise. Still, there was no one else around.

“…Don’t act shy now. I can practically smell your stench from here.”

Leo glanced around, scanning the burning forest for anyone else—but there was no one.

“Don’t worry,” Zeke continued, eyes still fixed on the broken Mind Mage. “I’ll come for the rest of you, too.”

Without another word, he kicked out. The man’s neck snapped at an unnatural angle—a single, decisive killing blow.

Zeke remained still for a time, his whole body rigid. Then he inhaled deeply, held the breath, and let it out in a slow, steady exhale.

“It’s been a while…” he said at last, turning. It was the first time Zeke had truly faced him since his arrival. His expression had softened—warm, kind—no trace of the fury that had consumed him moments before.

“…Little brother.”

B8 - Chapter 24: Last Stand II

They stepped through the haze in perfect formation. Their boots struck the earth in unison, a rhythm that seemed to make the very air vibrate. Each shield was raised at identical angles, spear points catching what little light filtered through the smoke.

Behind them, more shapes emerged—gray-clad figures whose armor bore no decoration, no mark of rank or achievement.

They needed none. Their competence spoke for itself.

Leo watched them advance from behind the crude barricade they’d built from fallen logs and corpses. His sword arm ached under the blade’s weight, muscles trembling with exhaustion he’d ignored for far too long.

Now it was all catching up to him—weeks of suppressed fatigue demanding to be felt.

Not yet.

The Chimeroi formed a ragged line beside him: Ripper at his right, her claws dripping gore; Raze at his left, blood seeping through makeshift bandages wrapped around his torso; Hook and Fang positioned at the flanks, their breathing labored but eyes sharp; Slash crouched low, ready to strike.

A volley of arrows came from behind. The half-elves had shot early. It was both due to lack of training and sheer desperation. Most shafts bounced off shields or embedded themselves in wood and earth. A few found gaps in armor, drawing grunts of pain but no screams. The Legion absorbed casualties without flinching, closing ranks over fallen comrades as if they'd never existed.

"Hold!" Leo commanded, though the word came out as a rasp. His throat was raw from smoke and shouting orders no one would follow.

There were no clever tactics left, no flanking maneuvers or strategic retreats. Just this. A wall of exhausted flesh against an unstoppable machine.

The Legion halted thirty paces away. Silence fell over the battlefield, save for the crackling of distant flames. Then, as one, they lowered their spears and charged.

Hook met them first.

The lizard-blood moved with unexpected grace, scales shifting color as he darted between spear thrusts. His tail swept low, taking a soldier's legs out from under him. Before the man hit the ground, Hook's claws had already torn through his throat. He spun, deflecting a blade with hardened scales along his forearm, then drove his other hand through the attacker's eye slit.

The half-elves continued their barrage, arrows whistling overhead. One soldier stumbled as a shaft punched through his knee joint.

Fang capitalized on the opening, her powerful frame barreling through the gap. Her claws, longer and thicker than even Ripper's, carved through plate armor as if it were parchment. Blood sprayed across her fur, matting it against her skin.

Leo stepped forward, and Ripper moved beside him, her breathing steady despite the blood—not all of it others'—that coated her from head to foot. They fell into a rhythm born from countless fights, covering each other's weaknesses, striking where the other defended. Her claws opened throats; his blade found joints and gaps. They moved as one creature with two bodies, death given form.

Raze fought three paces to their left, his massive frame absorbing punishment that would have killed anyone else. An arrow already protruded from his shoulder. A sword had laid open his arm to the bone. Still, he fought, tiger-blood strength allowing him to tear through armor with his bare hands when his weapons were knocked away.

Slash darted between opponents, too quick to pin down, his youth lending him speed that experience hadn't yet tempered with caution.

Legion bodies dropped like falling leaves, and for a few precious moments, it seemed they might actually hold.

A foolish assumption.

Hook had just finished cutting down his third opponent when he overextended on the follow-through—just a fraction too far, his weight shifted a tad too much. Any other enemy might have missed it.

…But not the Legion.

Three spears thrust forward in perfect synchronization. The first pierced Hook's shoulder, spinning him sideways. The second caught him in the ribs, punching through scales that had turned countless blades. The third went through his chest, the point emerging from his back in a spray of crimson.

Hook's eyes widened, more in surprise than pain. His mouth opened, perhaps to speak, perhaps to scream, but only blood emerged. The soldiers withdrew their weapons with practiced efficiency, and Hook crumpled to the mud.

"NO!!"

Fang's roar shook leaves from burning branches. Her eyes, already feral from the heat of battle, went completely wild. The careful control she'd maintained, the discipline that kept her beast-blood in check, shattered like glass.

She charged.

Not toward her brother’s killers—toward all of them. Her claws extended to their full length, curved talons that could gut a bear.

She moved without thought or strategy, pure rage given form. A soldier raised his shield; she tore through it and the arm behind it. Another thrust his spear at her exposed flank; she ignored it, the point sliding off her thick hide as she ripped his head from his shoulders.

Blood painted the ground in wide arcs as Fang carved a path through the Legion's ranks. She fought without defense, taking wounds that would have dropped a normal fighter—a sword through her thigh, a dagger in her back, an arrow in her shoulder. None of it slowed her. She was beyond pain, beyond anything but the need to kill.

Leo tried to call out to her, to order her back, but his voice was lost in the chaos. He could only watch as she pressed deeper into enemy lines, each kill taking her farther from any hope of support.

The end came suddenly. A Flamecaller stepped forward, hands wreathed in fire. Fang turned toward this new threat, but her wounds had finally taken their toll. Her charge faltered, legs buckling. The Flamecaller's spell took her in the chest, the heat so intense it turned her fur to ash in an instant. She fell forward, momentum carrying her another step before she collapsed beside a soldier she'd been reaching for.

Two dead in as many minutes.

Leo's jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. No time for grief. No time for anything but survival. The Legion pressed forward, stepping over their own dead with the same indifference they'd shown to everything else.

"Close ranks!" Leo shouted, though there were precious few ranks left to close.

The half-elves had run out of arrows and now fought with whatever weapons they had scavenged from the dead: Legion swords, broken spear shafts, rocks when nothing else remained.

They were little more than cannon fodder against the Legion’s battle-hardened drones. He knew it, and so did they. Yet whatever pride they still possessed refused to let them stand aside while he died in their place.

It didn’t matter. Death would find them all today—the only choice left was the order in which it came. Every exchange cost them more than it cost the Legion. Every mistake was punished, while enemy errors offered nothing to exploit. The machine pressed forward, relentless.

Until it didn’t.

Without warning, the Legion stopped.

Soldiers who'd been mid-strike froze. Those pressing forward halted as if they'd hit an invisible wall. In perfect unison, they stepped back, weapons lowering, forming neat ranks on either side of a corridor that hadn't existed moments before.

Leo's lungs burned as he gasped for air. Beside him, Ripper tensed, claws still extended, ready for whatever came next. Blood dripped from a gash on her cheek, and her left arm hung at an odd angle, but her eyes remained focused.

Through the corridor of soldiers walked a single figure.

He wore robes of deep purple, untouched by soot or blood despite the carnage around him. His face was neither old nor young, neither harsh nor kind, as if emotion were a language he’d never learned. His footsteps made no sound on the blood-soaked earth.

Leo knew what this was. Who this was. The perfect coordination, the synchronized movements, the soldiers reacting to deaths across the field—all of it pointed to a single source.

Blond hair. Blue eyes. The puppeteer pulling the Ehrenlegion’s strings.

Geistreich.

Leo shifted his weight, preparing to charge. If he could just kill this one man, the network would collapse. The soldiers would lose their perfect coordination, maybe even their will to fight. One strike could—

His body went rigid.

It wasn't like being held or restrained. It was as if his muscles had simply forgotten how to move. His lungs still drew breath, his heart still beat, but everything else had become stone. He tried to lift his sword, to take a step, to even turn his head. Nothing responded. The same seemed to be true for his allies.

The Mind Mage approached with measured steps. His expression never changed, even as he surveyed the destruction around him with the detached interest of a scholar examining specimens.

"Leonidas of House Hohenheim." His voice was neither warm nor cold, simply factual. "You should know better than to leave your mind so unguarded. Did your brother not teach you anything?"

Leo strained against the mental bonds, willing his body to move through sheer desperation. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but nothing more. The Mind Mage noticed even that small defiance, his head tilting a fraction of a degree.

"Your will is stronger than most. A result of conditioning, perhaps… or accumulated trauma." He stepped closer, close enough for Leo to see the dull, stone-flat color of his eyes. "Useless, either way."

The Mind Mage held his gaze a moment longer, and Leo felt a sharp ache bloom behind his eyes. Then it vanished, as the man’s attention shifted to the Chimeroi.

“Slaves…” he murmured. “They’ve exceeded their projected survival parameters by a considerable margin. How unpleasant. High time this deviation be remedied…”

With a flick of his fingers, two daggers lifted from his belt—long, narrow blades rounded like awls, their handles bare of guards. Tools, not weapons. Never meant for human hands.

They hovered over the man’s shoulders, held in place by [Telekinesis]. Leo had seen Zeke do it often enough to recognize the spell. The awls’ tips began to turn, and Leo’s heart dropped. He couldn’t turn his head to confirm his fears—until the awls vanished, whistling through the air like crossbow bolts.

Two muffled grunts. Then the awls returned to the man’s shoulders, slick with blood.

Leo heard two bodies collapse—one to his far right, one to his left. The positions told him who’d been struck: Raze and Fang.

He breathed a sigh of relief and immediately hated himself for it. In that moment, all he could think was how glad he was it hadn’t been Ripper. If he could have one more wish in this life, it would be that she not die before him—that he not have to watch her go.

“…Not her?”

Leo’s mind ground to a halt. Words that could have only stemmed from his worst nightmare had just been spoken aloud.

The Mind Mage paused, the awls spinning lazily as his gaze shifted between Leo and Ripper, who stood half-shielded behind him.

“I see,” he said. “Get her.”

At his command, two soldiers strode past Leo and returned moments later, dragging a paralyzed Ripper between them. Each held one of her arms, forcing her to her knees before Leo—her face turned toward him, her back to the Mind Mage.

Leo tried to scream, to fight, to do anything. But his body remained frozen, trapped within his own flesh. He could only watch as the Mind Mage lifted a hand, a gesture so casual it might have been to brush away dust.

The awls angled themselves once more, their trajectory leading to the back of Ripper’s head.

"The Empire's mercy is finite," the Mind Mage said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "Every choice to resist is a choice to suffer. Not for glory or honor or any other delusion you've wrapped around your defiance. Simply to suffer, and… to watch others suffer for your choices."

He lowered his hand slightly, and Ripper gasped—the first sound she'd been allowed to make. Her eyes found Leo's, and in them he saw not fear but fury. Even now, even trapped and facing death, she was unbroken.

"…Consider this your first lesson," the Mind Mage said. "There will be others, Leonidas. Each one will cost you, until you have nothing left but the understanding that submission would have spared you everything."

The forest had gone silent around them. No wind stirred the smoke. No flames crackled in the distance. Even the wounded had stopped moaning. Everything waited on the Mind Mage's will, the world itself holding its breath.

Leo's mind raced through possibilities, options, desperate plans that died before they could form. He had thought himself strong, trained, experienced—none of it mattered. He was an insect pinned to a board, watching as the collector reached for another specimen.

The Mage's fingers began to close, and Leo felt something in his chest tear—not physically, but deeper, in places that had no name.

This was how it ended. Not in battle or glory or even meaningful defeat. Just standing helpless while everything that mattered was taken away, one cruelty at a time.

He found Ripper’s eyes.

It would be the last time he saw them, and he burned the sight into his memory—every fleck, every glint, every trace of life. He would not forget.

Then came the whistle—the sharp split of air. It didn’t matter. He would not look away.

Time stretched thin, every heartbeat drawn out into eternity. The world was silent, holding its breath with him.

The moment passed like that. And then a few more.

Something was wrong...

This stillness wasn’t just in his mind.

Leo realized, with a start, that his body was no longer bound. His eyes lifted, moving past Ripper’s bowed head… and froze.

A figure stood where there had been nothing a moment before, one hand clenched around two suspended awls, the blades hovering an hairsbreadth from Ripper’s skull.

Leo’s gaze climbed higher, taking in the broad shoulders, the dark coat lined with gold thread—
and the long crimson hair that brushed the man’s shoulders.

B8 - Chapter 23: Last Stand I

Leo pressed his back against the rough bark, drawing a deep, exhausted breath as he watched the once-distant fires creep closer. So much for this sanctuary—this supposed bastion of freedom. It hadn’t even lasted a few months before succumbing to the flames.

The smoke was already thick enough to taste. The ground beneath his boots trembled—not from thunder, but from something far worse.

He knew what that meant. The Ehrenlegion had come in force.

Through breaks in the haze, fleeting shapes darted between the burning trees—shadows moving with purpose.

A figure burst through the smoke ten paces to his left. His hand went to his sword by instinct. The leather hilt was slick with dew and sweat. Only when he caught sight of her faintly pointed ears did he ease his grip.

She was young, blood running down her temple. Her leather armor hung in tatters, one sleeve gone entirely. She stumbled, caught herself against a trunk, and kept going. Her mouth moved, forming words Leo couldn’t hear over the roar of the fire.

She reached him and seized his shoulder with blood-slick fingers. Leo let her, though his eyes followed her every move.

“You have to come!” she gasped, voice cracking. “The elders are in chaos!”

Leo yanked her down just as an explosion rocked the ground. Bark and splinters rained around them. The air itself vibrated, thick with mana, far more than any battlefield should ever hold.

The bombardment had begun. That meant the ground troops weren’t far behind either.

“The outer rings?” he asked, though the smoke on the horizon already told him the answer.

“Gone!” She wiped at the blood in her eyes, only smearing it worse. “The earthworks rose before we could—”

A scream cut her off. Human or elf, Leo couldn’t tell. The voice held too much pain to sound like anything. It ended abruptly. The silence that followed was somehow worse.

The half-elf beside him gasped for breath. “The captain said to find you. Said you’d know what to do.”

Leo almost laughed. Him? Know what to do? He commanded a handful of Chimeroi who’d survived the arenas and twice that many half-elves who’d barely learned to hold a sword. Against the Ehrenlegion, they were children throwing stones at a mountain.

“…How many made it back with you?” He kept his voice steady. She needed to believe someone had control. They all did. Even if he didn’t.

“I don’t—maybe half? The Flyers dropped from above before we even saw them. Keral tried to raise a fence, but the flames just—” She shook her head, eyes wide. “It’s like they weren’t even trying before...”

The ground shuddered again, closer this time. Through the smoke, Leo saw an orange glow spreading along the northern perimeter. Not wildfire—too precise, too deliberate.

“Let’s move.”

The command hut stood between two ancient oaks—or what was left of them. Half the roof had caved when a burning branch fell. Maps on bark and stretched hide covered the tables, pinned by stones and daggers.

An elderly man hovered over a trembling scout. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve summers; his pointed ears still held the softness of youth. A dark stain ran down his trousers.

“You went for water.” The man’s voice carried accusation, not a question. “You left the path. You led them back to us.”

“I didn’t—the stream was—” The boy’s words tumbled out. “I was careful! I doubled back, I watched for—”

“You killed us all!”

Leo’s frown deepened with each wasted second. Did it matter who had led the Empire here? They were here now, and every moment cost them survival. He’d seen this before: ineffective leaders making ineffective decisions, wasting time when time was the most precious commodity.

He didn’t blame them, not really. The half-elves had only recently become soldiers—many against their will. Still, that didn’t mean he would let this continue.

The elder’s hand drifted toward his blade. Leo stepped between them before it could come free.

“…Don’t.”

The man turned, his weathered face twisted with grief. “This whelp led them straight to us. My daughter is dead because—”

“—because the Empire wants us dead.” Leo moved further between them, forcing the elder to meet his eyes. “Killing the boy won’t bring her back. It won’t change what’s coming.”

“Someone must answer for this.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer it be the Empire.” Leo glanced at the maps—charcoal marks for supply caches and fallback points, now meaningless. “But first we need to survive long enough to make them pay for it.”

Raze, the largest of the Chimeroi, ducked through the doorway. The tiger-blood's orange and black striped skin was painted with soot. Hopefully, he brought good news.

"Earthworks rising to the west. Boxing us in all neat like."

The others filed in behind him. Ripper, cleaning blood from beneath her claws with mechanical precision. Maul, the bear-blood, favoring his left leg where an arrow had punched through his thigh two days ago. Hook, Fang, and Slash—what remained of his unit. Each bore fresh wounds to add to their collection.

"How long until they close the circle?" Leo asked, though the answer was written in the smoke thickening around them.

"Hour, maybe less." Raze showed his fangs in what might have been a smile or snarl. "Reminds me of the arenas, watching them work. Driving the condemned to center stage for the crowd."

An old man spat. "We're not animals to be caged."

"No?" Ripper's voice held no emotion. "Then why do they hunt you like you are?"

The elder had no answer for that. None of them did.

Leo studied the maps again, his mind racing through possibilities only to discard each one just as fast. Every escape route led straight into killing fields. Every defensive line left them open to fire from above. The Ehrenlegion had turned the forest itself into a trap.

“The sanctuary has held since the beginning,” Someone said, as if saying it aloud could make it true. “The forest will not abandon us.”

Through the gaps in the collapsed roof, Leo watched smoke rise in perfect, vertical columns. No wind stirred it. Even the air obeyed the Empire’s will.

“The forest can’t stop what’s coming.” He folded the most detailed map and tucked it inside his shirt. “We should gather everyone who can still hold a weapon and make for the caves.”

“The caves are blocked.”

“Then we—”

The world exploded before he could finish.

Fire erupted from the forest floor, fountains of flame turning trees into torches in an instant. Leo dove down as the heat washed over him, scorching his skin and singeing his eyebrows from ten paces away. Through the haze, he saw them advancing through their own inferno—warriors in crimson robes, hands wreathed in flames that didn’t burn them.

“Flamecallers!” someone shouted, though everyone could already see.

An archer drew and loosed in one motion. The arrow disintegrated to ash three feet from its mark. The Flamecaller didn’t even glance his way before sending a lance of flame that punched through the archer’s chest. The elf collapsed wordlessly, a smoking hole where his heart had been.

Movement above caught Leo’s eye. Shapes flickered between branches, moving faster than any human could. One landed lightly on a branch, perfectly balanced, the hood slipping just enough to reveal a lean face before the figure leapt again, carried by unseen currents.

“They’re—”

Too late.

An arrow sprouted from Maul’s shoulder. Another pierced his chest. The bear-blood looked down at them in disbelief before his legs buckled. Leo hadn’t even heard the bowstring sing.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the pit in his stomach as he’d done too many times before. There was no room for grief.

“Up!” he shouted, grabbing a young half-elf frozen in panic and shoving him toward cover. “Eyes on the skies!”

Even as he barked orders, he knew it was pointless. How did you fight an enemy that controlled the air you breathed? That turned the very ground beneath your feet into a weapon?

A few dozen steps ahead, the earth swelled and split. Stone and packed dirt rose into a perfect wall many times Leo’s height, sealing off their northern retreat. Similar rumbles echoed from the east and south…

They were closing the box.

Leo saw the Flamecallers advance in the distance in flawless formation, their pace steady, their steps measured. Behind them came a flood of figures clad in gray—elite troops, moving across the battlefield like an oncoming tide.

Without hesitation, he turned and ran west, the only direction left to them. Others broke away from his group, scattering into the smoke to try their luck alone. They wouldn’t find it, but Leo didn’t begrudge them the attempt. Every man deserved the right to choose his own death.

A faint tremor rippled beneath his boots, only detectable through his [Tremorsense]. Footsteps. Leo raised a hand, signaling his troop to take cover.

From behind a fallen log, he watched with Ripper pressed close at his side as nine soldiers moved through the burning forest in eerie synchronization. When their leader raised a fist, all nine froze in the same instant. When he pointed left, three peeled away without a sound. They flowed around obstacles like water, each one anticipating the others’ movements.

“Now,” Leo whispered.

They struck from three sides. Ripper tore out a man’s throat before he could scream. Slash hamstrung another. Leo’s blade slid between helmet and breastplate, driving deep. But not deep enough. He followed it up with a burst of flame, searing his opponents’ insides.

The remaining six enemies reacted before the bodies even hit the ground. No panic. No hesitation. Their swords cleared their sheaths in perfect unison as they formed a defensive circle.

Too fast. Too disciplined.

Leo parried a thrust aimed at the one gap in his guard. Another blade swept for his legs; he jumped and twisted, barely avoiding both. A third soldier already moved to where he would land, sword ready to run him through.

Ripper’s claws tore across the soldier’s back, buying Leo a heartbeat. He used it to land safely, transitioning into another strike before his opponent could recover—but his blade met only air.

Leo cursed the Ehrenlegion under his breath. Even their regular foot soldiers, without a trace of magic, were dangerous enough to make him sweat. His fingers twitched, instinct urging him to draw on his Mana—but he resisted. That was exactly what they wanted: to wear him down.

He drove his sword through another soldier’s chest, feeling the resistance of whatever augmentation made their bodies hard as oak.

Finally, the last of them fell.

“They shouldn’t have found us,” one of the half-elf scouts muttered, staring at the corpses. “We were downwind, made no sound—”

“They didn’t,” Leo said. “But someone did…”

He’d heard the rumors and now knew them true. Mind Mages who could link thoughts across distance, who could see through a hundred eyes at once.

It seemed they’d drawn the attention of someone very dangerous.

Somewhere, maybe miles away, their commander had felt those deaths through the network—had seen Leo’s face through dying eyes. Even now, that mind was analyzing, adjusting, and sending reinforcements.

“Move,” Leo ordered. “They know where we are.”

They ran through smoke and burning debris, past the bodies of friends and foes. Behind them came the measured tread of boots. The Legion followed without hurry.

Leo dropped to the ground and pressed his ear to the dirt. A faint trickle of Mana leaked from his Core into the soil—a small trick he’d learned along the way.

Then he began drawing patterns in the dirt with a broken arrow shaft, marking positions and movement, searching for a flaw in the enemy formation. Surely, nothing could be perfect. There had to be gaps, human errors to exploit.

"…Each unit pushes from a different angle," Leo muttered, drawing curved lines to show the fire’s spread. "Forces defenders toward these positions." He marked the spots where the earthworks had risen. "That’s where the Earthshapers have built their kill zones."

Raze crouched beside him, blood seeping through the bandage on his arm. "…Flyers?"

"…Can’t pin them down," Leo said, adding random dots above his crude map. "But they never engage when we’re near the earthworks. They don’t risk friendly fire."

"So?" Ripper asked, cleaning gore from her claws. "We just die neat and orderly?"

Leo stared at the map. Every move the Legion made supported another. The Flamecallers drove prey into earthwork traps. Wind mages provided real-time intelligence. Earthshapers controlled the terrain, funneling everything into perfect kill zones.

It was a machine—each part serving its purpose, the whole greater than the sum.

"They’re not just trying to win this time," Leo said, the realization sitting cold in his gut. "They’re here to wipe us out. This must have been planned for—"

A laugh cut him off.

Leo looked up to see three half-elves dragging a Legion officer through the underbrush. The man’s helmet was gone, revealing a scarred face framed by gray hair. Blood dripped from his nose, but his eyes—brown, human, untainted—burned with satisfaction.

"Clever brat…" the officer rasped, spitting blood. "Every savage in this forest will burn. Every bit of resistance will be stomped out. The Empire’s will is—"

Ripper’s claws slit his throat before he could finish. He died smiling, as if his death meant nothing beside the certainty of their destruction.

"…They’re inhuman," one of the half-elves whispered.

"No," Leo said quietly. "That's exactly what they are."

Just then, the ground trembled. Not from uncontrolled explosions this time—these were steady, rhythmic impacts, like titanic footsteps. Through the smoke, Leo felt a presence that made his chest tighten.

"…Siegebreaker," Ripper breathed, looking in the same direction.

Leo nodded. He had seen one in action once, from a distance. The memory still woke him some nights—watching a hillside simply cease to exist, transformed to glass and vapor by will alone.

"They brought an Archmage for us?" Slash's voice cracked. "We're nothing—refugees and slaves. Why would they—"

"…Because they can." Leo turned from the approaching doom. "Let’s move. We have no time to waste."

Another scout found them as he organized their retreat.

"…No paths left that way." The man’s face was streaked with soot and tears. "Went south myself—wall of stone thirty feet high. Korran tried the river—they’ve diverted it, turned the bed to mud and stakes. Even the deer paths are blocked."

Leo recalled his map one last time. Every mark meant death: positions held and lost, friends burned or crushed or shot from above.

"Then we make this the place they stop."

Ripper tilted her head. "We die here?"

"Yes."

"Good." Raze bared his fangs. "Was getting tired of running anyway."

The remaining Chimeroi gathered close: Hook and Fang, twins who'd survived the arena by fighting as one; Slash, barely past his eighteenth winter but aged by what he'd seen. The few half-elves left stood at the edges, understanding dawning in hollow eyes.

Leo handed out the last supplies: a syringe of life elixir to each fighter, whetstones for blades that would never need sharpening again. He moved among them with steady hands, checking straps, adjusting buckles—the mundane work of a commander preparing for battle, as if this were any other fight.

He found the youngest half-elf, the boy the elder had wanted to kill, huddled behind a log. It seemed he had followed them.

"You know how to hold a sword?" Leo asked.

The boy nodded, hands shaking.

"Good. Stay with Fang. Do what she does."

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered. "About the water. I didn't mean—"

Leo’s jaw tightened. Maul’s dying expression flashed in his mind, sharp and searing—then, just as quickly, he forced it away.

"It doesn't matter." Leo gripped the boy’s shoulder, forcing him to his feet. "What matters is what you do from now on."

Suddenly, he remembered words Zeke had spoken what felt like a lifetime ago. Before the war. Before any of them knew what was coming. "…Until death, every mistake is just another lesson. Make sure to learn it well."

Leo drew his sword. The blade was notched from a dozen desperate fights, the edge stained with blood that wouldn't clean off anymore. It would serve. For one last fight.

"Ranks!" he shouted, surprised his voice didn’t shake. Ripper stood at his right, Raze at his left. Through the haze and shifting shadows, he could already make out the silhouettes of figures approaching.

"Don’t sell your lives cheap.” Then, quieter, just for himself, he added the words of his house, now more fitting than ever. “Glory… or death."

B8 - Chapter 22: Hidden Realm

Zeke led the way, approaching the same door the Bloodguard had disappeared through earlier.

“…After you.”

Zelkara entered first without hesitation. Vulcanos shot Zeke a curious glance but followed without comment.

Zeke stepped in after them, only to find both Chimeroi frozen a few paces ahead. Their wide eyes swept across the space, filled with awe and confusion.

He joined them, taking in the sight with quiet satisfaction.

Beyond the unassuming door—which looked as though it belonged to a closet or storage room—they stepped into a vast, hangar-like space. It was likely large enough to fit the entire Alexandria inside.

The Bloodguard were scattered throughout, exploring the area with the same mix of awe and disbelief that filled Vulcanos and Zelkara’s faces.

“What… how… what…” Vulcanos stammered, his words barely coherent, but Zeke understood well enough.

What was this place, and how could it possibly exist?

Now that Vulcanos had formally joined the Bloodguard, there was no reason to keep everything secret. Still, there was little point in overexplaining. He doubted Vulcanos had much interest in the theory behind it anyway.

“Space magic,” Zeke said simply.

As expected, the answer was enough. Even though any novice mage would know it couldn’t be that simple, Vulcanos nodded appreciatively.

“Quite handy,” he said, admiring the construction.

“Let me show you around,” Zeke offered, leading the way.

The space within the World Anchor had finally grown large enough to serve a real purpose beyond storing trinkets. It stretched several hundred steps in both width and height—a scale he hadn’t fully appreciated before.

When he’d used it to simulate natural environments, the height hadn’t mattered much. But now that he’d transformed the interior into an industrial complex, the vertical space could finally be put to proper use with multiple levels.

“This is the greenhouse,” he said, gesturing toward a vast, multi-story structure made mostly of glass panels.

“We… are growing our own crops?” Vulcanos asked, his eyes wide.

“Among other things. On this floor, there are spices, mainly.”

Through the transparent walls, rows upon rows of meticulously arranged sections came into view. The precision and care within were far beyond anything found in nature, yet the thriving clusters of plants proved how well the environment suited them.

They stopped, and Zeke pointed upward at the dozen or so levels above. “Each floor has its own climate, tailored to the yields it supports. Aside from magical plants, there’s nothing we can’t produce in here.”

He gave them a moment to take in the marvel of industrialized farming. Then—

“Zelkara.”

“Yes, Progenitor.” Her response came instantly.

“From now on, you and your men will be responsible for maintaining this place.”

Zelkara looked from his face to the massive glass structure and back again before dropping to her knees, as if she had committed some grave offense.

“My apologies, Progenitor, but I lack the knowledge to care for such plants.”

“Get up,” Zeke ordered. She obeyed at once. “I didn’t expect you to. Even trained gardeners or botanists wouldn’t know how to care for all of these.”

Zelkara visibly relaxed at his reassurance.

“I’ll instruct your men telepathically on how to tend to each crop until they’ve learned. Your job is to organize them and make sure they stay diligent.”

Zelkara placed her fist over her chest. “Consider it done, Progenitor.”

They next stopped before a massive building with a clean, utilitarian design. “This is where you’ll be staying,” Zeke said.

The corridors were tight, as if someone had crammed in as many rooms as possible to maximize efficiency. That didn’t mean he’d skimped on quality, though. Within this space, he could create nearly anything he wanted—so he hadn’t held back with rare materials when designing the quarters. The only thing he’d been sparing with was space.

“You two can take the larger rooms on the top floor,” he added, “though I doubt you’ll spend much time here…”

With those ominous words, Zeke gestured for them to follow him to the final area. In a relatively hidden section of the hall stood something resembling the greenhouse—but this one was different. The glass containers weren’t shaped for plants. Their outlines were unmistakably humanoid.

“What are these, Master?” Vulcanos asked.

Zeke’s expression grew serious. He needed them to understand the weight of what he was about to reveal.

“This is my secret weapon,” he said. “The reason I was able to advance faster than any other Mage. The reason I wandered the continent for two years instead of chasing immediate power. And also…the key for you to grow stronger.”

Vulcanos swallowed hard, staring at the pods with newfound reverence. Even Zelkara’s usual composure gave way to a rare seriousness.

“They’re Mana Purifying Devices,” Zeke explained. “Version Three, to be exact.”

“What… what do they do?” Vulcanos asked, unable to tear his eyes from the pod closest to him.

“They filter and condense ambient Mana, making it easier for the Core to absorb.”

Vulcanos frowned. “But, Master… we don’t have cores.”

“I’m well aware,” Zeke replied. “Nonetheless, you rely on mana just as we mages do.”

Vulcanos looked genuinely confused. “I can use mana?”

“Not as fuel, no,” Zeke corrected. “Your abilities don’t function with ambient mana. However, you still depend on it to grow stronger. At least… that’s the theory.”

Vulcanos blinked. “You’re not sure about this?”

Zeke shook his head. “The fundamentals are sound. The problem is, I have no idea how it will work in practice. There are too many variables for me to predict accurately—especially with you.”

He met the Chimeroi’s eyes. “Remember, gaining strength isn’t simple for your kind. It’s tied to everything—your body, your power, even your aging. This process will push all of that into overdrive. It might strengthen you in ways we can’t foresee, in ways your species was never meant to evolve. Or… it might kill you.”

Vulcanos fell silent, his gaze fixed on the Mana Purifying Device.

Zeke decided to give him a moment and turned to Zelkara. “As a Pureblood, your physiology is closer to that of humans. You’re more responsive to mana and likely have a higher potential ceiling.”

Zelkara’s eyes gleamed with joy, as if he had just offered her heartfelt praise rather than simple biological reality.

“I want you to spend at least five hours inside each day—more, if possible.”

Zelkara nodded. “How do I use this device?”

Zeke pointed to the cushioned surface. “Lie down and relax.”

“That’s all?”

Zeke smiled faintly. “Since you’re one of the first of your kind to try it, you’ll need to be monitored constantly. But don’t worry—I’ll handle that. All you need to do is climb inside and rest.”

Zelkara nodded obediently. “Should I start right now?”

Zeke shrugged. “Might as well.”

The Pureblood didn’t waste another moment. The bearskin mantle she wore slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet and revealing the simple, snow-white tunic beneath. It suited her—clean, unadorned, matching her bright hair perfectly.

Without a trace of hesitation, she lay down on the cushioned surface, leaned back, and waited.

Zeke watched in quiet amazement. He knew the Honor Guard Ritual affected Chimeroi differently than humans, but seeing this woman—someone he had met only once before, barely conscious at the time—place such unquestioning trust in him still felt strange.

Even so, he wouldn’t complain about such loyalty. And in truth, this experiment was as much for her benefit as his own.

With a mental nudge, he instructed Akasha to proceed.

At once, the device came to life. With a soft whir of gears and a hiss of pressurized seals, the glass capsule closed around her—smoothly, almost gracefully, like an oyster sealing its shell.

Zelkara didn’t resist or panic. Instead, she observed the process with detached curiosity. It seemed the idea that Zeke might harm her hadn’t even occurred to her—or perhaps she wouldn’t have resisted even if it had. Her mindset was difficult to read.

“Relax,” Zeke sent telepathically.

Moments later, he felt her consciousness dim: The telltale sign that she had fallen asleep. Akasha’s doing, no doubt. Though Zelkara could have resisted if she wished, her obedient nature made the process seamless.

“Did she just fall asleep?” Vulcanos asked, watching the entire process.

Zeke nodded, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping Pureblood. “The properties of purified mana make it incredibly addictive. By putting her to sleep, I can counteract the mental dependence.”

“…And the physical one?”

“That won’t be a problem with just a few hours a day,” Zeke said, finally tearing his eyes away after confirming everything was stable. “But even if it did, I could simply keep her asleep until the withdrawal passed. That’s one of the reasons I want to monitor her closely.”

He studied Vulcanos’ expression, trying to gauge his resolve. “Have you decided?”

Vulcanos smiled faintly. “There was never really a choice. I just needed a moment to make peace with it.”

Zeke’s gaze darkened. “I won’t pretend I wouldn’t do the same in your place—but I still have to say it: there’s no need for you to go through with this. You’re already strong enough.”

“Would I win against you, Master?”

Zeke didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“How are my chances?”

“A thousand to one.”

Vulcanos smiled again, this time without humor. “You might as well have said there’s no chance at all.”

Zeke shook his head. “I’m not that arrogant.”

Vulcanos nodded slowly, a strange look crossing his face. “I used to be stronger than you, Master. Much stronger. Do you remember? You used to depend on me.”

I still depend on you.

The words never left Zeke’s lips. He couldn’t bring himself to say them. Deep down, he knew they weren’t true. He no longer needed Vulcanos—not like he had back in Korrovan. In the grand scheme of things, Vulcanos had become almost insignificant within Zeke’s growing power structure.

David, Raileh, even Zelkara—they had all surpassed him, some by a wide margin. Vulcanos had become little more than another face in the crowd. If not in Zeke’s heart, then certainly in terms of the strength he could offer.

“…Don’t do it for me,” Zeke said softly, his tone almost pleading.

Vulcanos shook his head, and this time his smile was genuine. “It’s all I have, Master.”

Without another word, he strode to the pod beside Zelkara’s and lay down. Whether out of obedience or simply to avoid further argument, the Chimeroi closed his eyes.

It was as good as saying his decision was final.

Zeke sighed and was about to signal Akasha to close the pod when a familiar, raspy voice echoed in the back of his mind.

“…Give him a drop.”

Zeke froze. “What?”

“Give him a drop of your blood—of my blood. Give him a drop of Draconic Essence.”

“Why?” Zeke asked quickly.

“He is a fine warrior, but an even finer retainer,” Khai’Zar’s voice rumbled. “I will not see his path blocked.”

“What will the blood do?”

“Possibility.”

“…Possibility?” Zeke echoed. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

But the Dragon said nothing more. Only its lingering presence remained, heavy and expectant.

Zeke stood over Vulcanos, weighing his options. For a long moment, he hesitated. Then he exhaled slowly.

He would trust Khai’Zar. The Dragon had never led him astray.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed.

The dagger at his waist slid free of its sheath and glided into his hand, the blade gleaming as he turned it toward his own chest. With only a moment’s hesitation, Zeke made the first cut. A jolt of pain, sharp as a static shock, rippled through him as the edge bit into his flesh—layer by layer—until he could see the faint glimmer of his ribs and the heart beating beneath.

Ordinarily, such recklessness would have meant certain death. But Zeke had long mastered his own blood. It was the one aspect of himself he controlled completely.

Not a single drop spilled.

Carefully, with the knife’s tip, he pressed against the scaled surface of his inhuman heart.

Instead of blood, a single golden drop welled up—a liquid so dense it seemed almost solid, too heavy for its size, too radiant to be mistaken for anything mortal. It clung to the edge of the blade like molten light.

Zeke reached for Vulcanos, slicing open the Chimeroi’s arm—not with the dagger, but with a thin, razor-sharp filament of blood extending from his fingertip. The cut was so clean that Vulcanos likely hadn’t even felt it.

He tilted the dagger, letting the golden droplet roll into the wound.

The reaction was immediate. The Draconic Essence came alive, spreading through Vulcanos’ veins with a will of its own. The Chimeroi’s body tensed, a silent gasp escaping him as pain and ecstasy warred across his face.

“Now, Akasha,” Zeke commanded wordlessly.

The spirit obeyed instantly. Taking advantage of the mental chaos, she slipped into Vulcanos’ mind and forced him into unconsciousness. It wasn’t a gentle act—it was more like pressing a rag soaked in potent narcotics to his face. But Zeke didn’t regret it. Whatever the Draconic Essence was doing, it wasn’t something he wanted the man to feel awake.

For a long moment, Zeke stood over him: this foolish, loyal man whose life he had once bought for a handful of metal coins.

Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.

He had purchased him without a second thought. Now he stood over that same man, chest torn open, having carved out a piece of his own heart—all for the faint hope that it might help him on the path ahead.

Truly… a funny thing.

B8 - Chapter 21: Departure

Before the officers could fully disperse, Zeke’s voice cut through the air.

“Zelkara.”

The woman straightened as if struck by lightning. “Yes, Progenitor.”

Her eyes shone with a mix of excitement and surprise. It was clear she hadn’t expected him to call on her—not after he had ignored her for so long.

“After you round up your men, I want you to bring them to the top deck.”

“…All of them?” she asked.

Zeke nodded. He understood her confusion. His personal quarters on the top deck were far smaller than the crew deck, and fitting the entire Bloodguard there seemed impossible—under normal circumstances, at least.

Zelkara didn’t question him further. With a quick bow, she turned and sprinted off to carry out his order.

Ash followed after her, though at a far more relaxed pace. He had been placed in charge of the few dozen warriors from Winter’s tribe—a much more manageable number.

“Linus,” Zeke called next.

“Yes, young lord?”

“You’re to bring your men to the cockpit. Captain Morris will instruct you on everything there. From now on, your unit and his will work in four-hour shifts to keep the ship running.”

Linus frowned. “Are we to keep that rotation all the way until we reach Rukia?”

Zeke shook his head. “Not quite. You’ll maintain that rotation indefinitely.”

“I—indefinitely?”

Zeke nodded, fixing him with a serious look. “Let me put it this way, Captain—this ship only touches the ground if it’s about to crash and burn. Understood?”

Linus swallowed hard, then straightened with a salute. “I’ll instruct my men accordingly.”

Zeke nodded, satisfied.

Linus left with a somewhat dazed look on his face.

Elder Tiger and Elder Dragon had already gone to rally their followers, leaving behind only the officers without direct commands.

“Any instructions for me, young lord?” David asked.

“None. You’re free to spend your time however you wish.” Zeke paused, then gestured toward a particular corridor. “You’ll find more of Maximilian’s collection in the west wing.”

David’s lips curved into a soft smile. “I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

“The same goes for you, Raileh,” Zeke added, turning to the elf. “Though I suggest you familiarize yourself with the medical station before we reach Rukia.”

With a nod—far more respectful than he remembered—the elf made for the stairway, presumably to do just that.

That left only Gravitas and Vulcanos.

“Am I correct in assuming I’m relieved of my command?” Gravitas asked.

Zeke studied her expression, trying to gauge her mood. As always, Gravitas was difficult to read. “Are you displeased?”

She shook her head. “I did as you asked, Master. But it’s clear to me now that I’m not suited for leadership. Not the way Zelkara is.”

Zeke nodded. “Your talents would be wasted in that role anyway. Even so, you carried out my orders faithfully—exceeded expectations even. I believe a reward is in order, don’t you think?”

He smirked as he caught the faint flicker of excitement in her eyes. No matter how stoic she pretended to be, Zeke still knew how to spark her interest.

He gestured toward the deeper shelves of the library. “There’s a set of books near the end of that row that might interest you. They outline the theoretical framework behind the Wraith’s engine design. I’m sure you’ll find them… illuminating.”

Before he had even finished speaking, Gravitas was already striding past him toward the indicated section.

That left only one.

Vulcanos looked at Zeke, and Zeke looked back.

“Well?” the Chimeroi asked.

“Well, what?”

“What about me?”

Zeke shrugged. “You could spend some time in the training facilities on the third floor.”

Vulcanos nodded, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely satisfied. “I wish we could get there sooner. My body’s itching for a fight—I’ve got all this pent-up energy.”

“You’ll get your fight soon enough,” Zeke said. “And you won’t lack for strong opponents.”

“Say, Master… do you think we’ll encounter an Archmage again?”

Zeke’s expression turned somber. “Most certainly.”

“I hope it’s soon,” Vulcanos said, his eyes gleaming. “I have a feeling I could take one now.”

Zeke shook his head. “You’d most certainly die.”

Vulcanos waved him off. “I’m much stronger now than I was in Undercity. We wouldn’t even need tricks anymore.”

Zeke’s expression hardened. That kind of overconfidence was dangerous—and it needed to be crushed immediately.

“Listen to me, Vulcanos, and listen closely.” His tone turned sharp, his gaze cold. “If you meet an Archmage in Rukia, you do not fight. You run. Unless I order it, you do not engage. Understand?”

Vulcanos’ face twisted into a pout. “But why? Do you doubt my strength, Master?”

“It’s because I know your strength that I’m saying this.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Zeke’s voice cut through his protest. “It’s not I who’s ignorant, Vulcanos—it’s you.”

The Chimeroi fell silent, though his defiant expression made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

“You think you understand the strength of Archmages because of the ones we fought in Undercity?” Zeke asked. “Let me tell you something—they were trash. Utter garbage for their level. If you take them as a measure of what the Ehrenlegion can do, you’ll find your head separated from your neck before you can even blink.”

Vulcanos’ pout faded, replaced by a more serious look.

“They weren’t in Undercity by choice,” Zeke continued. “They were there because they weren’t good enough to be anywhere else. Even in Korrovan, they were weak. Now, try to imagine how they compare to the top elites of the Empire—the strongest military power on the continent.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

“Even David, trained by one of the foremost experts in the world and on the same level himself, would only have about an even chance of victory in a fair fight, I’d wager.”

Vulcanos’ expression shifted, though it was hard to say what he felt. It was a look Zeke had never seen on the usually so easygoing Chimeroi’s face.

“…It’s frustrating,” Vulcanos said after a pause, his voice low. Zeke could see the effort it took for him not to clench his fists. “I’ve done so much—risked life and limb, even my sanity with the Bloodboil technique—and I’m still so lacking…”

Zeke remained silent. He had no good answer. In many ways, the world truly was unfair. Yet Vulcanos was already stronger than most humans could ever dream of being. It was just that he would likely never reach the very highest peaks of power.

Finally, Vulcanos lost the struggle against himself. His fist tightened until thin streams of blood trailed down his knuckles. When the drops hit the floor, they sizzled, burning into the wood.

Vulcanos didn’t even seem to notice. His gaze locked onto Zeke. “…Is there a way?”

Even with the question so vague, Zeke knew exactly what he meant. Still, the words didn’t come easily. He needed to weigh the implications before speaking.

He hadn’t planned for Vulcanos to be here at all, and now he was faced with a decision he hadn’t prepared for. But looking at the Chimeroi’s earnest expression, Zeke couldn’t bring himself to crush that hope outright.

“…There’s a way for everything,” he said slowly. “But as always, there’s a price to be paid.”

Vulcanos nodded solemnly. “I am prepared, Master. Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.”

“Is strength really that important to you?”

Vulcanos’ expression turned wistful. “What else do I have?”

Zeke held his gaze for a long moment. He could have tried to convince him—tried to say that a person’s worth wasn’t defined by their strength alone—but he knew better. The words would have rung hollow coming from him. Morning to night, day after day, he lived for power. He had no right to say otherwise.

“Very well,” Zeke said after a pause. “When Zelkara returns, follow her to my quarters.”

He turned, intending to head for the top deck ahead of time. He would need the remaining minutes before launch to prepare for this new variable. But before he reached the stairway, Vulcanos called out once more.

“Thank you, Master!”

Zeke turned his head halfway, a complicated expression flickering across his face. Instead of replying, he simply nodded once.

Time passed in a blur, and before Zeke realized it, there was a knock at his door.

The top floor was off-limits, nearly impossible to enter without brute force. It had to be that way—too many secrets were kept here, secrets that couldn’t be shared even with his closest allies.

At his command, Akasha unsealed the entrance. Zelkara entered first, followed by Vulcanos and then the rest of the Bloodguard. They moved in disciplined pairs, their serpentine bodies gliding in eerie synchronization. Yet after only a few dozen had entered, the room already felt cramped.

Zeke pointed toward a side door. “In there.”

At once, the line of soldiers shifted course, flowing toward the indicated room.

Zelkara approached silently and dropped to one knee, her head bowed in wordless obedience. Vulcanos stood beside her, watching her posture with faint curiosity.

“I’m here, Master,” he said. “What do you need me to do?”

Zeke motioned for patience. His gaze followed the stream of several hundred warriors disappearing through the doorway.

Vulcanos watched as well, frowning slightly as more and more vanished from sight. “Bigger than it looked from the outside,” he muttered.

Zeke smiled faintly but chose not to comment.

When the last of the Bloodguard had passed through, Akasha sealed the door behind them without waiting for instruction.

Zeke turned to Vulcanos, his expression turning serious once more. “Last chance. It’s not too late to walk away—but after this, there’s no going back.”

Vulcanos didn’t hesitate. “I won’t change my mind.”

Zeke sighed. “For what I’m about to show you, I have no choice but to induct you into the Bloodguard.”

Vulcanos glanced at Zelkara’s kneeling form. “…Will I end up like that too?”

“It’s possible,” Zeke admitted. “Second thoughts?”

Vulcanos studied her for another moment before relaxing, a faint grin crossing his face. “Not really. Maybe I’ll finally find out what it feels like to follow a Progenitor, eh?”

Zeke watched him for a moment longer, ensuring his resolve was genuine. When Vulcanos’ easy stance didn’t waver, he nodded.

“Come with me—both of you.”

He led them into the adjoining chamber. It was small, barely large enough to fit a dozen people. Every inch of its surface was etched with runes and enchantments. This was one of his ritual rooms: an optimized version of the Honor Guard ritual.

“Stand over there.”

Vulcanos obeyed without a word, stepping into the center of the formation.

Zeke’s brow furrowed slightly. The Chimeroi had already undergone the Enslavement Ritual and later had his Soul Shard returned, so Zeke wasn’t entirely sure this would work. He gave it even odds at best—but none of that uncertainty showed on his face.

“Do you swear to live and die by my will, to submit in body and mind, and to carry out my instructions faithfully until death or release from this bond?”

“I swear.”

There was no hesitation.

Zeke began circulating his mana, initiating the ritual. The room flared with light as the runes and pathways carved into the floor ignited one by one.

For a breathless moment, Zeke thought it might fail—but then he felt it: a faint tingle, the spark of a new connection. Allowing the link to solidify, he sensed the imprint forming. Minutes later, the ritual concluded.

Vulcanos looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as though seeing them for the first time.

Zeke frowned. “How do you feel?”

The question seemed to jolt Vulcanos. His startled eyes snapped to Zeke, and he stared for a long moment before answering.

“What is it?” Zeke pressed.

Vulcanos blinked, confusion flickering across his face. It was as if he wasn’t looking at Zeke at all—but at someone entirely new.

Just as Zeke began to suspect something had gone wrong, Vulcanos finally spoke.

“…Weird.”

Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—the same familiar grin as always. “I guess this will take some getting used to.”

“How is it?” Zeke asked again.

Vulcanos tilted his head, searching for the right words. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t think I can describe it… It’s kind of like—you’re the sun.”

“The sun?” Zeke repeated, frowning slightly.

Vulcanos nodded, clearly satisfied with his own explanation. “Warm. Comforting. Omnipresent.”

Zeke glanced toward Zelkara, gauging her reaction. To his surprise, she was nodding, as if Vulcanos’ words made perfect sense.

That confirmed it.

The sun…

He was the sun…

Before he could dwell on the thought, he felt it—not through his body, but through his Spatial Awareness. The ship had begun to move. The Alexandria had taken flight and was already on course for Rukia.

Which meant…

They had no time to waste.

Zeke turned back to Vulcanos. “Now that you’re part of the Bloodguard, it’s time I showed you a few things…”

B8 - Chapter 20: Alexandria Reborn

“How much longer?”

Elder Dragon’s massive frame shifted back and forth, the cobblestones groaning beneath his weight—a reminder of how differently the inhabitants of Undercity lived. Built for violence, bred for war, he looked distinctly out of place here in Tradespire, a city that prized comfort above all else.

…Or perhaps he simply wasn’t used to seeing the sun.

The same could be said for Elder Tiger, who couldn’t stop fidgeting, her gaze darting about as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

At least not all of the Chimeroi were behaving that way.

Zelkara, for her part, hadn’t moved an inch since taking her position three steps behind and to his right—the traditional place of a bodyguard, though she’d claimed the role without being asked.

The others stood in a loose formation around him, uncertain of what to expect.

Zeke lifted his gaze to what appeared, at first glance, to be an empty patch of air. The skies were perfectly clear, yet his Spatial Awareness told him otherwise.

“She’s here,” he said.

The others followed his gaze, confusion etched across their faces. All except David, whose eyes narrowed. Perhaps he had his own way of detecting the anomaly.

Linus frowned. “Young lord, the skies are clear. There’s nothing—”

The words died as reality peeled away.

The ship descended from nothingness like a mountain deciding to fly.

Where the Wraith had been a dagger, this was a fortress given wings. Three hundred feet from bow to stern, her hull curved in ways that defied traditional shipbuilding. The wood—if it could still be called that—had been treated through so many alchemical and magical processes it resembled black stone more than timber. Intricate spirals of runic patterns covered her surface, each one a carefully calculated enchantment woven into the vessel’s very bones.

She made no sound.

A ship that size should have announced itself with the roar of wind through rigging, the thunder of propulsion runes, the groan of strained materials fighting gravity’s pull. Yet it descended in utter silence, as if the world itself held its breath in reverence—or fear.

Vulcanos stumbled back, nearly losing his balance. The reaction pleased Zeke more than it should have. Elder Tiger’s pupils narrowed to slits, instincts screaming warning despite the vessel’s lack of hostility.

Good instincts.

The ship’s underside bristled with sealed ports—future weapon mounts, for now lying dormant. Zeke already saw them filled, the blueprints half-formed in his mind. By the time they’d reach Rukia, she would carry enough firepower to level cities.

But that was for later.

For now, she was merely transport—
The most over-engineered transport ever conceived.

“H-how?” Raileh’s question came out strangled.

“It’s the same principle as the Wraith, just scaled up,” Zeke explained. “Admittedly, the calculations become… complex at this size. The light-bending array alone requires thousands of individual equations to maintain stability.”

That was putting it mildly. The mathematics had pushed even Akasha to her limits. They’d burned through three fortunes’ worth of materials in failed prototypes before finally succeeding. But his audience didn’t need those details. Let them think it had come easily. Fear and respect grew from the same soil.

The flying fortress touched down with the delicacy of a feather landing on glass. A gangway extended from her side, wide enough for ten men to walk abreast. Warm, amber light spilled from the opening, gilding the stone courtyard below.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zeke noticed Gravitas watching the ship’s every movement. So, she had noticed. The new propulsion system had been modeled on the mechanics of her own power—an elegant adaptation of gravitational manipulation. Even now, traces of her influence could be seen in the final design.

“The exterior matches her purpose: a pure destroyer, built for battle,” Zeke said as he strode toward the gangway. “But step inside, and—” he cut himself off, thinking better of spoiling the surprise at the last moment.

“…Well, why don’t you just take a look yourselves,” he added with an expectant smile.

The contrast hit like a physical blow.

Where most warships valued function over comfort, this vessel’s interior resembled a noble’s estate more than a machine of war. Thick carpets muffled footsteps. Paintings lined the bulkheads. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their facets scattering light that danced with every subtle motion of the ship.

David froze after only a few steps inside, his eyes fixed on one particular painting—an elderly woman seated by a window, frail hands cradling a bouquet of red and white roses.

Zeke paused beside him without a word.

“The Last Bloom,” David murmured, his voice quieter than the ship’s hum.

Zeke’s brow lifted. “You recognize it?”

David nodded. “Maximilian received it as a gift—said it had been passed down as a family treasure. He told me it reminded him that beauty can survive even the cruelest of times.”

A faint smile touched his lips, then faded. “It was one of his favorites.”

For a moment, both men regarded the painting in silence.

“This is a warship?” Linus asked at last, disbelief thick in his tone.

Zeke turned to him, noting the awe and confusion mirrored on every face. “That she is,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added with quiet pride, “But also so much more.”

He extended a hand toward the grand interior.

“Welcome aboard the Alexandria Mk. II.”

Zeke led them deeper into the ship as he spoke. “When building the original Alexandria, Maximilian envisioned a vessel unlike any sailing ship—and far from the plain functionality of a traditional warship.”

He turned, walking backward so he could watch their reactions. “Unfortunately, he lacked the technology to make air travel truly comfortable. But we don’t…”

The doors ahead parted at his approach, revealing the heart of the ship.

The common area stretched before them—an enormous space that would have looked out of place not only on an airship, but on any moving vessel. Sofas and armchairs were arranged in elegant clusters. A fireplace dominated one wall, its flames dancing despite the absence of wood or visible fuel. Along the opposite wall, glass-fronted shelves displayed rows of books that gleamed softly in the light.

The group froze. For once, there was no difference between the rough gang leaders of Undercity and the refined Archmage from the elven matriarchy. All wore the same slack-jawed expression of disbelief.

“I thought,” Zeke said after giving them a moment to take it all in, “that if we’re going to live here for months—perhaps years—there’s no reason to suffer discomfort for the sake of military tradition.”

Another moment of silence, and then…

“Is that… a library?” Elder Dragon asked, pointing to the far wall.

Zeke nodded happily. “We have some of my favorites on magical theories and a notable selection of lighter topics to pass the time.”

Elder Dragon lowered his hand, though the blank expression on his face made it difficult to determine if the answer had satisfied him.

No matter.

"The crew quarters are on the second deck," Zeke continued, gesturing to a spiral staircase that seemed to be carved from a single piece of dark wood. "Individual rooms for officers, with communal areas between. The third deck contains training facilities, workshops, and medical facilities. The top deck is mine."

Raileh drifted toward the shelves, drawn by professional interest. Her fingers traced the preservation runes on storage cabinets, her expression shifting from skepticism to genuine appreciation. At least someone understood the level of craftsmanship involved.

“Young lord,” David ventured, thoughtful, “this vessel… it must have cost—”

“Millions,” Zeke interrupted. “Every copper we earned from selling the Wraiths. Every connection I could leverage, every favor I could call in, every piece of knowledge I could steal, buy, or discover. The Alexandria represents the entire Hohenheim fortune.” He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

“…For that price, we could have—could have—” David’s words trailed off, his mind clearly imagining the sort of things the gold could have bought.

Zeke finished the thought for him. “We could have hired every sellsword, mercenary, and adventurer in Tradespire for the rest of their lives. Twice over. We could have doubled or tripled our numbers—easily. Is that what you were thinking?”

David’s mouth twisted. “I am now, young lord.”

Zeke shook his head, with no hint of regret. “And yet I did not. Why do you think that is?”

David didn’t respond, and neither did any of the others who were now all listening intently to their discussion.

“For decades we’ve thrown men and women at the Empire by the thousands. Tens of thousands have died trying to take their land back, and still the border hasn’t moved a single step.” He met the eyes of his officers. They needed to understand.

“Was it because the Alliance didn’t send enough? Because they lacked manpower?” He shook his head, as if the notion were absurd. “If the Empire could be beaten by numbers alone, it would have happened long ago.”

“Are you saying it’s hopeless then, no matter how many we send?”

“Not at all,” Zeke said. “We have simply made too many concessions in our thinking.”

He counted on his fingers. “The Empire has the best Mind Mages—so they win in strategy. The best Earth Mages—so they win in fortifications. The best Water Mages—so they win at sea. The best Fire Mages—so they win in firepower.”

With each statement the air grew heavier, as if the Empire’s supremacy had a physical presence. Even the Chimeroi—who had never witnessed the Empire’s war machine in action—frowned at the description. For a moment it felt as if defeat were inevitable.

“…And finally,” Zeke raised a hand and pointed skyward, “the Empire has the best Wind Mages—so they control the skies.”

Silence stretched. Glances passed among the gathered, and Zeke would have wagered that more than one person was having second thoughts.

“Sounds hopeless, doesn’t it?” His voice cut through the gloom, calm and steady.

“…But that is only if you accept those statements as facts,” Zeke smiled faintly, his voice light. “They have the best strategies? I’ll gladly put my mind up against theirs. They win on water, land, and open field? We’ll put that to the test too. They control the skies?”

His smile broadened until it nearly split his face. “No longer.”

“You asked why I spent our entire fortune on a single ship? That is why. I am taking the stolen sky back from the Empire. I will teach them to fear the heavens once more, to flinch at the movement of clouds. Let them hide in their holes and fortifications or flee to the seas. But the air will never again be a safe haven for them.”

Zeke extended his arms, as if encompassing the entire world. “Wherever the Alexandria goes will no longer belong to anyone… but me.”

Nobody spoke, stunned by such a brazen announcement.

And yet Zeke could clearly feel the shift in the air. The oppressive weight from before had been replaced by something else—not quite belief, but the faint, flickering hope that his words might just be true. There was even a hint of anticipation.

That was good enough for now. Faith would come in time.

Captain Morris, wearing his pilot uniform, appeared at the bridge entrance, offering a crisp salute. The man had adapted to the ship’s peculiar nature with remarkable speed, though sweat still beaded his forehead from the effort. Though he had plenty of practice with the Wraith’s this was a different beast altogether.

The Alexandria didn’t truly fly—she simply convinced reality that she had always been wherever she arrived. Guiding such a defiance of physics took its toll on the mind.

“We’re ready to depart on your word, Lord von Hohenheim.”

Zeke nodded but didn’t give the order yet.

“Questions?”

No one spoke. They understood, at least in part. The Alexandria wasn’t merely a vessel—or even a weapon. She was a statement of intent, a declaration that the old rules no longer applied.

“Good.” Zeke’s voice grew stern. “You have twenty minutes to gather your forces. After that, we leave.”

“Captain. Set course for Rukia.”

B8 - Chapter 19: Hohenheim Mercenary Company

“…With all due respect, young lord, I do not think it wise to rely on such characters.”

The words were cold, but they still couldn’t compare to the glare Linus directed at the newcomers from Undercity.

“Their loyalty isn’t questionable—it’s nonexistent.”

Zeke rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache coming on as he looked from his guard captain to the increasingly irritated Elder Tiger and Elder Dragon.

In his excitement at seeing his forces finally gathered, Zeke had overlooked one crucial detail: most of these people didn’t know each other—didn’t even know the others existed. Even David, one of his oldest confidants, had never met Gravitas, Ash, or Vulcanos in person, and the same held true in reverse.

At the very least, David had grown accustomed to how Chimeroi usually behaved—a luxury Linus didn’t share. From the moment the meeting began, the man had taken offense at the casual, almost dismissive manner of the former rebels.

“Big words from such a small fella. Care to back them up with action, puny human?”

Elder Dragon had finally lost his patience.

Linus crossed his arms and held his ground, though a flicker of confusion crossed his face—and Zeke immediately understood why. Linus was a tall man, towering over nearly everyone by a head. It was probably the first time anyone had ever called him puny.

Still, if anyone had the right, it was Elder Dragon. The Chimeroi’s height was nothing short of monstrous. He wasn’t just tall by human standards—he surpassed them entirely. His head rose a full half again higher than most men.

Even Linus, a giant in his own right, barely reached the Chimeroi’s chest. Yet the veteran didn’t so much as flinch. “Violence? That’s your answer? If you think that proves your loyalty, you’re sorely mistaken…”

Elder Tiger, the more diplomatic of the two, stepped in. “We offer our service freely. Is that not enough for you?”

Linus turned to her, his expression hard. “In war, an unreliable ally is worse than the fiercest enemy. Neither I nor any of my men will entrust our backs to the likes of you.”

Zeke’s gaze swept over the gathered figures.

David stood off to the side, observing the confrontation without stepping in. He was caught in a difficult position, tied by loyalty to both parties.

Raileh, the elven healer, lingered in a corner, watching the exchange with an increasingly disapproving frown.

That left the Chimeroi, who seemed uncertain whether to intervene. At least, that was true for Gravitas, Vulcanos, and Ash.

Zelkara, for her part, hadn’t taken her eyes off Zeke since leaving the airship. Her gaze followed him with unwavering intensity—like a hatchling watching its parent.

“Typical human…” Elder Dragon growled. “Let me guess—you’ll only be satisfied once we’re chained or forced to swear some oath?”

Elder Tiger bared her teeth at the mention of chains, an instinctive reaction. Yet Zeke caught the fleeting glance she threw in his direction. Even Elder Dragon’s slitted pupils flicked toward him for the briefest moment.

The realization struck him then.

They had come to a foreign city with only a handful of followers and were now vastly outnumbered—surrounded by humans, and even two Archmages, David and Raileh. If Zeke truly intended to impose restrictions on them, they would have no means of resisting.

No wonder they were tense—especially with his silence dragging on.

“Enough.”

The word slipped from his lips before he even thought about it.

“My lord, they don’t—”

Zeke’s sharp gaze snapped to Linus, silencing him instantly. He held the man’s eyes for a long moment, making sure his displeasure at being ignored was clearly understood.

“Apologies, young lord.”

Zeke gave a slow nod, then turned his attention back to the room. “I will not turn away those willing and able to follow me—nor will I put chains on them…”

The statement was meant both to make his position clear and to reassure the Chimeroi.

Still, he couldn’t simply dismiss Linus’s concerns. The man’s words had come from loyalty and caution, not malice. So, before the two Elders could grow complacent, Zeke continued, his gaze returning to his guard captain.

“Their friends and families are still waiting beneath Korrovan’s sands. Do you understand, Captain?”

Linus’s brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face—then realization. His eyes flicked toward the two Elders and back to Zeke, a complicated expression settling over his features.

“…It was my mistake, young lord. I will not doubt them again.”

Good. It seemed the man had understood his meaning. Elder Tiger and Elder Dragon had brought only a handful of warriors, leaving the vast majority of their people behind in Undercity—well within Zeke’s reach.

He hadn’t said it outright, but the implication was clear enough.

If either of them betrayed him, their friends and families would become hostages before they could even act.

Not that Zeke expected it to come to that. Chimeroi, unlike humans, were far more direct and rarely engaged in such elaborate schemes.

Before the mood could sink any further, Zeke decided to move things along.

With a sharp clap of his hands, he drew everyone’s attention.

“I know many of you aren’t familiar with each other yet, but you’ll have plenty of time to change that once we fight side by side. And you have my word—everyone gathered here is a warrior worthy of respect, someone you can trust to guard your back.”

Several spines straightened at his words, especially among the Chimeroi. Their straightforward nature made them especially receptive to praise, and they took his words to heart.

“Now,” he continued, “I don’t know how much each of you knows about the reason you are here, so allow me to explain the nature of our assignment. We will travel to Rukia, where the Empire’s Ehrenlegion has been active for the better part of a year. There, we’ll coordinate with the local resistance and the allied factions that have been sent as reinforcements.

“Our mission is simple: drive the Empire out by any means necessary. Failing that, we’ll hold the line and help as many civilians escape as possible.”

He swept his gaze across the room. “Questions?”

David’s hand was already raised before the word had even left his mouth.

“Why are we getting involved in such a messy affair, young lord? From what I hear, Rukia is already lost, and that so-called resistance can barely hold the line. Wouldn’t it be far more efficient to coordinate with the Alliance and fight the Empire at the front?”

Zeke nodded. “It would be, yes. But there are several reasons we aren’t doing that.”

“…Such as?”

“First, Leo is currently trapped in Rukia,” Zeke began, counting on his fingers. “Second, the Empire cannot be allowed to gain a foothold on both sides of the continent. Third, Rukia fulfills a crucial role in the Alliance and cannot be surrendered without a fight.” He paused, a slow smile curving his lips. “And lastly—and most importantly—we’re being paid to fight in Rukia, not at the front.”

As he said it, his gaze flicked toward Raileh, still standing quietly in the corner. David followed his line of sight.

“The elves…” he murmured, studying her carefully. “A Life Mage as payment—an Archmage, even. A tempting reward indeed.”

Zeke shook his head. “Raileh isn’t the payment. She is… a bonus.”

David’s eyes widened. “…A bonus? An Archmage as a bonus?”

Zeke shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m quite the negotiator, don’t you think?”

David nodded absently, clearly re-evaluating his entire understanding of the world. Zeke almost felt sorry for him. The man had spent a lifetime clawing his way to the Archmage rank—only to learn that, in the right deal, people of his level could be given away as freebies.

Truly disheartening.

“Anybody else?”

Linus stepped forward next. “Young lord… is it really wise to go to war at this time? You’ve worked so hard to attain the rank of Merchant Lord. Is it worth risking all that just to fulfill a request? Whatever they paid, it can’t compare to such a title.”

Zeke shook his head. “You’re right. It isn’t worth that price.”

“Then—”

Zeke raised a hand, cutting him off. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I have no intention of giving up my position as a Merchant Lord.”

Linus stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “Young lord, have you perhaps forgotten about the neutrality clause?”

Zeke’s smile didn’t waver. “I haven’t. And I don’t intend to break it.”

Now every pair of eyes in the room was on him—confused, doubtful. All except Zelkara, whose gaze still burned with that strange, feverish devotion. He chose to ignore that for now.

“I suppose this is as good a time as any to announce it,” Zeke said, pausing just long enough for suspense to build. “From this moment on, you are all members of the Hohenheim Mercenary Company. Congratulations.”

“…Mercenary… company?”

Zeke nodded solemnly. “That’s right. And remember this—we’re not going to war. We’re simply fulfilling a contract for a client.”

His announcement was met with stunned silence from the humans, while the Chimeroi looked more puzzled than anything else.

David was the first to recover. “Young lord… isn’t that excuse a bit too flimsy?”

Zeke shook his head, still smiling. “It’s not an excuse. We’re officially registered—an entirely neutral mercenary company. Anyone can hire us… even the Empire.”

David’s eyes widened. “You would fight for Arkanheim?”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you just—”

“I said they can hire us,” Zeke interrupted, “but first, they’d have to afford our price.”

“…Our price? Surely that wouldn’t be an obstacle for the Empire.”

“You’d think so…” Zeke replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. “But let me tell you—the elves paid with a personal Oath from one of their Exarchs, along with the service of their foremost expert for the next few decades. Oh, and they also gifted me an Archmage,” he added, glancing at Raileh, who didn’t look too pleased at being mentioned as an afterthought once more.

“Tell me, do you think Augustus Geistreich would swear an Oath and offer his personal service just to hire us?”

“That…” David faltered, his words trailing off.

There was no need to answer. The price the elves had paid was nothing short of monstrous. In monetary terms, it was beyond reason. Yggdrasil serving as Maya’s teacher alone was something beyond valuation. No amount of gold could buy such a favor.

And even if the Empire somehow managed to compel his service, Zeke still held the final say in who would be deployed to fulfill that contract. If it came to it, he could always find a few ‘new members’ to send in his stead.

It was something he was beginning to understand: Words were dead things, unable to compel the living without a willing hand to enforce them. And he already knew that Midas wouldn’t do that.

The longer he lived in this city, the less faith he had in contracts. He was starting to understand why the dwarves preferred dealing only with those they trusted—there were far too many ways to twist a loophole.

Zeke noticed another hand go up—someone who hadn’t spoken since the meeting began.

“Vulcanos?”

“I… uh… I was wondering if you had any more of those ships,” the Chimeroi asked hesitantly. “It was already cramped on the way here, and now that we have even more people, I doubt we’ll all fit.”

Zeke shook his head. “Unfortunately, we won’t be bringing any Wraiths with us. They’re already promised to the Alliance. I’ve delayed their delivery long enough by sending them to pick you up.”

Vulcanos’s expression fell. Clearly, he’d grown attached to the ships during their short journey—and who could blame him? Once someone experienced the smooth, near-silent flight of a Wraith, returning to a traditional airship driven by air propulsion felt archaic.

“Fortunately,” Zeke continued, a wide grin spreading across his face, “I have something far better…”

B8 - Chapter 18: Melting pot

Zeke stood at the edge of his estate grounds, taking in the view. Tradespire sprawled beneath him, smoke rising from homes and workshops in thin columns that merged with the morning haze. The third circle hummed with its usual chaos—wagons grinding through narrow streets, voices bartering from every direction, the rhythmic clang of hammers echoing across rooftops.

Today was the day. Or at least, he hoped it would be.

It was the day he had set for his forces to gather. So far, he hadn’t heard back from any of them. Two Wraiths had been sent into the Wilderness to escort his Bloodguard, though Zeke had no news of their progress. For all he knew, they could still be weeks away on some distant assignment.

He had also sent word to David—the only Archmage officially under his command. Zeke knew the former butler had grown attached to his work in Undercity and to the people there, but he still hoped David would answer the summons in time.

Otherwise, all his efforts over the past week would have been for nothing.

His gaze drifted toward the large hangar, and by extension, to what waited inside. Neither his pale face nor the dark circles beneath his eyes could hide the pride he felt at what they had achieved. Akasha had truly outdone herself this time. No matter how often he saw it, her tireless mind and unmatched precision could accomplish in days what would take an army of craftsmen months to complete.

Without her, none of this would have been possible.

A tingle in the back of his mind pulled him from his thoughts—a physical cue the Spirit had taken to using whenever something required his attention. It didn’t take him long to figure out what it was. Two large shapes were approaching the airspace above his estate. Yet when he looked up, there was nothing to be seen.

That could only mean one thing.

A smile spread across his face as he strode toward the open courtyard beneath the spot where he sensed the shapes hovering.

He arrived just in time. Two black silhouettes shimmered into existence, materializing out of thin air. The Wraiths descended with the mechanical precision he expected from his creations—faster, smoother, and far more graceful than any airship built by mortal hands.

With a soft, almost inaudible thud, they landed on the perfectly manicured lawn before him.

Zeke’s heartbeat quickened.

The ships had returned—but had they succeeded? Would he march to war with an army at his back, or alone?

The cargo hatch opened at a maddeningly slow pace, every grinding sound stretching his nerves taut.

Then, finally, sunlight spilled into the interior of the craft.

Zeke sensed it before he saw it: a large, black shape hurtling toward him with the speed of a loosed arrow. A heartbeat later, two powerful arms wrapped around him in a vise-like grip that even he couldn’t break.

Not that he wanted to.

The embrace was warm—really warm—with a faint scent of sulfur and ash. What might have repulsed others instead filled Zeke with a deep sense of nostalgia.

Vulcanos.

Laughing from the depths of his heart, Zeke returned the embrace with equal force, doing his best to crush the ribcage of the towering figure before him.

The touching reunion quickly turned into a contest of strength—a contest Zeke was losing fast. Without drawing on his Draconic Essence, his body was still no match for a Chimeroi of Vulcanos’ caliber.

With a quick flare of mana, Zeke slipped free from the losing struggle and reappeared a few steps away, finally getting a good look at his old comrade.

Vulcanos seemed to have grown since they last met, now towering a full head taller than Zeke. The body that had once been gaunt was now filled with hardened muscle, giving his already imposing frame an even more monstrous presence. But the most striking change was the network of fiery lines that crisscrossed his jet-black skin, glowing like molten cracks in volcanic rock.

They were brighter than Zeke had ever seen them. Even before the battle that had left the Chimeroi broken, those lines had never burned so vividly.

At last, Zeke met Vulcanos’s gaze. He stood patiently, a wide, confident smile on his face.

“Well? How do I look, Master?” he asked, grin widening.

“Good. Really good. I’m glad,” Zeke said—and he meant it. Leaving Vulcanos behind in such a pitiful state had been one of his lingering regrets. Though Gravitas had promised to care for him, the worry had never quite left Zeke’s mind.

Now, at last, that burden had been lifted.

“A pain in the ass—that’s what you truly look like.”

The voice made Zeke smile. Behind Vulcanos, more figures began to emerge. The first was the one who had spoken—tall, slender, and still wearing a veil that covered the lower half of her face. Gravitas.

A faint sparkle lit her violet eyes as their gazes met, and she dipped her head in greeting. “Master.”

Behind her, the Bloodguard filed out of the airship in perfect order. One might have assumed their serpentine lower bodies would make marching in formation impossible, yet the opposite was true. Their synchronized, sinuous movements gave the impression of precision beyond anything a conventional army could display.

Zeke watched in stunned silence.

Was this really the same band of war prisoners he had entrusted to Gravitas only months ago? Discipline, pride, confidence, and lethal purpose radiated from every one of them. The transformation was nothing short of astounding.

A wide smile spread across his face. “You’ve done well, Gravi. I knew I made the right choice putting you in charge.”

Gravitas shook her head. “I did not do this alone.”

Zeke followed her gaze to the second vessel. Besides the first, another formation of soldiers was disembarking with the same impeccable discipline. His eyes skimmed over them only briefly before locking onto the woman leading the formation.

White hair. An impossibly long spear slung across her back. And—most striking of all—human legs. Aside from the slitted pupils, she appeared completely human. Zeke recognized her instantly.

Zelkara.

The last surviving pureblood daughter of the Frostscale Progenitor. She had been mortally wounded after the war, barely conscious when she swore her oath to the Bloodguard. Zeke remembered how he and Akasha had done what they could to save her, though he had doubted she would survive.

Yet here she was.

The two formations halted before him, merging seamlessly into one. Zelkara dropped to one knee, her gaze lowered in respect. Behind her, three hundred Bloodguard moved as one, mirroring her perfectly.

“We greet the Progenitor!”

The words thundered as though spoken by a single voice, echoing across the estate grounds. Windows flew open as startled onlookers craned their necks to see the source of the roar.

Zeke couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

He had left behind a group of prisoners on a whim, hoping they might one day prove useful. He had even told Gravitas he wouldn’t mind if only a handful survived the training.

But this—

Their numbers hadn’t diminished at all, and yet the change in them was staggering. Discipline. Pride. Unity. Lethal purpose radiated from every one of them.

He still couldn’t fathom how such a transformation had been possible.

A surprise, certainly—but a welcome one. It seemed he wouldn’t have to face the Empire alone after all.

Though, as it turned out, the surprises weren’t over yet.

After Zelkara and her troops, a smaller group of warriors emerged from the airship. Their discipline didn’t match the Bloodguard’s, but Zeke knew better than to mistake their relaxed demeanor for weakness. He even recognized some of them from the final battle.

Icefang warriors.

And not recruits, either—these were hardened veterans.

And leading them was—

“Ash?”

Zeke’s gaze locked onto the man. Gray, tousled hair, furry ears peeking through—clean-shaven now, but unmistakably Ash.

When they had last spoken, Zeke had assumed the Chimeroi would settle down in Winter’s domain and finally enjoy the peace he’d earned. That was why he hadn’t summoned him. And yet, here he was, with a few dozen of Winter’s finest at his back.

Zeke stepped past the still-kneeling Bloodguard, momentarily forgetting them, and approached his old friend. “Why are you here?”

Ash smiled—a mix of genuine warmth and faint embarrassment. “...It turned out to be harder than I thought to leave all this behind.”

Zeke nodded, his expression softening. He wouldn’t make light of the confession. He understood it too well. The drive to grow stronger burned in him constantly, consuming every waking moment. He often wondered what would remain of him if that fire ever went out.

Maybe one day he’d find out.

He clasped forearms with Ash, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face. All three of his old companions had returned to him. It was a comforting thought—to know they stood by his side, not because of orders, but because they chose to.

Then the moment passed, and Zeke could no longer ignore the dozens of hungry eyes fixed on him. “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t come alone. Let me guess—Winter doesn’t want his daughter becoming a widow before she even gets married?”

Ash chuckled at the jab but shook his head. “You’re wrong about that. The tribe didn’t move for Snow’s sake this time. This was Winter’s idea.”

Zeke’s brows furrowed. He knew Winter held him in decent regard, but the Progenitor was not the nurturing type. The Father of Wolves believed that flowers grown in a greenhouse could never compare to those that had survived storms on their own.

So why send help now, unprompted and without demanding anything in return?

Ash seemed to read the question on his face. “Your airships impressed him more than you think. It shocked him to see what human minds can create these days.”

Zeke’s gaze shifted from Ash to the Wraith and back again as realization dawned. “He’s… currying favor? With me?”

Ash shrugged. “What can I say? He was really impressed.”

Zeke nodded slowly, his eyes drifting over the Icefang warriors surrounding them. Their expressions were filled with reverence—echoes of their shared stand during the war.

“I’m honored to have you,” he said, meeting their eyes one by one. “To stand once more beside the warriors of the Icefang tribe is a blessing I had not expected.”

The words landed perfectly. Winter’s tribe valued two things above all else—battle and praise—and Zeke had just offered both. The warriors’ faces lit up with excitement, and from their expressions, he wouldn’t have been surprised if their tails had started to wag.

“The honor is ours, ancient blood,” one of them said. “Only death will pry us from your side.”

Zeke’s heart swelled. It seemed his deeds had not been forgotten by the tribesmen. But before he could reply, a commotion near the gate drew his attention.

He turned and came face-to-face with another group approaching from the entrance.

“We aren’t late, are we?”

A bright smile, a slightly disheveled suit, and the familiar hint of stubble on his chin.

“You made it.”

David grinned. “Would I dare refuse a summons?”

Zeke smirked. “You’d better not, or I’ll have to catch up to you just to kick your ass.”

The butler stopped a few paces away and dipped into a perfectly executed bow. Disheveled or not, decades of training in etiquette were not so easily undone.

“Nothing would make me happier, young lord.”

Zeke’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you’re here, David.”

David straightened to his full height, posture flawless once again despite his casual air.

“Always.”

The moment was interrupted by the crowd that had followed in his wake. They split into two distinct groups: one composed of winged, scaled figures—hulking beings that looked more monster than man—and the other covered in striped yellow fur, their feline eyes scanning the surroundings with predatory focus.

At their head stood two familiar figures.

Elder Dragon and Elder Tiger.

Zeke’s questioning gaze shifted to David.

The man merely shrugged, as if the matter were trivial. “Undercity has grown too peaceful for their kind.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but Zeke understood the gist. “You’ve grown bored?” he asked the two Elders directly.

“Do you want our help or not?” Elder Tiger shot back.

Zeke nodded eagerly. Though he hadn’t planned for their arrival, the surprise was a welcome one.

Slowly, his gaze swept over the gathered crowd filling the vast grounds of his estate. Humans, Elves, Chimeroi. Hundreds of them.

All had come at his call. And now, he would lead them into battle—into the first true war he had ever fought.

B8 - Chapter 17: Rallying the Troops III

The Black Tower stood deep within Undercity’s heart, carved from stone that had never seen the sun. Dust still clung to the corners where dwarven craftsmen had worked only days ago, shaping the bleak hall into something approaching respectability.

David’s gaze fell on the new support columns—functional yet refined, mimicking surface architecture while preserving the practicality that defined everything built below ground.

Functional yet refined.

It might as well have been the slogan of the new Undercity. And truth be told, he couldn’t have been prouder of how far they had all come.

Which only made today’s meeting all the harder for him. His eyes drifted across the hall, taking in its inhabitants.

The Elders had gathered in rarely seen numbers.

Elder Rat hunched over his ledgers, fingers stained with ink from endless calculations. Beside him, Elder Monkey leaned forward, head tilted, eyes distant—already three steps ahead of a conversation that hadn’t even begun.

Elder Boar’s massive frame made his chair groan with every shift, while Elder Horse’s fingers tapped against the table in the steady rhythm of a forge hammer.

Elder Sheep had taken a seat near the door, ever ready to respond to emergencies. Her people had been stretched thin lately, tending to construction mishaps and the occasional outbreak of violence in the city’s rougher quarters.

Elder Dragon lounged in his chair with practiced indifference, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. Elder Tiger sat rigid beside him, muscles tense beneath scarred skin.

Finally, Elder Rabbit perched on a cushion she’d dragged onto her seat, knees drawn to her chest. Her violet eyes never left David’s face. Her intensity was something he had long since learned to ignore.

Eight out of twelve. An impressive turnout, considering how busy everyone was these days.

Aside from the Elders, Soria was present, as always. The young woman stood behind an empty chair, tablet in hand: ever the administrator. The fur along her neck and her catlike ears caught the lamplight as she moved, a reminder of her heritage that she now wore with pride.

The dwarven forgemaster, Hilda Silveraxe, occupied a reinforced bench that groaned beneath the weight of the armor she never removed. Beside her, Nadia Wellenrufer appeared delicate by comparison, though David knew better than to mistake that for weakness. Water mages rarely looked dangerous… until they were drowning you.

It was good that they had both come. The two Archmages had grown well into their roles and had become pillars for the city to lean on.

“Construction proceeds ahead of schedule,” Soria began, her voice carrying the calm confidence of someone who had grown used to delivering good news. “The eastern district’s foundation work completes tomorrow. The dwarven masters report their students have exceeded expectations.”

“Course they have,” Hilda grunted. “The lads here aren’t as soft as me folk back home. They wouldn’t waste a chance to learn an honest trade.”

More numbers followed—statistics about ore shipments, food distribution, and the careful integration of surface trade they had spent months negotiating. Each figure represented countless late nights and hundreds of delicate discussions with merchants who still viewed Undercity as a den of monsters rather than a market opportunity.

David let them talk, let them paint their picture of progress and possibility. Better to give them this moment before he damped the mood.

“The western expansion requires approval,” Elder Monkey said, sliding a proposal across the table. “If we’re to accommodate the new workshops—”

“Approve it.”

They all turned to look at him. Something in his tone, perhaps. Or maybe they had simply grown too familiar with his moods.

“…Actually,” David continued, keeping his voice level, “approve everything currently pending. Accelerate all timelines.”

Elder Rat’s whiskers twitched. “That will strain our resources.”

“Then strain them,” David said. “The city needs to be able to stand on its own.”

Silence settled over the chamber. Not comfortable, not confused. It was the kind of silence that came just before understanding, when clever minds realized something had changed but hadn’t yet grasped what.

Elder Monkey was the first to see it. His hairy fingers stilled on the glass he’d been rotating. “You’re leaving.”

Not a question. David inclined his head slightly, acknowledgment without admission.

“The Master has need of you?” Soria’s voice carried no surprise, only that familiar spark of excitement whenever Ezekiel was mentioned—and that irritating way she always referred to him.

“He is not your Master,” David said evenly. “But yes. The household has recalled all available assets. Including myself.”

“Does that mean what I think it does?” Elder Monkey asked, his large eyes widening slightly.

David nodded. “War.”

The word landed like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through the chamber. War meant different things to different people: opportunity for some, catastrophe for others. But to those gathered here, who had survived Undercity’s darkest years, it meant only another test of endurance.

“We need you here,” Elder Horse rumbled. The burly chimeroi rarely spoke, but when he did, his words carried weight. “The reconstruction—”

“…Will continue without me.”

“The surface contacts—”

“…Have been thoroughly documented. Soria can maintain them.”

“The shadow network—”

“…Will be placed under Rabbit’s control.”

Each objection met the same calm, prepared response. David had spent three sleepless nights anticipating every argument and preparing solutions that left no room for debate. No matter his personal feelings, he would not refuse the summons. That simple truth underpinned everything else.

But that didn’t mean he was willing to leave Undercity without ensuring they could stand on their own.

Elder Rabbit shot to her feet, her cushion tumbling to the floor. “I’ll come with you.”

The words burst out as if she’d been holding them back by sheer force of will and finally lost the battle. Her violet eyes blazed with determination that would have been admirable, if it weren’t so utterly inappropriate.

“No.”

One word, delivered with enough force that the shadows themselves recoiled. Rabbit flinched but stood her ground, chin high with the same defiance that had once made her a gang leader.

“I will be useful. My control of the shadows is second only to yours,” she said.

“Which is exactly why you’re staying.” David let his tone soften slightly. “With me gone, you and your people become the city’s eyes and ears. The council cannot afford to lose both of us.”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again before the objection died unspoken. Smart enough to recognize an immovable decision, then. Good.

“I’ll go.”

Every head turned toward the voice.

Elder Dragon.

The scaled chimeroi examined his claws with affected boredom, as if he hadn’t just volunteered to follow the man he once wanted dead into a foreign war.

David’s eyes narrowed. Of all the Elders, Dragon had been the most resistant to Ezekiel’s plans. His faction clung to the old Undercity, where strength ruled and chaos reigned.

“You…” David said slowly, “want to join us?”

Elder Dragon’s lips pulled back, revealing teeth that belonged in a nightmare. “Problem with that, human?”

Before David could answer, Elder Tiger straightened in her chair. “I’m coming too.”

Monkey shot to his feet, tail lashing. Rat’s ledger slammed shut. Even Sheep stepped away from the door, forgotten medical bag swinging at her side.

“You can’t—”
“The city needs—”
“This is insane—”

David raised one hand. Shadows surged up from the floor, forming a wall of misty darkness that swallowed all sound. He held it for three heartbeats—long enough for the message to sink in—then let it dissolve.

In the silence that followed, he studied the two Elders who had volunteered to follow him to war. Elder Dragon’s expression revealed nothing beyond that perpetual glint of contempt. Or perhaps that was just how he interpreted the chimeroi’s reptilian features. For all he knew, this could be a smile.

But in Tiger’s golden eyes, he saw something else. Restlessness.

“Explain.”

Elder Tiger’s scarred hands flexed against the table. “Look around this room and tell me what you see…”

He didn’t need to. He already knew.

“Elder Sheep heals. Monkey plans. Rat calculates. Boar builds. Horse crafts. Rabbit watches…

“Each of them has a purpose in this new world.”

She leaned forward, and David saw the predator that had survived decades of underground warfare. “But what about me? What purpose do warriors serve in paradise?”

The question hung between them, heavy with implications David hadn’t fully considered. He’d been so focused on reconstruction and transformation that he’d forgotten some people only knew how to exist in conflict.

“…My kinsmen grow soft,” Elder Dragon added, his casual tone betrayed by the tension in his shoulders. “They patrol streets where nothing happens. They guard walls no one attacks. They train for battles that never come.” He examined his claws again. “Warriors without war are just decorations. Expensive ones.”

“So you’d rather go to war?” David asked. “Fight in a foreign battle? Bleed for a foreign cause?”

“Better than rotting in comfort,” Tiger shot back. “Besides, that’s not how I see it...”

David leaned forward, curious now. What had driven the two most rebellious of the Elders to volunteer?

“I belive that it’s my responsibility to keep our people safe,” she began. “But the danger we used to face, the kind that needed claws and fangs, doesn’t exist anymore. Not with your Master keeping order.”

David nodded slowly. So far, he was following her reasoning.

“Which means our top priority should be keeping him breathing, shouldn’t it? That would be the best way to protect this city.”

David sat back, shadows stirring unconsciously around his chair as her words settled in. This… wasn’t the worst logic he’d ever heard. Even so, the offer had caught him off guard. He had prepared for resistance. For objections. For efforts to make him stay.

He had not anticipated volunteers.

“You understand what you’re agreeing to?” he asked, ensuring they grasped the magnitude of the choice. “This is not some skirmish or gang war. The young lord plays for kingdoms now. The fighting will be brutal. Many who follow us won’t return.”

“Good,” Elder Dragon said.

“There will be no backing out,” David continued. “Once committed, you follow orders. Not suggestions. Not requests. Orders. From me, from my lord, from whoever he places above you. Your pride, your independence, your authority—all of that stays here.”

“We know how it works,” Tiger said.

“Do you?” David let strength creep into his voice, shadows deepening until the lamplight struggled to push them back. “The Empire isn’t like any foe you have ever faced. They break nations. They shatter armies. They turn the unthinkable into inevitable through will, violence, and calculated cruelty.”

Neither warrior flinched. If anything, Tiger’s eyes brightened with something close to anticipation.

David studied them a long moment, then nodded once. “Choose your followers carefully. A small group only—the best you have. Warriors who can follow orders and keep their mouths shut. We leave in three days.”

Elder Dragon rose with languid grace. “I’ll need an hour.”

Tiger stood as well, rolling her shoulders as if already preparing for battle. “My people will be ready.”

They left together, and David noticed how none of the other Elders tried to stop them. It was a sign of understanding. The warriors had found their war. Everyone else would have to adapt to their absence.

“This could be challenging,” Elder Monkey said once the door closed behind them. “With both of them gone, our ability to defend ourselves will suffer greatly.”

David considered that for a moment before shaking his head. “Like they said, they’ve been of little use these past months. I doubt that will change now.”

Elder Monkey hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “So, the reconstruction?”

“Just… do your best.” David rose, and the shadows rose with him. “Soria will coordinate with our partners above. Hilda and Nadia will maintain the production schedule. Rabbit will expand the shadow network to cover my absence...”

He moved toward the door, pausing without turning back.

“You’ve all endured without me for years. You’ll manage a few months more.”

Elder Rabbit’s voice called out to him. “Will you come back?”

David didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. War had a way of consuming everything it touched, transforming those who fought it until return was impossible, even if the body survived.

He left the question behind as he departed the chamber. The shadows followed him through corridors that grew rougher the deeper he went, until he reached the quarters that had once served as a gang’s headquarters and now stood as his administrative center.

Three days to prepare what could be prepared.

Three days to ensure Undercity would endure.

Three days, and then he would go to war—against his former home, against the mightiest nation on the continent.

Three short days…

Heyo guys.

Sorry that the chapter isn't out yet guys. I went on a motocycle tour this weekened and now im sick (surprise). Im working on the chapter, but it might take me a while to finish.

Gonna be today still though, don't worry!

B8 - Chapter 16: Rallying the Troops II

“Move your scaly butts! Move! Move! MOVE!”

Zelkara’s voice thundered across the mountainside like a warhorn, echoing from the peaks down into the valleys below. If this had been a battlefield, every enemy within miles would have heard.

Maybe that was even her intention: making enough noise to draw out anything bold enough to test them. If something actually dared to approach, it would serve as a convenient training exercise for her troops.

Ash was already moving, taking his customary position at the front. His role had always been that of a scout. Had been. When there had been a need for it.

But after Winter’s return to prominence, the surrounding tribes had gone silent. Even the occasional skirmishes had ceased.

This had marked the first time Ash had ever known peace.

Raised as a gladiator, he had never known calm—every day had been a fight for survival. Even after joining Ezekiel, danger and chaos had remained constants in his life.

And yet, instead of the relief he’d expected upon leaving that life behind, all he truly felt was… boredom.

He vaulted over a jagged outcropping of volcanic stone, casting a quick glance over his shoulder midair.

He had gained a bit of distance on the main troop, but the Bloodguard was still hot on his trail. Their serpentine bodies allowed the Frostscale warriors to glide over nearly any terrain with deceptive speed. Even the razor-sharp rocks of the volcano posed no hindrance to their hardened scales.

Ash’s eyes lingered on the formation behind him. Despite their pace, the ranks held tight—no gaps, no weak links. Every eye was alert, every weapon ready.

They had come a long way.

Once a ragtag band of undisciplined prisoners, now a hardened fighting force.

His pulse quickened at the sight. His lips curled back, revealing sharpened teeth. How many of them could he still take? How long had it been since he’d truly fought at his limit?

The thought vanished as his feet hit the ground again. His focus snapped forward, scanning the path ahead. As a scout, distraction meant death—not just his own, but that of everyone following him.

The rocky slopes gradually softened into signs of life. At first, only the occasional stalk of mountain weed broke through the cracks. Then a few hardy flowers. Soon after, the landscape shifted fully: trees, grass, and the faint hum of living things returned.

Ash’s stride adapted seamlessly to the changing terrain. Old instincts, passed down through blood, filled in the gaps. His eyes naturally found the best vantage points, his feet landed true on every step. The motions were so ingrained they required no conscious thought.

A day passed like that. Then another.

Fatigue began to creep in. He hadn’t rested once on the journey here, and neither had the troop slowed on their march back. Truthfully, he was exhausted—his muscles heavy, his lungs raw from the constant exertion.

But rest never crossed his mind.

One glance over his shoulder revealed the reason why. The Bloodguard still pursued him with relentless focus. Despite fighting multiple skirmishes along the way, they hadn’t faltered or stopped.

Ash gritted his teeth and pushed forward. Pride demanded he wouldn’t be the first to call for rest. He promised himself that much.

And so the march continued for another day.

It was as if Zelkara had heard his silent promise and taken it as a personal challenge. She drove the Bloodguard onward, her voice carrying across the mountains like a war horn. Even miles ahead, Ash could still hear her sharp commands and colorful curses.

It was clear that none of them dared to demand rest.

The only people left to slow the Bloodguard were Gravitas and Vulcanos—and out of the three, Ash had always been the one with the best stamina.

Gravitas, however, no longer bothered with running at all. She hovered above the formation on a gleaming metal disk, eyes closed, gliding effortlessly through the air. What looked at first like a palanquin was, in fact, her latest invention and favorite mode of travel. By using her power to levitate a few feet above the ground, she had turned herself from the slowest member of their group into the fastest.

That left Vulcanos.

Despite his physical might, his sheer bulk had always meant he tired faster than the leaner Ash.

So why, then, was he running at the very front of the formation—with a grin stretching across his face?

Ever since Vulcanos had crawled out of that pit of lava, it seemed his energy reserves had become limitless. Nothing slowed him down. Nothing seemed to faze him as he kept pace with the others as if the march were a leisurely stroll.

Ash couldn’t decide whether to applaud his old friend… or curse him.

Did the man really have to choose this exact moment to overcome his limits?

There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and continue the endless trek through the wilderness.

Until, at last, the sight he’d longed for came into view—a mountain that pierced the heavens, twice as tall as any of its neighbors. From its middle rose a thin band of white that thickened near the peak until ice and snow swallowed it completely, vanishing into the clouds.

They were home.

Ash’s steps grew lighter. The steep incline barely slowed him as the promise of rest pulled him onward.

Before long, he reached the familiar gate he had once defended so fiercely—the entrance to the Icefang tribe. The battlefield of old had returned to being just a checkpoint, manned by a handful of lazy guards lounging at their posts.

Ash frowned. Even in peaceful times, such a lack of vigilance seemed careless.

He slowed when he recognized the man standing at the gate—a young talent from the tribe, newly promoted to gate duty.

“What’s going on?” Ash asked the moment he saw the absent look on the guard’s face.

“They… uh… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

The vague reply did nothing to clarify things, but the man’s relaxed tone at least told Ash there hadn’t been an attack.

The young guard shook his head. “It’s better if you see for yourself. They’re all gathered in the central square. The Progenitor’s there too...”

Ash’s expression hardened. If whatever this was had drawn Winter’s personal attention, it couldn’t be anything trivial.

He turned to look down the slope. The Bloodguard was cresting the hill, their movement a dark ripple across the pristine snow. At their head, Vulcanos’s charred skin and glowing scars burned like a beacon.

There was no need to worry about them losing their way.

“I’m going ahead.”

Buildings blurred past as Ash sprinted through the settlement. Then, without warning, a familiar pressure slammed into him: an invisible weight that pressed down on every inch of his body. Cold seeped into his bones, sharp and merciless.

He knew this feeling.

Bloodline Suppression.

Fighting through the tyrannical force, Ash forced his legs to move, each step a battle of will. He turned the final corner—and stopped dead.

Hovering a few feet above the central square was an airship unlike anything he had ever seen. Its hull was blacker than night, shaped like a creature of the deep sea, the kind that swallowed light rather than reflected it.

Beneath it, glaring up with undisguised irritation, stood the Progenitor of the Icefang tribe. Winter’s crimson eyes burned cold as he scowled at the ominous vessel as though it had personally insulted him.

Ash approached carefully, stopping at a respectful distance.

“Progenitor… what is that thing?”

Winter turned slightly, one blood-red eye fixing on him. The sheer weight of that gaze made Ash’s entire body feel as if it were freezing solid.

“Shouldn’t you know best? Or is your title as envoy just a farce?”

Ash exhaled slowly. “Did Master send this ship?”

Winter gave a faint nod but offered no further explanation.

“…Is there a problem with it?” Ash asked carefully.

Winter didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, and Ash realized the question was more complicated than it seemed. Something about the Progenitor’s frown suggested genuine unease.

“Do you know how that ship got here?” Winter asked at last.

Ash shook his head. He hadn’t been present for the arrival—how could he know? Still, how else would an airship arrive except by flying through the sky?

Winter’s gaze returned to the black vessel. “Neither do I. Nor any of my men.”

Ash frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Winter said flatly. “The ship didn’t arrive: it appeared. One moment, the sky was empty. The next, it was here.”

Ash’s brow furrowed deeper. His attention shifted toward a group standing off to the side, surrounded by Icefang warriors. Humans. That alone explained why they were being closely watched.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“The crew,” Winter replied without looking away from the ship. “It’s through them that we learned they were sent by the young Dragon.”

Ash nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Why not ask them about the ship? Given your relationship with Master, I wouldn’t think they’d hide anything.”

“They don’t know,” Winter said after a pause. “Apparently, it’s a secret.”

Ash swallowed hard, saying nothing. His instincts screamed at him that something was wrong, that he was standing on the edge of something dangerous, though he couldn’t say why.

“…Humans have always been creatures of innovation,” Winter said at last, his tone measured. “Where claws and fangs failed them, they forged tools instead. I’ve always viewed their tinkering with a kind of pity. Born fragile, they had little choice but to compensate.”

His gaze flicked toward the hovering vessel before settling back on Ash. “But this… this is not one of their crude toys. This is something else entirely.”

He paused, the air between them growing colder. “This is a power that frightens me.”

Winter’s eyes locked onto his. There was no malice in them—only piercing, unrelenting focus. “Tell me, envoy. Is this the level humanity has reached?”

Ash drew a slow breath, his eyes flicking to the dark vessel hovering above the plaza. He had lived among humans most of his life, but if someone had asked whether he understood their craftsmanship, he would have denied it without hesitation.

Unfortunately, Winter wasn’t asking.

“I don’t think… this is something humanity has achieved yet,” he said carefully. “At least, I’ve never heard of a ship able to simply appear—not in all my years among them.”

Winter’s gaze sharpened. “Are you calling me a liar?”

Ash’s lips twitched. His body was too tense for a real smile, but it was the best he could manage. “I wouldn’t dare.”

That much was true. Even if Winter had claimed the ship had fallen from the heavens as a gift to the Icefang Tribe, Ash wouldn’t have risked questioning him.

Fortunately, he had a better explanation. “I believe this might be something Master created himself.”

“…That brat?”

Ash nodded eagerly. “Despite Master’s formidable strength and bloodline, it’s his mind that remains his greatest weapon. If anyone in the world could design something this far beyond comprehension… it would be him.”

Winter’s piercing eyes lingered on Ash for a long moment before he turned back toward the ship. It seemed that there was more appreciation in the Progenitor’s gaze now.

“So that’s how it is,” he murmured.

Ash felt the pressure around him shift. Winter never truly withdrew his aura, Ash doubted he even knew how, but its intensity could change. The suffocating blizzard that had pressed down on him moments ago softened, settling into something gentler. Still cold. Still heavy. But no longer crushing. More like snow draped over his shoulders than a storm trying to bury him.

“He’s going to war?” Winter asked quietly.

Ash didn’t dare hide anything. “The Bloodguard is returning to the human lands. They’ll fight beside Master.”

Winter’s head tilted slightly. “And you, little envoy?”

Ash hesitated before lowering his eyes. “…My place is with the tribe now, Progenitor.”

Winter exhaled sharply, and frost spread across the stone at his feet. “Do you think you can deceive me when you can’t even deceive yourself?”

Ash had no answer.

“A sheep can grow fangs and learn to bite,” the Progenitor said, his tone distant, almost reflective. “But a wolf will never learn to graze.”

The words cut deep—straight into the part of Ash he’d tried hardest to bury.

“Tell me, little envoy,” Winter said at last, his crimson gaze locking onto him. “Which are you? A sheep that learned to bite… or a wolf pretending to graze?”

“I… am a wolf.”

The Progenitor smiled then—an expression that stretched impossibly wide across his human features.

“Good,” he said softly. “That’s good, little envoy.

“I have use for a wolf.”

B8 - Chapter 15: Rallying the Troops I

The wilderness stretched in every direction, broken only by the scars left behind.

Ash moved through terrain stripped bare of game, the earth crushed into submission by hundreds of passing bodies. Not a single deer track crossed the path. No rabbit burrows dotted the hillsides. Even the birds had abandoned this corridor of land, their instincts warning them away from the passage of predators.

The Bloodguard had swept through like a flood.

Ash kept his pace, legs pumping in a rhythm that ate distance without burning energy he might need later. The message pressed against his ribs, tucked inside his coat where the leather kept it dry.

Mobilization.

The word alone carried weight. It meant blood and conquest and the kind of violence that reshaped borders. Gravitas needed to know. The entire troupe needed to know.

His ears swiveled, catching sounds most would miss. The whisper of wind through grass that had been crushed flat days ago. The distant cry of a hawk, miles off, hunting in territory the Bloodguard hadn't reached.

Nothing immediate. Nothing threatening.

Good.

A mountain range materialized through the haze, peaks thrust against the horizon like broken teeth. Volcanic stone, dark and sharp, the kind that shredded boots if you weren't careful about your footing. Ash had seen formations like this before, when he had scouted further south, where the earth still bled heat from old wounds.

The air changed as he drew closer. It took on a sulfurous edge that burned in the back of his throat.

He pushed harder, muscles responding without complaint. Months of constant movement had stripped away anything soft, leaving only function. The Bloodboil technique their master had developed had done the rest, carved them all into sharper versions of themselves. Ash had lost count of how many times he'd felt his control slip during those sessions, felt the wolf surge up and threaten to overwhelm rational thought.

But he'd held.

They all had.

The first guards appeared long before most would have spotted them. Frostscale warriors, lower bodies coiled in defensive positions among the rocks, spears held with the kind of casual competence that spoke to endless drilling. Their eyes tracked him across hundreds of yards, marked his approach without a flicker of alarm.

One raised a fist. Recognition.

Ash slowed as he reached their perimeter and nodded once to the guard who stepped forward. The tribesman’s scales had darkened since their defeat, patches of deeper blue spreading across what had been lighter coloring. Battle scars, healed over but visible. The warrior's pupils contracted to slits in the daylight, predator's eyes that missed nothing.

"Gravitas?" Ash asked.

The guard jerked his chin toward the mountain peak. "Up the hill. Sparring."

Of course she was. Gravitas had never stopped pushing, never allowed anyone to rest long enough to grow comfortable. He had watched her reduce the Bloodguard to shaking wrecks who could barely stand, then force them back to their feet and demand more. Bloodboil required that kind of pressure, pushed bodies past breaking points until something fundamental shifted.

In her defense, the person she pushed hardest of all was always herself.

Ash started climbing. The path wound upward through jagged outcrops, each step requiring attention as loose stone threatened to slide underfoot. Heat radiated from the rock itself, subtle but building as the altitude increased.

His nose caught the scent of sulfur more strongly now, mixed with something else. Smoke. Ash's lips pulled back from his teeth. An active volcano. Gravitas, that madwoman, had brought her company of cold-blooded snake people to an active volcano.

The sound of combat reached him before he cleared the next rise. Metal against metal, the sharp crack of impact against stone, and underneath it all—breathing. Harsh and controlled and timed to the rhythm of strikes.

Ash crested the ridge and found them.

Gravitas moved like water, her form flowing from one strike to the next without a single wasted motion. The violet glow of her eyes burned against blue skin, visible even through the veil she wore. A swarm of projectiles orbited her, weaving between offense and defense in seamless rhythm. Her control had improved again.

And yet, she wasn’t the one who commanded attention.

Her opponent met each assault with equal mastery—muscle and spear moving as one as Zelkara deflected a blow that would have shattered ribs.

The Trueblood had changed once again.

Months ago, the last daughter of Shassra had been a skilled warrior, dangerous but still mortal in her limits. Now she fought with something beyond mere skill. Every motion flowed into the next, each strike and counter executed with flawless efficiency. Her body moved at the perfect angle, her timing exploited every infinitesimal gap in Gravitas’s onslaught.

Even without using the venom in her blood, she matched Gravitas at full strength.

Neither had noticed him yet.

Ash shed his coat, letting it fall to the stone. The message could wait a few more minutes. He advanced without a word, feet silent on volcanic rock, and drove his fist toward Zelkara’s exposed flank.

She twisted, impossibly fast, and caught his strike on her forearm, the impact sending a jolt up his shoulder. But the distraction cost her. Gravitas’s next attack swept low, a cutting arc of force that would have shattered Zelkara’s knee if she hadn’t leapt back, creating distance between herself and both opponents.

“Ash.”

No surprise. No irritation. She had known he was there after all—probably tracked him from the moment he crossed the guards’ perimeter. “Two against one seems excessive.”

Ash grinned, the wolf stirring beneath his skin. “Then get stronger, Trueblood.”

They lunged together—Gravitas from behind, Ash from the front—moving with perfect coordination born of endless training. Zelkara met them both, a blur of motion, deflecting and redirecting every strike with uncanny precision.

Marvelous.

No matter how often he witnessed it, the awe never faded. Purebloods truly were different. Their growth had no ceiling, no wall to halt their ascent. One day soon, neither he nor Gravitas nor anyone else in the troop would be able to keep pace.

It was inevitable.

Their potential was capped. Hers wasn’t. And though he resented it, Ash knew he would have to accept that truth—someday.

But not today.

He pressed harder. His strikes grew faster, sharper, trading raw power for speed and forcing Zelkara to commit more fully to each defense. Gravitas adapted instantly, her projectiles flowing into the openings Ash created. Together they moved like predators, instincts intertwined.

Zelkara’s breathing quickened. Sweat glistened on her skin now, the first crack in her flawless composure. Her parries came a fraction slower—not enough for an amateur to see, but Ash felt it in every impact, in the subtle loss of force behind her counters.

She was tiring.

It was the only path to victory without casualties. Cowardly? Perhaps. But what did cowardice matter when survival was the prize? The laws of the wild favored strength, not honor.

Together, they drove her back—step by step—until her spine pressed against the rock wall, no room left to retreat. Her eyes flicked between them, calculating angles and timing with surgical precision.

Then, she dropped her guard.

Gravitas froze, her fist hovering inches from Zelkara’s face. Ash halted too, knuckles poised near the Trueblood’s temple.

For a heartbeat, none of them moved. The world seemed to hold its breath.

"I yield." Zelkara's chest heaved with each breath, sweat dripping from her chin to darken the stone beneath her feet. "That was impressive."

"Not as much as you." Gravitas stepped back, lowered her hand. "If Ash hadn't joined when he did, you would have had me in another minute."

Zelkara pushed off the rock face, rolled her shoulders to work out the tension. "Perhaps."

Ash retrieved his coat, pulled the message free. "Master sent word. He needs us."

That got their attention. Both women turned to face him fully, the casual atmosphere of training evaporating like water on hot stone.

"When?" Gravitas asked.

"Now. He wants the troupe ready to move within the week."

Zelkara's expression shifted, something predatory flickering behind human features.

The Soul contract that bound her to Zeke's service had reshaped her loyalty at a fundamental level until serving him had become identical to serving the Progenitor she'd lost. Ash had watched that transformation with mixed feelings, seen the fanaticism take root and flower into absolute devotion.

It unnerved him, sometimes. The completeness of it.

"We'll be ready," Zelkara said. "The Bloodguard has never been stronger."

Ash believed her. He'd seen what Bloodboil training had accomplished, watched warriors who'd been merely competent become something that approached the truly dangerous. The Frostscale tribe had been formidable before their defeat. Now, bound to a new master and pushed past their limits again and again, they'd become something worse.

He looked past both women toward the mountain peak, where heat shimmer distorted the air. "Why are you here?”

Gravitas turned and followed his gaze upward. "I thought that it might help him. After the war, after what happened..." She trailed off, left the sentence unfinished.

Ash remembered. Vulcanos had been magnificent during the defense against the Frostscale assault, had turned entire sections of the battlefield into molten hellscapes that forced surrender through sheer dominance.

But the cost had been high.

Vulcanos had burned too hot for too long, pushed his abilities past safe limits, and when the fighting ended he'd been diminished. The lines across his skin had dimmed to barely visible glows, his control over heat reduced to a fraction of what it had been.

"Any progress?"

"Don't know yet." Gravitas motioned toward the peak. "We brought him up there three days ago. Lowered him into the caldera. There's been no word since."

A sound interrupted them. Distant, muffled by stone and distance, but audible. Like someone drawing a breath. A deep, endless inhalation that went on far longer than lungs should allow.

"…That's been happening," Gravitas said. "Every few hours. Sometimes more frequently."

Ash frowned, extending his senses outward. The temperature had dropped. Not much, barely noticeable, but present. The volcanic heat that should have been building as they stood here discussing things had diminished instead.

Wrong. That was wrong.

"Show me."

They climbed together, all three moving with the silent efficiency of trained warriors. The path grew steeper. It soon required hands as well as feet in places where the stone had broken into fragments too unstable to trust with body weight alone. Ash's claws extended without conscious thought, dug into cracks for purchase that fingers couldn't find.

The sound came again.

That same impossible inhalation, drawn from somewhere deep within the mountain. This time Ash felt the temperature drop clearly, watched his breath mist in air that had been almost uncomfortably warm seconds before.

Zelkara hissed, a sound that emerged more serpentine than human. "Something's changed."

They reached the summit and looked down into the caldera. Molten rock filled the crater, churning slowly in currents that painted the stone walls in flickering orange light. Waves of heat rolled upward, slammed into them with physical force that made sweat bead instantly across exposed skin.

"The level's lower," Zelkara said. "It was higher this morning. I'm certain."

The sound came again, and this time they watched it happen. The surface dipped, sank downward by inches as if something beneath was drinking it down. The temperature plummeted, dropped so fast that Ash felt frost form on his coat collar.

Then again. And again. Each inhalation pulled more lava down into depths that shouldn't exist, drained the caldera in gulps that defied physical law.

The stone walls emerged from beneath the molten surface, exposed to air for what might have been the first time in centuries. The three of them stood transfixed as impossible became reality, watched the pool shrink from an ocean of fire to a lake, from a lake to a pond.

The final inhalation emptied it completely. One moment lava remained, glowing sullenly at the bottom of the crater. The next, only bare stone stretched beneath them, blackened and heat-cracked but solid.

And in the center, legs crossed and arms resting on his knees, sat Vulcanos.

The lines across his body blazed. Not the dim glow they'd been reduced to, not even the bright burn of full power. These lines carved through the darkness like fractures in reality itself, so intense that staring at them directly made Ash's eyes water. Heat radiated from Vulcanos in waves that pushed back the cold he'd created, warmed the air until it danced and shimmered around him.

Vulcanos opened his eyes.

Then belched. The sound echoed through the caldera, bounced off stone walls and rolled across the mountain range beyond. Ash saw birds take flight miles away, startled by noise that carried further than it should have.

"That," Vulcanos said, his voice rough from disuse, "was exactly what I needed."

B8 - Chapter 14: Mentor III

"Wait."

Zeke stopped mid-stride. The command carried a weight that had nothing to do with volume.

He turned.

Seraphi had risen from where she had been sprawled moments before. No—risen wasn’t quite the right word for it. One moment she had been on the ground, the next she was standing, as if someone had simply decided she should be upright and reality had obeyed.

Too straight. Too still.

She held herself with the kind of unnatural balance that didn’t come from training but from existing beyond the need for it. Her weight was so evenly distributed as though she could stand there for centuries without ever shifting.

But above all, it was the change in her eyes that shocked him most.

Zeke had looked into those very same eyes before, when they had burned with loathing and contempt. Now they held something else entirely. Depth. The kind that made perspective impossible, where looking became falling and falling had no end.

"Be careful," Khai'Zar murmured. “Something has taken hold of the girl.”

Zeke released Maya's hand and positioned himself between her and whatever now inhabited the elven girl's body.

Around them, the chamber had gone silent. The scattered groups of young elves who had been whispering among themselves froze. Even the Treemother, who had been moving to check on her fallen student, stopped with one hand outstretched.

Everyone felt it. The shift in the air, the change in pressure. As if the entire Tree had taken a breath and held it.

"Seraphi?" the Treemother asked, her voice uncertain in a way it hadn't been before.

The girl's head turned toward the ancient elf. The movement was mechanical, lacking the small imperfections that marked living motion.

“Who—” The Treemother stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning across her weathered features. The color drained from her face. “Mother?”

“No.”

The single word made several of the younger elves flinch. One dropped to her knees without apparent thought, as if pulled down by invisible strings. Even Zeke felt a shiver crawl down his spine. The voice was Seraphi’s—the same pitch, the same melodic cadence—but beneath it resonated something else. Harmonics that didn’t belong in a throat made of flesh.

“I have… no children.”

That was all the attention it spared the Treemother before turning back to Zeke. He expected words—a question, a declaration, something—but what came instead was neither sound nor sight. It was sensation, pressing against his mind like water against a dam.

Not forceful. Not violent. Just... present.

Waiting.

Zeke had felt Mind Magic often enough to recognize an intrusion when he sensed one. But this wasn’t that. It was different, milder. An invitation, perhaps.

His instinct screamed at him to resist, to fortify his thoughts and bar the way. But curiosity won out. If this was who he thought it was, then there was no need to lure him in with tricks in the first place.

He lowered his defenses.

What flooded through wasn’t thought or speech: it was emotion, vast and ancient. Disappointment so deep it had long since curdled into resignation. Frustration hardened over millennia into weary contempt. And beneath it all, a hunger—not for food or power, but for something that had been missing so long its absence had become normal.

Zeke gasped, fighting for breath. The brief contact had left him feeling as though he’d spent hours submerged, enduring relentless mental strain without pause. Yet, even with his enhanced mind pushed to its limits, he doubted he’d understood more than a fraction of what had been conveyed. It had been solely his familiarity with the Soul that had allowed him to comprehend even that much.

This was a form of communication wholly different from anything he had encountered before. No words accompanied the sensations—no explanations, only raw emotion and intent, forcing him to extract meaning from feeling.

But one truth had become undeniable: this was indeed the incarnation of the World Tree itself—Yggdrasil—speaking through a vessel.

Seraphi’s body moved toward him. Despite his own uncertainty, the Tree seemed content with how much he had understood. She stopped three paces away—close enough for whatever was to come, yet far enough to avoid the appearance of immediate threat.

Her borrowed gaze settled on Maya.

Another transmission, this one more complex. Images without pictures, concepts without words. Zeke caught fragments: Rigidity, structure, paths worn so deep they had become trenches. Elves following elves following elves, each generation walking in the footsteps of the last until innovation had become impossible. Tradition hardened into dogma, creativity strangled by expectation.

And beneath it all, that hunger.

Zeke was beginning to realize what that hunger signified. It was the need for something different, something capable of diverging from established patterns.

Yggdrasil hungered for growth. For evolution.

But why show him?

The answer came not as words, but as another wave of sensation—hope, fragile yet persistent. A memory of success. Not recent, but not so ancient as to be forgotten.

A figure took shape in his mind. They were neither wholly elven nor entirely other. Cassius. The name surfaced unbidden, though Zeke couldn’t tell whether the Tree had given it to him or if his own mind had supplied it.

Cassius had achieved something. Learned something. Become something the pure-blooded elves could not. Cassius had glimpsed a fragment of Yggdrasil's true nature. It was imperfect, but closer than any before or since.

And now, the Tree wanted to try again.

Zeke's gaze snapped to his sister. Maya stood frozen, her eyes wide as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"You want her?" Zeke asked slowly, testing his interpretation.

Seraphi's head tilted. Not a nod, but acknowledgment. Somehow, he could tell.

Another transmission followed: affirmation laced with that same desperate hunger. Yes, it seemed to say. Because the alternative was accepting that everything had stagnated, that growth had stopped, that the future would be nothing but endless repetition of the past.

"Why her?" Zeke pressed. "What makes Maya suitable?"

The response came as pure feeling. No special quality, no hidden potential. Just... absence. Absence of the structures that bound the elves, the traditions that dictated every action, the rigid frameworks that turned students into copies of their teachers. Maya was blank in ways the elves could never be. Unwritten. Capable of diverging.

A canvas, not a coloring book.

"…And if she fails?" he asked.

Another transmission followed—this one carrying the emotional equivalent of a shrug. Failure was acceptable. Failure meant trying. The elves didn’t even do that anymore. They walked only the paths already carved, mastered the techniques already perfected. Safe. Predictable. Dead.

The Tree wanted something alive.

Zeke studied the being before him—not with his eyes, which saw only Seraphi’s borrowed body, but through the sensations radiating from it. Each pulse of emotion revealed more of its true nature.

The elves called it Mother, but they didn’t understand its desires. In turn, the Tree didn’t view them as its children either. Not truly. There was no maternal warmth, no pride in their accomplishments, only disappointment that they had stopped growing.

Ironically, their worship of tradition and hierarchy had turned them into the very thing the Tree despised.

Nature was not static. It was not orderly. It was not neat.

Nature was chaos and struggle—adaptation, evolution, predator, and prey. Life and death intertwined, forever pushing forward.

The Treemother had managed to lift her head, though she still couldn't rise. "What... what is happening?"

Her voice seemed to break whatever spell had held the chamber. Several of the younger elves stirred, though none dared stand.

Zeke ignored them, focusing on the possessed Seraphi. "…She was never meant to teach Maya, was she?"

The response hit him like a physical blow. Contempt so pure it tasted like poison. That Child? That rigid creature who had spent centuries perfecting methods that produced nothing but more rigidity? No. Never.

"Then who?" Zeke asked, though he already knew. Still, he needed to hear it with his own ears, to get definite confirmation.

Seraphi's mouth moved, forming words in that alien, harmonic voice.

"Me."

The single syllable carried finality. Yggdrasil would teach Maya. Not through intermediaries, not through established methods. Directly.

Zeke felt his estimation of the situation shift. This was no longer about Maya receiving instruction from some elven master. This was about an ancient, inhuman being attempting to replicate a success that had occurred generations ago, using his sister as the test subject.

The risks had just multiplied.

But so had the potential rewards.

"What would this involve?" Zeke asked carefully.

The transmission that followed was intricate, layered with meanings his human mind could barely grasp. One truth stood out clearly, though—the Tree’s teaching bore no resemblance to any classroom instruction. It didn’t explain. It didn’t guide. It simply revealed glimpses of its vast perspective and left its students to learn—or fail—on their own.

Like scattering seeds into hostile soil to see which ones would take root.

“Is she going to be in danger?”

Negation, sharp and immediate. The Tree felt... offended? No, not quite. Something closer to insulted. It had sustained life for millennia. It knew how to keep things alive even when they wanted to die. Maya would survive. She would not, however, remain comfortable.

Fair enough.

Zeke studied the being opposite of him for several long moments. The Tree looked back with those borrowed eyes, patient in the way only something immortal could be.

He was being given a choice. Accept this arrangement, and Maya would receive instruction from an entity that had existed before human civilization. Refuse, and... what? Would the Tree allow them to leave? Would it accept the rejection gracefully?

Another transmission, this one gentle. Yes. It would let them go. It had no use for unwilling students. Forcing growth only produced stunted results.

It was his choice, but Zeke was unwilling to make it on his own. Just like the Tree said, forcing growth only produced stunted results.

"Maya," Zeke said without turning. "Come here."

His sister stepped to his side, her face pale but her posture steady. "What's happening? Who—what is that?"

"Yggdrasil," Zeke said simply.

Maya’s eyes widened. "The Tree itself?"

"Yes." He kept his gaze fixed on the possessed elf. "It wants to teach you."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Why?"

"It wants to try something different," Zeke said plainly.

"…Will I be safe?" she asked softly.

"Alive," he corrected, making sure she understood the distinction. "It knows how to keep things breathing… even when they wish they weren’t."

Maya flinched but didn’t look away. “And you… you think I should do this?”

Zeke considered lying—considered steering her toward a safer path. But he recognized that impulse for what it was: the stubbornness of his protective instincts, refusing to let go. His rational mind knew better. Avoiding challenges didn’t create safety—it only bred weakness.

The moment his sister had chosen to study magic, she had stepped onto a path of trials and tribulations.

“I think…” he said slowly, “that you’ll never receive another offer like this. What you could learn here might reshape you into something unprecedented. Whether that justifies the cost, I can’t say. Nonetheless, the choice is yours to make.”

Silence followed. Around them, the chamber remained still—every elf watching, their faces caught between shock and awe.

Then, because his conscience demanded it, Zeke added quietly, “If I were in your place, I’d accept.”

Maya hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding. “I want to stay. To learn. To grow.”

Zeke felt the Tree’s excitement through their link. Maya had, by sheer accident, used the exact words Yggdrasil wanted to hear most.

It seemed these young elves would soon have to contend with a new favourite.

"It seems… We have an agreement.” Zeke felt something in his chest twist, but he forced it down.

As if a spell had been lifted, Seraphi's body went limp, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

The Treemother caught her before she hit the ground, cradling the unconscious girl against her chest. Around them, the other elves remained frozen, too shocked to move.

Zeke felt one final transmission, aimed at him alone. Not words, not even clear emotion—just a sense of weight, of significance.

Then the presence faded, leaving only silence and the lingering smell of crushed grass.

Zeke looked down at Maya. His sister stared up at him with an expression caught somewhere between awe and panic.

"Are you certain?" he asked one final time.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Zeke drew her into a firm embrace, holding his sister as tightly as her small frame allowed. When he finally let go, he forced himself to take a step back—and with it, to release the protective instinct that had guided him for so many years.

“Learn well,” he said softly. “And if you ever need me, send word. I’ll come. No matter what.”

“I know.”

He turned toward the Treemother, who still knelt on the floor with Seraphi unconscious in her arms. The ancient elf looked up at him with an expression that might have been apprehension or might have been defeat.

"It seems," Zeke said, his tone conversational, "that a satisfactory mentor has been found after all."

The Treemother nodded slowly. "So it would appear."

"Excellent." Zeke's expression remained neutral. "Then I believe our business here is concluded."

He walked toward the chamber’s exit, his footsteps the only sound in the vast, silent hall. Behind him, Maya remained—surrounded by elves who had just learned that their Mother’s favor could be taken from them and given to an outsider if they proved unworthy.

That revelation alone could reshape elven society in ways he couldn’t even begin to predict.

If it ever became public knowledge, that was.

But that was none of his concern.

His focus was simpler: to survive long enough to see what his sister would become under such incomprehensible tutelage.

Zeke emerged from the chamber into the eerie light of Yggdrasil’s hollow. Lyriel was waiting beside the great crow, her expression unreadable.

“Done?” she asked. “Your sister—”

“Is staying,” Zeke said as he climbed onto the crow’s back. “The Tree has taken a liking to her, it seems.”

Lyriel’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her face flickered through several emotions before settling on disbelief. “T-The Tree?”

“…Why are you so shocked? You were the one who warned me that the being within wasn’t someone easily provoked.” He adjusted his position on the saddle. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to return me to the portal. I have a war to join.”

The elf nodded slowly, still processing his words. The crow spread its wings and launched into the air, carrying Zeke away from the hollow heart of the World Tree and toward whatever chaos awaited him in the Lowlands.

Behind him, deep within Yggdrasil’s core, his sister’s journey was beginning—a path that would shape her into something the world had never seen. Even Zeke, architect of this moment, had no idea what he had just set in motion.

But that was fine.

Uncertainty meant opportunity.

And Ezekiel von Hohenheim had always been very good at seizing opportunity.

B8 - Chapter 13: Mentor II

Treemother.

Of course Zeke knew who that was—and more importantly, what the name implied. She was the closest thing the Matriarchy had to a queen, the oldest living elf. Some even claimed she was the voice of Yggdrasil itself, the one who conveyed the Tree’s will to its chosen people.

And for once, the person seemed to live up to the fame.

The Treemother looked ancient, which for an elf meant something. Her skin had the texture of weathered bark, and her hair hung in long silver strands that pooled around her feet. Yet her back remained straight, her movements fluid. Age without weakness—a combination Zeke rarely saw among humans.

None of which mattered right now.

“Unhand me.”

The woman calmly shook her head. “Not until you’ve regained control of yourself, young man.”

Zeke’s teeth clenched, every muscle in his body urging him to tear her throat out for that patronizing tone. But a flex of his arms confirmed what he already suspected—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not by his strength alone. Not while his Magic remained sealed.

That left him with only one weapon still at his disposal—his tongue.

“You dare speak of control? Tell me, Mother, how well do you control your children?”

His eyes shifted to the girl lying nearby. She hadn’t risen since the thrashing he’d given her, yet there wasn’t a single mark left on her body. The Tree’s blessing had healed its unworthy chosen once again.

The Treemother followed his gaze, a faint frown forming as she looked at the girl. It seemed born of concern rather than condemnation.

“Seraphi has always been... passionate,” she said softly. “Still, it remains her right not to be touched against her will.”

Zeke scoffed. “Funny laws you have. Is the punishment for touching her arm death by strangulation? Carried out immediately?”

The Treemother’s expression hardened. “Sarcasm will not serve you here. I have already admitted that she was overly zealous. There’s no need to dramatize the matter further. As far as I can tell, you are unharmed, are you not?”

“No thanks to you or yours.” Zeke made no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice. “But I suppose we’ll never know if I would’ve survived otherwise, will we? How convenient.”

The Treemother was silent for a long moment, her ancient eyes studying him without a hint of emotion.

“…Goldleaf spoke highly of you, human,” she said at last. “She described a brilliant mind—one capable of reading the tides of politics with near-prophetic clarity. She claimed you would be a valuable ally in our struggle against the Empire.”

Her gaze drifted over his bloodied form, her brows knitting faintly. “I see little of that here. To me, you seem more butcher than sage. I am afraid that under these circumstances, I find myself rather disinclined to take your sister as my pupil.”

Zeke didn’t know whether it was the blood pounding in his ears, the indignation of being restrained for the second time in as many minutes, or the lingering pulse of Draconic Essence burning through his veins—but when he heard those words, he couldn’t contain himself.

Laughter burst from his throat. Cold. Mirthless. Unrestrained. It wasn’t amusement—it was disbelief given voice.

The gathered girls flinched, glancing at one another with wide, uneasy eyes. A few of the younger ones edged closer together, as if proximity might keep them safe.

“…Take in my sister?”

The words were quiet, each one laced with venom. “You think I’d leave my sister with you? After this farce?”

He let the silence stretch, his sharp, inhuman gaze locked on the Treemother’s impassive face.

“So that you can what? Teach her to hate humans? Hate men? Like the rest of your wretched kind?” He shook his head, the motion sharp and violent. “I might even overlook your twisted ideals—if your Magic weren’t just as worthless as your antiquated beliefs.”

Zeke’s gaze drifted back to the girl still sprawled on the floor. “Who is she? A star pupil? A great-great-granddaughter—fifty generations removed?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Trash.” The word left his mouth flat, emotionless. “That is what she is. Utter trash.”

“Even with my Magic sealed, even with a sneak attack and the Tree’s blessing on her side, she still ended up like this. Tell me, oh vaunted Treemother—is that the kind of ‘Magic’ you intended to teach my sister?”

He spat in disgust. To his surprise, the glob came out red and… lumpy. When had he bitten off flesh? No matter. He still had a point to make.

“Your decisions are your own, Treemother, but so are mine. And I have no more business here. So, I’ll repeat myself once more. Unhand. Me.”

Through his entire tirade, the Treemother hadn’t moved. Even now, she showed no intention of obeying. Instead, she turned to the group of young elves behind her.

“You see it clearly now, don’t you?” she asked, her tone soft and instructive. “They are creatures ruled by negativity—anger, rage, jealousy, greed. Unfortunately, they can never rise fully above their base nature.”

Zeke watched as the elven girls nodded one after another, like obedient students in a classroom. It was infuriating. Somehow, he had become a living prop in her little morality lesson. Anti-human, anti-men—he wasn’t even sure anymore. His pounding head and aching body made it impossible to think clearly.

For the first time in years, Zeke felt trapped within his own flesh. His mind, usually sharp as a blade, faltered beneath the weight of exhaustion and pain. No matter how hard he tried to stay rational, fear, fury, and a dozen other emotions tangled in his chest, drowning out coherent thought.

If only he could access his Core.

If only he had even the tiniest fraction of his Mind Magic—he could sweep away all these distractions…

And then, as if the Tree itself answered his desperate plea, the ambient Mana stirred. It surged into his Core, more welcome than rain after a long drought. Without hesitation, Zeke sent a burst of Mind Mana coursing through his body.

It hit him like a wave of ice water—sharp, cleansing, absolute. Every distraction, every stray thought drowned beneath a flood of focused clarity.

He closed his eyes and drew a steady breath. In the span of a heartbeat, he assessed everything—his situation, the Treemother’s power, the onlookers, Maya’s state.

When his eyes opened again, they were cold and clear—like mirrors of his resolve. He knew exactly what came next.

“I might be all you claim and worse, Treemother,” Zeke interjected smoothly. His voice had shifted from harsh and biting to the calm, commanding tone he reserved for formal debate. “But at the very least, my people do not break the laws of hospitality on a whim.”

He tugged lightly against his restraints, drawing attention to the way they bound his arms like iron shackles.

“Attacked. Mocked. Bound. Paraded like some curiosity…” His tone was detached, almost clinical, as if describing someone else’s suffering. “And yet, I’m called a base creature for daring to take offense at such treatment.”

His words struck true. The young elves who had moments ago looked at him as though he were a pest in their garden now wore conflicted expressions.

“I was promised safety…”

“I was promised hospitality…”

“I was promised protection…”

The elves flinched with each statement. Moments ago, drenched in blood and fury, Zeke had seemed like a savage animal. But now, calm and composed, the sight of his bloodied face and shackled form painted a very different picture—that of a wronged prisoner, humiliated and restrained.

“It seems…” Zeke concluded softly, “That your assurances hold about as much weight as your promise of mentorship.”

Zeke let the silence stretch. It had taken only a few sentences to undo the damage of his earlier, rage-fueled outburst. Now the burden was on the Treemother—to defend her actions or concede the moral high ground entirely.

Judging by what he’d seen so far, the latter was unlikely.

“My word has held true for millennia,” she said finally. “It is as unyielding as the roots of this very tree. Do not accuse me of what you fail to comprehend.”

Zeke didn’t bother replying. Instead, he shifted his arms just enough to draw attention to the bindings that still held him in place—a silent challenge: If your word is so sacred, why am I still bound?

The Treemother sighed softly. “I told you I would release you once you calmed yourself, did I not?”

Zeke met her gaze evenly. “How much calmer do you want me to be?”

Their eyes locked. Zeke didn’t flinch, didn’t fidget. The Mind Mana flowing through him made it effortless to maintain his composure. He knew perfectly well that the longer the silence lingered, the worse she would appear.

Of course, such tactics only worked on those who cared about perception—but Zeke was certain the Treemother would not risk her pride in front of her pupils.

As expected, the bindings loosened soon after, then fell away entirely. They slithered down his body like snakes, vanishing into the ground moments later.

Zeke landed softly, bending his knees as he touched down. The motion was unnecessary—but appearances mattered. He would not waste this chance to twist the narrative further in his favor.

With a weary gesture, he gathered the blood coating his body. It lifted into the air, forming a large crimson sphere that hovered for a heartbeat before he released it. The blood splattered to the ground at his feet, leaving him clean—though disheveled.

He straightened slowly, his expression weary, like that of a prisoner finally freed. His eyes found one of the smallest girls standing behind the Treemother.

“Let’s go, Maya. We’re done here.”

Seeing her brother in such a pitiful state, Maya nodded at once and stepped forward, slipping out from among the other girls. His performance had clearly worked—not just on the elves, but on her as well. The violent scene from moments ago was already forgotten.

The wonders of selective memory.

The Treemother had allowed him to act freely until now, but just as he and Maya were about to leave, her voice stopped them.

“Wait a moment.”

Zeke turned back. His pride urged him to keep walking, but pride was no longer in control. Cold logic dictated caution. The same theatrics that had just won him the upper hand could just as easily be turned against him if he overplayed them.

“Is there something you require of me, honored Treemother?” His tone was formal, almost deferential. He had no intention of giving her another excuse to restrain him.

“…Will you honor your agreement with Matriarch Goldleaf?”

A trap.

An obvious one, at that. Denying it would hand her all the justification she needed to act against him. Clearly, she had only now realized how badly she had sabotaged the deal between him and Lady Goldleaf.

Zeke inclined his head. “Naturally. I am a man of my word.”

His calm response seemed to catch her off guard. Her brows furrowed as she pressed, “…Then you will still go to the Lowlands on our behalf?”

“I will not.”

“…”

The confusion on her face was almost comical. How could he claim to honor his word and yet refuse their cause? There was no point in dancing around it. The simplest solution was to lay out the agreement as it truly stood.

“…My agreement states that I will fight the Empire on your behalf. That much is true,” Zeke said evenly. “In return, your people promised to provide a satisfactory mentor for my sister.”

He watched as understanding dawned on the Treemother’s ancient face.

“Satisfactory,” he repeated, slower this time, “…by my standards.”

He left it at that. The unspoken words—and you have fallen far short of them—hung in the air without needing to be said. His earlier outburst had already made his opinion of her teachings painfully clear. There was no need to twist the knife further.

With a respectful nod, Zeke turned away, guiding Maya with him. He had seen enough of this place for one day.

Unfortunatly, it was not meant to be.

B8 - Chapter 12: Mentor I

Another year has come and gone, and that day’s here once again. Yep, you guessed it, it’s my birthday! Since you guys can’t give me any presents, I thought I’d turn the tables and be the one handing out gifts this time.

And what better surprise than a… drumroll… BONUS CHAPTER!

Hope you all enjoy it!

Ever since they had entered the Tree, Zeke felt suffocated. There was something terribly oppressive about this place, as if it were telling him that he didn’t belong. It was similar to stepping into an Exarch's domain. He couldn't manipulate the ambient Mana either, leaving him effectively defenseless.

Worse still, the air carried a pressure reminiscent of Bloodline suppression. Yet unlike a Progenitor’s overwhelming force, this one was subtle—almost gentle. That didn't mean it was any weaker.

If he had to compare the two, he would describe a Progenitor’s presence as a tidal wave—crushing, immediate, impossible to withstand. This one, however, was like the ocean itself. Calm on the surface, harmless and still… yet vast beyond comprehension.

There was nothing he—or anyone else—could do to disturb a being that possessed such power.

"An apt description," Khai'Zar's voice rumbled in the back of his mind.

The Dragon had not gone back to sleep after his earlier meal, and Zeke found himself oddly grateful for it. Facing the Tree's pressure felt far less daunting with Khai'Zar's presence at his side.

He placed one foot in front of the other, forcing his steps to remain calm and steady despite the tightness coiling in his stomach.

Maya’s hand slipped into his as they neared the door. He couldn’t blame her—the place was unsettling, even without the strange absence of Mana. Deprived of natural light, the interior was brightened by bioluminescent moss that covered nearly every surface. Though it provided ample brightness, the color was wrong.

The shifting green and blue glow cast an eerie pallor over everything, making faces appear corpse-like. Shadows behaved unnaturally—either absent altogether or stretched far beyond their natural reach.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through the stillness.

No answer came.

Zeke turned, intending to ask Lyriel how to proceed—only to find the platform behind them empty. She must have slipped away the moment they reached the entrance. Just then, the door opened.

A mousy elf stood in the doorway, her head barely reaching Zeke's chest. She looked like a human teenager, which meant she had to be at least two or three times his age.

“We are here to meet my sister’s mentor. Do you know who that is?” Zeke asked when the girl didn’t speak.

The girl turned.

“Where are you going?” He tried again.

She wordlessly gestured for them to follow, ignoring his questions altogether. Her movements were quick, nervous—the kind of energy that came from wanting to be anywhere else.

Zeke gave his sister a small, reassuring smile and entered first.

The corridors twisted deeper into the palace, each turn taking them further from the entrance. The walls pulsed with that same bioluminescent glow, creating the illusion that the tree itself was breathing around them.

Their guide's pace seemed to quicken with each step. Whatever awaited them at their destination, she seemed to want no part of it.

They emerged into a vast chamber that defied the logic of indoor spaces. Grass covered the floor—actual grass, not some decorative carpet. It bent beneath their feet, releasing the scent of crushed vegetation. At the chamber's center burned a flame that wasn't quite fire. It produced no smoke, no heat, yet light poured from it in waves that felt like morning sunlight.

Plants thrived everywhere. Vines climbed walls that stretched three stories high. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors. Small trees grew in disorganized clusters, their branches heavy with fruit Zeke couldn't identify.

The illusion of being outdoors was nearly perfect. Only the wooden ceiling far above betrayed the truth.

Several figures occupied the space. All girls, most appearing relatively young even by their race's standards. They sat in small groups, some reading, others practicing what looked like meditation. None acknowledged the new arrivals.

Only one girl rose from where she had been kneeling near the light source. She moved with purpose, heading straight toward them. At her approach, their guide took three quick steps backward, then turned and fled. Not walked. Not excused herself. Fled.

Zeke knew a warning sign when he saw one, but there was little he could do without knowing the type of danger that awaited them.

The approaching elf ignored Zeke entirely. Her attention was fixed on Maya with the intensity of a collector examining a rare specimen.

"So you're the human." Her voice carried the musical quality all elves possessed, but there was something sharp beneath it. "Smaller than I expected."

She circled Maya slowly, her gaze cataloging every detail. Maya stood frozen, uncertainty written across her features.

"Your Mana is underdeveloped. Your posture is atrocious. And your—" She grabbed Maya's chin, turning her head left, then right. "Bone structure is acceptable, I suppose. For a human."

Maya's eyes widened. She tried to pull back, but the elf's grip held firm.

Enough.

Zeke reached for the elf's wrist. His hand closed on empty air. She had moved—not dramatically, just a subtle shift that placed her beyond his reach while maintaining her hold on Maya.

She looked at him then. For the first time since entering the chamber, those bright eyes acknowledged his existence.

The loathing hit him like a physical force.

"Disgusting." The word dripped with centuries of cultivated contempt. "A filthy male dares to reach for me?"

Her free hand gestured. Vines erupted from the grass beneath his feet, coiling around his legs before he could react. Without his Spatial Awareness, there was no way he could have reacted. More wrapped his arms, pulling them against his sides. The bindings tightened until breathing became difficult.

Zeke’s brows furrowed. Apparently, not everyone was as restricted here as he was. This girl seemed to have no problem using her Magic. This could be a problem.

She released Maya and stepped toward him. Though she barely reached his shoulder, her presence seemed to fill the space.

"Quite audacious. And this from a human, and a man no less. "Each word came measured, precise. "Tell me, worm, have you never been properly educated before?"

Zeke opened his mouth to reply, but a hand closed around his throat, cutting the words short.

She had to stand on her toes to reach properly, which should have been absurd. Would have been, if not for the complete helplessness of his position. Without Mana, without mobility, he was nothing more than meat waiting to be butchered.

Her face came close, far too close. Confident in the strength of her restraints, she leaned in until their noses nearly touched.

Even through the fury building in his chest, Zeke couldn't ignore what proximity revealed. The elf's features held the kind of symmetry artists spent lifetimes trying to capture. Full lips curved in a smile that belonged on a statue. Bright eyes that caught the chamber's strange light and threw it back doubled. Her hair fell long on top but had been shaved along the sides, proudly displaying the pointed ears that marked her race.

Without the cruel delight twisting her expression, she might have been among the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Even with it, she still ranked high.

The thought came unbidden—and unwelcome.

Normally, he could banish such distractions with a flicker of Mind Magic, but here, cut off from his Core, he had no such luxury. So even while trapped and powerless, he was left at the mercy of his own treacherous body.

His vision darkened at the edges. Maya's worried face swam in and out of focus. The elf's smile widened, her grip tightening incrementally—drawing out the moment, savoring it.

The very moment he had been attacked, Zeke had seen some of the girls running off. Clearly, they were attempting to alert someone about what was happening. However, it now became clear that he could not wait for this person to arrive.

Waste or not, enough was enough.

The growl that had been building since she first touched his throat finally won.

His heart, already pounding from oxygen deprivation, released a single drop of Draconic Essence into his bloodstream.

The effect was immediate. Violent. Beautiful.

Fire raced through his veins. His muscles swelled, straining against the vines that suddenly felt like wet paper. His skin stiffened, taking on the hardness of scales. The minuscule dose of Essence sang through his body with more potency than ever before. It was as if the Tree's domain had somehow amplified its effect.

The vines snapped. Not torn, not stretched—snapped, like dry twigs beneath a boot.

His hands found her throat before her shock could translate into action. Her grip on him loosened, then released entirely. Not that it mattered. Her strength had become irrelevant, a child's tantrum against stone.

Zeke grinned. The expression felt too wide, too sharp. Yet somehow, very fitting for what he was about to do.

He drove his forehead into her face. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed. Golden light immediately began knitting the damage back together.

So he did it again. And again. And again.

Each impact brought that satisfying crunch of breaking cartilage. Each healing brought fresh bone to shatter. The cycle fed itself: destruction and restoration locked in perfect rhythm.

The Tree's power worked even here, even on this arrogant creature who thought herself untouchable. Her nose reformed. He broke it. Her orbital bone cracked. The light repaired it. Her jaw dislocated. Gold threads pulled it back into place.

Blood coated the grass—his face, his clothes, his everything. In an instant, he was drenched in it. The warmth against his skin was oddly pleasant, almost comforting. Slowly, it soothed the fury that had nearly consumed him.

Time lost all meaning. Seconds, minutes—he couldn’t tell. He cared nothing for such distinctions. There was only the impact, the breaking, the reforming, and the breaking again.

Then something wrapped around his limbs. Thin as grass, delicate as spider silk. Yet it pulled him backward with force that brooked no argument.

Even through his Essence-fueled fury, Zeke recognized the futility of struggling. This binding was different. Where the girl's vines had been mere wood animated by Mana, this was something else. Something he couldn’t contend with.

He let it drag him back. The rage still burned, but its edge had dulled against repetition.

"…I said, this ends now."

The voice registered slowly, as if traveling through water. Female. Elderly. Carrying the kind of authority that came from centuries of being obeyed.

Zeke forced his breathing to slow. The Draconic instincts fought him, demanding more violence, more dominance. He pushed them down through will alone.

His vision cleared gradually. The chamber came back into focus.

All the scattered girls had gathered behind a single figure. They huddled together like children seeking shelter. Even Maya stood among them, her face pale with shock.

The woman they sheltered behind looked ancient by elven standards. Her skin had the texture of bark, lined and weathered. Silver hair pooled around her feet in streams that seemed to move without wind. Yet she stood straight, unbowed by the weight of whatever years she carried.

"Who are you?" Zeke rasped. The words came out rougher than intended, his throat still adjusting from its near-crushing.

She met his gaze without flinching. Lesser beings would have looked away from what they found: The lingering traces of Dragon-rage, the promise of violence barely leashed, the blood that covered his entire form—still warm.

This one didn't.

"I am the Treemother," she said. "And this is my home."

B8 - Chapter 11: Oath

"Enough."

Lady Goldleaf’s voice carried like a command as she stepped onto the platform.

“You have made your point, Lord von Hohenheim.”

Zeke turned his head, meeting her gaze with a calm, unreadable look. He didn’t answer at once.

It was obvious why she had chosen this moment to intervene. He had proven his strength, validating her choice in backing him. But if he pressed further, the scene would turn from a display of power into outright humiliation for the elves—and by extension, for her.

That was not a stain she would be willingly bear.

Zeke found himself at a crossroads.

He had wanted to push further. The arrogance of the elves gave him more than enough excuse to do so, and it would further cement his image as a domineering force. But now that Lady Goldleaf had already spoken, doing so would come at her expense.

That left him little real choice.

He would not risk his alliance with an Exarch for the sake of ego. Still, some theatrics were necessary. She needed to understand that his compliance was not owed to any power she held over him.

This was a favor, and he intended for her to know it.

Their gazes locked.

Her confusion was plain—why was he taking so long to yield? The ego of an elven Matriarch was truly a daunting thing. But then, after a heartbeat, Lady Goldleaf seemed to recall that Zeke was not one of her own.

It must have been a rare experience, realizing that someone might not instinctively bow and scrape to meet her demands. The faintest shift in her expression gave it away. But just as quickly, it was gone again.

Impressive composure.

Whatever softness dulled the elves as a whole, an Exarch was still an Exarch. No one could rise to that level while remaining a fool.

And… there it was. The faintest, almost imperceptible nod. An acknowledgment of what he was doing.

It was enough.

Zeke turned fully, inclining his head.

“If the Matriarch declares it, then I will naturally obey.”

His words were excessively humble—and entirely intentional.

By first presenting himself as a bloodthirsty fiend, only to be restrained by a single word from their Matriarch, he strengthened her standing in everyone’s mind. In this way, he used his newly gained infamy to further elevate the reputation of his patron.

The faint smile that curved her lips made it clear that this detail hadn’t escaped her notice. Good. It was always easier to work with someone sharp enough to catch these subtle gestures. Otherwise, he would be forced into the awkward position of explaining his deeds if he wanted credit.

This was much simpler.

“This demonstration has served its purpose,” she declared. “Lord von Hohenheim has shown himself worthy of the trust I extend.”

Caelum remained on his knees, trembling. The golden light had restored his body, but the mind took longer to mend.

Two attendants stepped forward to help him rise, but he shoved them away with a snarl. Pride, even fractured, demanded he stand on his own. His legs shook as he forced himself upright.

His hand drifted toward his hip, then stopped—the weapon was gone, lost or destroyed in the duel. His fingers curled into a fist. Without a word, he turned and left the platform.

At some point during the confrontation, Maya had risen from her seat, though Zeke hadn’t noticed when. Her knuckles were white around the wooden railing, and only now did she release it, flexing her fingers to bring back circulation.

Their eyes met across the distance. She gave him the smallest shake of her head—not outright disapproval, but something else. Worry, perhaps. Or shock that he had resorted to such brutality.

She still didn’t understand. Of course, she wouldn’t. Even he hadn’t grasped such truths at her age. But in this world, where kindness was so often mistaken for weakness, it was safer to be feared than underestimated.

Lady Goldleaf lifted a hand, and the still staining the platform simply vanished. Not cleaned, not absorbed: gone, as though it had never been spilled. The effortless display of power was its own message. She might require human allies, but she remained an Exarch.

“We proceed with the ceremony as planned,” she declared.

The elves shifted uneasily. Whispers rippled through the seats. They had come expecting to see a human humbled and a Matriarch disgraced. Instead, they had witnessed something far worse—a reminder of their shame at the hands of the Empire’s Exarch.

It confirmed what many had long feared: the elves could not match a human mage of equal rank in a real fight.

The political consequences would echo through their courts for months.

Matriach Goldleaf stepped to the center of the platform. The air shimmered, and her garments changed in an instant—robes of deep green streaked with veins of living gold that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Ceremonial attire, no doubt.

“Bear witness,” she called, her voice carrying to every corner of the amphitheater. “I, Selvanna of the Fourth House, Matriarch of the Golden Leaf, Member of the High Court, do declare my intent upon Yggdrasil—”

The titles meant little to Zeke, but the reaction of the crowd spoke volumes. Several elves rose in respect. Others remained seated but leaned forward, eyes fixed on her.

Then the tree shuddered.

Not just the platform. Not just the amphitheater. The entire tree—from roots buried in the world’s core to leaves brushing the heavens. A groan resonated through the wood itself, ancient and immense.

At first, Zeke thought it part of the ritual, but the shock on every face quickly told him otherwise.

Another token of respect Yggdrasil deemed necessary when dealing with a descendant of the Dragon King, perhaps? If so, Zeke certainly wasn’t going to object.

Lady Goldleaf faltered, her composure cracking for the briefest heartbeat. When she spoke again, her voice carried a weight it hadn’t before.

“I swear that Maya von Hohenheim shall be protected as one of our own. No harm shall come to her while she dwells among us. Should she transgress, exile shall be the harshest punishment. This I bind to my blood, my house, and my name.”

The tree shuddered again—longer this time. The golden light holding the amphitheater together flickered.

Every elf present had gone pale.

“She listens,” someone whispered. “The Great Mother bears witness.”

Roots erupted through the platform beneath Lady Goldleaf. They coiled around her ankles—not to restrain, but to connect. For a moment, her eyes burned with the same golden light that had restored the fallen.

Zeke’s brows furrowed. Standing this close, he could feel it—a familiar pull. This… felt suspiciously like Soul Magic. Was a contract being forged? That would explain why elves treated their Oaths with such reverence.

The punishment for breaking a Soul Oath could range from unbearable pain to death. And somehow, Zeke doubted a being as ancient as the Tree of Life would show mercy to anyone swearing falsely in its name.

A moment later, the glow was gone. The roots sank back into the wood. But something had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the timber, in the reverent way every elf now looked upon their Matriarch.

“The Oath is sealed,” Lady Goldleaf said softly. “Yggdrasil itself will enforce it.”

Her gaze met Zeke’s across the scarred platform. “Your sister is safe here. Likely safer than anywhere else in this world.”

Zeke inclined his head in acknowledgment. The Oath had proven far more than he could have hoped for. Now, even if he were to fall in battle, his sister would remain protected.

Here, in the heart of elven lands, not even the Emperor’s greedy hands could reach easily. Hidden Experts or not, Augustus still remained far from capable of contending with a dozen elven Exarchs—especially if they could revive endlessly under the Tree’s protection.

Only Sheol, the Exarch of Death himself, might threaten this place. Yet Zeke suspected even he would struggle against a being as ancient and vast as the World Tree.

As for Lady Goldleaf…

They now bore a bond deeper than politics or promise. The Tree itself would hold her to her Oath, watching through the roots that nourished the elven realm. That made her more than an ally in name. By swearing to protect Maya as though she were her own blood, she had become one of Zeke’s greatest benefactors.

He doubted she had meant to bind herself so tightly, but the fact that she had gone through with the Oath spoke volumes about her intentions. Whatever her schemes might be, her promise to keep Maya safe was sincere—of that, at least, he was certain.

The look Zeke gave the Matriarch carried as much of his newfound appreciation as words ever could.

It seemed to work.

With a weary yet satisfied smile, Selvanna Goldleaf turned her back to the audience and left the stage through one of the many exits.

A short step through Space brought Zeke back to his seat. His expression was radiant. The ceremony had held both expected and unexpected surprises, but he was more than content with how it had ended.

“Shall we?” he asked, glancing toward Lyriel.

She nodded quickly—quicker than usual. Something in her demeanor had shifted. In truth, something had changed in the way the elves looked at him altogether, though he couldn’t yet say whether it would be for better or worse.

“Where are we going next?” Maya asked hesitantly once they were back atop their mount.

Zeke looked at her closely. His sister seemed unsettled. Perhaps the brutal way he had handled his opponent had shaken her more than he’d realized. In any other setting, what he had done would have been considered murder—twice over.

Even so, he would neither apologize nor justify his actions. If she thought less of him because of it, then so be it. Still, he doubted Maya would draw such a shallow conclusion. His sister was no fool, and she could see the larger picture when it mattered.

When he remained silent, Lyriel answered in his stead.

“We are going to meet your new mentor.”

It was as if a spell had been lifted—the gloom vanished from Maya’s face. Or perhaps she was simply putting on a brave front. Either way, it spoke well of her mental resilience.

Instead of heading toward one of the nearby mansions, the crow set its course for the trunk of the great tree. At first, it seemed close, but that was only an illusion born from Yggdrasil’s sheer size.

Only after a long flight did they finally reach the tree’s mass. From here, the wooden wall stretched from horizon to horizon, dominating their view entirely. Yggdrasil’s trunk was—put simply—utterly colossal.

It could have housed cities like Tradespire and Magusburg several times over. It was hard to believe that any living thing could grow to such a size.

Before Zeke could ponder further, the crow banked sharply and glided toward what appeared to be a crack in the bark. On an ordinary tree, such a hollow might have sheltered a bird’s nest. On Yggdrasil, Zeke couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of creature could have carved out something so vast.

He didn’t have to wonder for long, as the natural opening soon gave way to a perfectly shaped corridor that led into a vast courtyard.

Before them stood another mansion—smaller than the Matriarchs’ estates outside, though Zeke suspected that was by choice rather than necessity. Whoever lived here was no ordinary elf. Of that, he was certain.

“You’ll have to go in on your own,” Lyriel said once he and Maya had dismounted, sliding down one of the crow’s wings.

Zeke glanced from the elf to the mansion’s doors, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “You’re not allowed inside, are you?”

Lyriel nodded without hesitation, showing no shame in admitting it. “A word of caution,” she said quietly. “Be respectful and don’t try to play your games here. The one within is not someone easily provoked.”

Zeke grinned at her. “I’ll try.”

B8 - Chapter 10: Challenge

Zeke marveled at the steadiness of their ride as he gazed over the wings of their mount. The Moonlight Crow glided effortlessly between colossal branches, carrying its passengers without the slightest disturbance. Somehow, even at such high speeds, he didn’t feel so much as a breeze.

He would have to find out how these birds managed such a feat.

Even Maya, usually clinging for support, stood on her own, her face glowing with awe as she took in the beautiful sights all around them.

Even for Zeke, who had witnessed many of the world’s wonders, the elven realms possessed a quality unlike anything else. It felt as though nature’s abundance had fused seamlessly with the precision of a master architect.

Wasteful pragmatism.

There was so much of everything—space, shelter, food, resources.

The elves clearly wanted for nothing in their sacred domain. No wonder they had grown indulgent, so far removed from the struggles of ordinary people.

The crow carried them higher and higher, unhindered by man or obstacle.

As they gained altitude, the nature of the dwellings shifted. The smaller, practical homes carved into the tree gave way to sprawling mansions.

Near the crown, only a handful remained—enormous estates, each the size of a small city, positioned to command the greatest views of the surrounding land. From this vantage, Zeke counted half a dozen of these colossal mansions, though he had no doubt the other side of the tree held just as many.

It wasn’t hard to guess who lived here.

“We are here,” Lyriel said, confirming his suspicion.

They soon landed on an open patch beside a vast structure clearly built for public gatherings.

Did all the Matriarchs own private arenas? Wasteful indeed.

Yet he couldn’t deny being impressed. To his knowledge, no human city could come close to the opulent display before him.

The amphitheater had been carved from living wood, its tiers rising in perfect spirals around a central platform. Thousands of elves filled the space, their whispers weaving together into a sound like wind through leaves.

Zeke counted the banners. Seven Matriarchs had sent representatives—far more than he had expected for what should have been a simple ceremony. Attendants clustered beneath them, their faces tight with displeasure.

Maya walked at his side, her eyes wide as she took in the scale of the gathering. Her fingers twitched—a habit she had when overwhelmed. Zeke resisted the urge to take her hand. She needed to appear strong here, even if she wasn’t.

“They’re staring,” she murmured.

“Let them.”

Lyriel led their party to seats near the platform’s edge. The placement was deliberate—close enough for all to see, yet apart from the elven nobility.

Lady Goldleaf already stood at the platform’s center, her golden hair catching the filtered sunlight. Her robes shimmered between green and gold with each movement.

“Everyone looks so young,” Maya whispered.

Age meant little to elves. A Matriarch could have lived ten centuries or twenty, and still their faces would remain unchanged.

But Zeke had larger concerns. It would begin any moment now—certainly before the ceremony itself.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a figure rose from the crowd. Male, which was rare among the elven hierarchy. His movements bore the discipline of a warrior rather than the polish of a politician. And the sword at his hip was no ornament.

"Human." His voice carried across the amphitheater without effort. "I am Caelum Starweaver, Blade of the Third House."

The title meant nothing to Zeke, but the crowd's reaction spoke volumes. Even Maya straightened in her seat.

"You honor us with your acknowledgment," Zeke replied, his tone flat.

Caelum's jaw tightened. "You misunderstand. I come not to honor, but to challenge."

Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Lyriel shot to her feet. "This is neither the time nor—"

"When else?" Caelum spread his arms. "When else should we answer the insult of a Matriarch bowing to human demands? When else should we show that the children of Yggdrasil answer to no one?"

Voices rose in agreement. Not all of them, but enough to matter.

Zeke stood slowly. His chair scraped the wooden floor—the only sound in the vast space. There was no avoiding this anymore, not if he wanted to keep his reputation intact.

"What exactly are you proposing?"

"Single combat. Here. Now." Caelum's hand went to his sword's pommel. "Prove you deserve the consideration Lady Goldleaf extends."

"…And if I refuse?"

"Then you confirm what many already suspect."

Zeke studied the elf. The trap was transparent, almost insultingly so. Someone had arranged this, likely one of the Matriarchs.

But so what?

Whoever pulled the strings had clearly not bothered to look past appearances. Despite his deceptively young age, Zeke was no pushover.

If things could be settled with violence, then violence he would wield.

Zeke vanished from his stop and reappeared in the center of the stage in the same instant.

“First blood? Or to the death?” His tone was as casual as if he were asking about the weather.

“The Grace of Yggdrasil protects all beneath its branches,” Lady Goldleaf declared, her voice slicing through the tension. “No permanent harm can befall any elf here. Death itself retreats before the Tree’s will.”

Her gaze locked on Zeke. “Do not hold back.”

The words rang like a challenge in themselves. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps this was no trap from a rival Matriarch but a trial of his sponsor’s own making—a final test to see if she had wagered on the right man.

It didn’t matter.

Caelum strode onto the platform, his steps deliberate and measured. The crowd leaned forward, their anticipation heavy in the air. Zeke could almost smell it—their hunger to see the human humbled.

The elf drew his blade in one fluid motion. The steel sang as it cleared the sheath, enchantments flaring along its edge. Wind Magic, judging by the way the air bent and hissed around it.

Caelum‘s stance was flawless—steady posture, no wasted movement, not a single opening. His Mana was so perfectly controlled that Zeke couldn’t even determine his exact level, only that he had not yet stepped into the realm of an Archmage.

In martial skill, he was no match for this opponent. The elf radiated the hard-earned precision that came only from decades of tireless training.

Leo would have savored the chance to cross blades with such a master.

Zeke would not.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Caelum nodded confidently.

Unbeknownst to him, it would be the last time he moved in this lifetime.

Zeke advanced. One step, then another. He walked as if he were out on a stroll, not engaged in a life-or-death battle.

Even so, Caelum stood frozen, as though trapped in amber. Entering the elf’s unguarded mind had been laughably easy—easier even than with the Frostscale tribe. And that was saying something, considering the Chimeroi had no Mana at all to shield themselves.

Pathetic.

Even the worst first-year at Elementium knew how to put up a basic defense against Mind Magic.

Zeke plucked the sword from Caelum’s paralyzed grip and, without hesitation, slashed it across the elf’s throat. The strike was brutal, severing flesh and bone in a single stroke.

Gasps erupted around the amphitheater.

The elf’s head and body toppled in opposite directions, hitting the platform with a pair of dull, thunderous thuds. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs across the polished grain.

For three heartbeats, silence reigned.

Then, golden light burst from the floor, wrapping around the broken form. Bones snapped back into place. Flesh knitted seamlessly. Within moments, Caelum shuddered, gasped, and rolled onto his hands and knees.

A low whistle slipped from Zeke’s lips. The so-called Grace of Yggdrasil truly lived up to its reputation. More than could be said for its chosen people, unfortunately.

With a flick of his wrist, the sword he still held whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wooden floor of the arena, a hair’s breadth from Caelum’s kneeling form.

“…Quite formidable,” Zeke said slowly, “this Blade of the Third House.” His gaze locked on Caelum’s trembling pupils. “Unfortunately, it is wasted on an incompetent wielder.”

Rage blazed in Caelum’s eyes as he dragged his freshly restored body to its feet, though the effort was plain. Still, his hand on the pommel was steady.

“Dishonorable tricks,” he hissed. “Cross blades with me, if you dare!”

Zeke raised his empty hands. “Do you see me carrying any weapons?”

“Don’t insult me with such pretenses,” Caelum spat. “It is known that Blood Mages are never unarmed. Through your tainted arts, you can even turn your own body into a weapon.”

Zeke nodded, finally understanding why they had chosen to pit a swordsman against him. They must have expected him to fight like the Bloodsword family. In that case, he might indeed have been humiliated.

Fortunately for Zeke, his methods could not have been further from those of the famed berserker Tristan Bloodsword.

Whoever had investigated his background had truly done a pitiful job. This kind of careless underestimation was precisely why the elves found themselves in such a miserable position.

Sheer fucking hubris.

“So, you’ve heard of that, huh?” Zeke mused aloud. “Alright then. If you insist, I’ll bring out my weapon.”

Caelum’s stance tightened, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. The fact that he truly believed this second round would end differently, after being slain without even being able to move, was baffling.

It spoke of a worrying level of delusion that had no place in a warrior.

No matter. Before this was done, Zeke would strip him of such foolish notions.

With a slash of his nails, Zeke opened his right wrist. The act wasn’t strictly necessary to draw upon his Blood Magic, but for channeling large amounts, it was far quicker than forcing it through the skin.

And, more importantly, it made for a far more gruesome display.

The moment his flesh split, Blood surged forth like an endless river. Yet instead of splattering across the pristine wooden floor, it gathered above his head in a growing sphere. Within seconds, the amount dwarfed what any human body could possibly contain, many times over.

Caelum took an instinctive step back, clearly realizing that Zeke’s ‘weapon’ would not be the sword he had expected.

Too late.

The fangs formed first, followed by a gaping maw and the piercing, double-lidded eyes of a reptile.

To Caelum’s credit, he was quick. His blade struck the Dragon’s snout half a dozen times before his body was seized. Not that it made the slightest difference.

With less effort than it took to snap a dry twig, Caelum’s body was shattered in countless places. Khai’zar’s razor-edged teeth tore through elven flesh with absurd ease. It was less a duel than a butcher grinding meat.

This time, what remained was hardly recognizable as humanoid at all.

If anything, the second loss was even more decisive than the first.

The Dragon, bored with its toy, soared over the amphitheater one final time before plunging straight at Zeke. For a heartbeat it seemed as if it meant to crush even its own master.

But just before impact, the colossal beast dissolved into liquid, then into a vaporous red mist. The haze rolled across the arena, shrinking with every pulse until it collapsed into the outline of a man.

Zeke stood where he always had, unmoved, untouched.

No one dared speak. No one dared breathe. The weight of the moment pressed down like iron chains.

Then, once again, golden light burst from the ground. It blazed brighter than before, flooding a wide circle around Caelum’s mangled remains. This time, the restoration dragged on, lasting several heavy heartbeats before the tree’s power managed to reassemble him.

His sword was gone.

Zeke met the warrior’s gaze, curious what he would see. Denial? Bravado? More delusions?

But no. Caelum’s wide eyes were vacant, terror plain in them. The cracks of trauma were already there. However undying his body might be, his spirit had been broken. If Zeke pressed further, the man might never recover.

So Zeke turned away, sweeping his gaze across the crowd instead.

“Anyone else?”

The same elves who had glared at him with disdain now shrank beneath his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” His voice cut sharp across the silence. “No one willing to put this lowly human in his place before the chosen of the Tree?”

Averted eyes. Bowed heads. Good.

Let them learn fear. Let them understand the dangers of the world. Let them know that the blessing of the Tree did not make them untouchable.

The sooner they learned, the greater their chance of survival.

But before he could grind their pride any further, a voice rang out—clear, commanding, final.

“Enough.”

B8 - Chapter 9: Ancient Feud

“This is going to feel strange. Are you prepared?”

Maya’s expression was priceless. Excitement shone in her eyes, almost radiant with joy in light of their destination—yet the pale cast on her face betrayed the effect of so much foreign Mana pressing down on her.

Space Magic unsettled most people, or so Zeke had been told. To him, however, it felt comfortably familiar, like an old friend calling his name.

“I am,” the girl replied bravely.

Zeke doubted the truth of that, but she would endure it regardless.

The first time traveling through the void was harsh on anyone. There was no softening the blow. At least, with the official teleportation staff at the gate, Maya was in the care of seasoned professionals. They could likely make the jump to Yggdrasil smoother than he himself could manage over a short distance.

Comfort, after all, was one of the few things his mastery of Magic had never been optimized for.

The familiar cocoon of spatial Mana wrapped around him, fitting like a second skin. Before his senses dimmed, he felt the same energy enveloping Maya.

He would have held her hand, but that would have disrupted the protective layers. He had to settle for watching from a distance.

The journey ended in the blink of an eye. Familiar surroundings vanished, replaced for an instant by the void. With the efficiency of the teleportation staff, the voyage lasted only a fraction of a second.

Almost before the mind could register it, solid ground returned beneath his feet.

Zeke’s hand shot out, holding Maya’s hair back as she lurched forward. The contents of her stomach splattered across the polished wooden floorboards.

Probably not the best first impression—vomiting on the sacred World Tree of the elves mere seconds after arrival, he thought with some amusement.

“You call this… strange?” his sister managed between breaths. “That was the most awful feeling I’ve ever experienced.”

Zeke shrugged. “It gets better.”

Maya grimaced. “I surely hope so. Otherwise, Mom can forget about me coming home once a month…”

Zeke grinned. “Go ahead and try. She’ll give you an ass whooping that’ll make this little trip feel like a joy ride.”

Maya snapped her mouth shut, clearly recognizing the truth in his words. Zeke might have gotten away with not returning home, but Maya would be given no such lenience—not when their mother knew full well the option to return existed.

“Greetings, Lord von Hohenheim,” a familiar voice called. “Welcome to Yggdrasil.”

Zeke didn’t need long to find the speaker. Among the portal staff—predictably all human—three familiar elves approached.

He inclined his head. “Good to see you again, Lyriel.”

The woman nodded gracefully. It was painfully clear she was far more at ease now, meeting on her home ground rather than in a foreign human city. Rattling her here would be far more difficult than on his own turf.

Fortunately, their negotiations were already concluded. He no longer needed to press for a psychological advantage. His visit carried no diplomatic or strategic goals. He had come only to meet Maya’s teacher and witness the Oath of Matriarch Goldleaf.

His expression was suitably amiable as he stepped forward to properly greet the trio who had come to receive him. Or so he had planned. He hadn’t taken more than a single step before the floor trembled beneath him. What began as a faint vibration swelled into something closer to an earthquake within moments.

Once again, Zeke’s hand shot out to steady his sister. His gaze flicked toward the open archway—branches, leaves, and sky beyond. They had indeed arrived at the World Tree.

Which made this disturbance all the stranger.

As far as he knew, nothing short of a cataclysm should have been able to shake the greatest tree in existence. If such a force did exist, it would have rattled the entire continent.

His questioning eyes turned to their welcoming committee, searching for an explanation. Yet instead of calm professionalism, he found only shock written plainly across their faces.

Clearly, this was no ordinary occurrence for them either.

Even after the tremors subsided, the three elves struggled to compose themselves, their open-mouthed astonishment betraying them.

Zeke waited in silence for Lyriel to recover, quietly retracting his earlier thought. Perhaps rattling her here wasn’t all that difficult after all.

“What was that?” he asked at last.

To her credit, Lady Goldleaf’s right hand was the first to regain composure. Her expression shifted into one of forced surprise. “The… wind… is quite strong today, it seems.”

Zeke tried to hide it, but he couldn’t fully mask the pity he felt at such a terrible excuse. The wind? Of all the explanations, she had chosen the least believable. It was hard to even pretend he accepted the obvious lie.

Instead, he gave a small nod—not in agreement, but as a signal to let the matter drop. If his hosts didn’t want to discuss it, he wouldn’t press. Still, curiosity gnawed at him. What could have caused such a phenomenon?

“It is because of you.”

A voice echoed from the depths of his subconscious.

Zeke couldn’t stop a smile from tugging at his lips as he heard his draconic companion for the first time in what felt like years.

“Had a good nap?”

“…Far too short for my liking,” Khai’zar replied in his usual languid tone. “But you just had to stir up trouble again.”

“Trouble?” Zeke echoed in his mind. “How did I do that?”

“The Tree,” Khai’zar said after a pause. “It can sense it.”

“Sense what?”

“Your blood. My blood. The blood of my forefathers.”

Zeke’s breath hitched. He recalled Khai’zar once mentioning he was a descendant of the Dragon King. But it had never occurred to him that such a lineage carried more than just a prestigious title.

“…And why does that matter?”

“It remembers the old days,” Khai’zar’s words carried a strange weight. “When the sky darkened beneath my father’s wings, when the earth rumbled with the steps of the Allfather, and when the sun paled before the Queen of Flames.”

Allfather? Queen of Flames?

Zeke’s mind went blank, and even Akasha had nothing to offer. These had to be figures from an age before human memory. From a time when mankind was not yet the dominant race. From the era when the Ancient Races ruled.

“How old is this Tree?”

“Who can say?” Khai’zar replied. “It was already here when the first of my kind spread its wings. And it will still be here when humanity breathes its last.”

Zeke’s estimation of Yggdrasil rose a few notches. Khai’zar rarely spoke of another being with even a trace of respect, yet even the Dragon seemed to hold the great Tree in high regard.

It must have been a considerable challenge for his people to contend with in ages past. And clearly, that respect was mutual—the Tree had reacted so strongly to even the faintest trace of the Dragon King’s blood.

Whatever feud they had once shared, it remained vivid in Yggdrasil’s memory. Was this like meeting an old rival after many years? Given what he knew of draconic temperament, that seemed more than likely.

That left only one pressing question.

“Am I in danger?”

“Not likely,” Khai’zar replied after a pause. “If it wished, it could have crushed you the moment you stepped into its domain.”

“Then what?”

Silence lingered before the dragon answered. “Toward the end, my people were on rather amicable terms with the Tree. Most likely, it continues to honor that treaty. Even if it turned hostile, it would not dare to harm my father’s blood.”

Zeke exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. He had been ready to spend every shred of his strength to drag himself and Maya to safety through Space Magic. But now it seemed that would not be necessary.

Better still, if the Tree truly recognized him and upheld some ancient pact, he might be far safer here than he had ever expected.

“Are you alright, Lord von Hohenheim?”

Zeke’s thoughts were interrupted by Lyriel, who was giving him a curious look. His exchange with Khai’zar had lasted only moments, yet it must have been strange to watch his expressions shift so quickly while he stood silent.

“…Don’t pay it any mind,” he said, smoothing his features. “I was a little rattled by what just happened.”

Lyriel’s face tightened, and Zeke couldn’t help but grin. How did it taste—the bitter pill of a terrible excuse? He had returned her earlier shamelessness with his own.

“…Understandable,” she forced out. “Now, if you would follow us—there are people awaiting our arrival.”

Zeke nodded easily, feeling strangely refreshed after his talk with Khai’zar.

Maya had also recovered from her first teleportation, some of her earlier spirit returning. “Where are we headed?”

“To my lady’s palace,” Lyriel explained kindly. “She is scheduled to swear an official Oath to guarantee your safety here.”

Maya nodded excitedly, oblivious to anything unusual in those words. But Zeke caught it at once.

…Scheduled to swear an official Oath…

That sounded suspiciously like a spectacle. And judging by the way the two accompanying elves frowned at the mention, it wasn’t something widely welcomed here.

Zeke was already preparing himself to face some measure of opposition. Yet, now that he knew the Tree itself would not act against him—and perhaps even favored him—there was little to fear, aside from interference from another Matriarch.

Highly unlikely. They had summoned him for aid. Pride might be asserted, maybe a few attempts at humiliation, but outright hostility? No.

That meant…

A slow smile spread across his face.

Perhaps, despite his intention to remain as unobtrusive as possible, this would be an opportunity to spread his fame among the elves. If he could make them respect or even fear him, that sentiment would translate into greater protection for Maya.

And judging by her carefree delight as she soaked in the surroundings, the girl would need all the protection she could get.

His sister had all the cunning and guile of a sheep.

Zeke couldn’t fault her for it. He had allowed Maya to grow up far from the dangers and schemes of the magical world, and he wanted her to remain that way for as long as possible.

But for a sheep to live in safety, there had to be a guardian strong enough to drive off the wolves. Maybe it was time he became such a presence in the minds of the elves.

Zeke flared his Core, releasing a trace of Blood Mana that trailed behind their party. The sharp odor clashed with the pure, natural air of Yggdrasil—like a drop of ink spreading through clear water.

The scent of a predator among sheep.

B8 - Chapter 8: Parents

The merry sound of giggling filled the room as two young girls listened to his mother, who, in her usual overdramatized fashion, told them how she had haggled for the necklace she now wore.

Exaggerated or not, Zeke had no doubt the story was true. His mother was a terror at the market and loved nothing more than bargaining. Why she cared so much for a handful of coppers, he would never understand. These days, the time spent arguing would cost her more than the savings gained.

Even so, despite all the wealth their family now possessed, his parents lived much the same as when they had their modest home in Feldstadt.

In some ways, it was heartening to see how little had changed.

At the same time, it was also the very reason why he attended fewer and fewer of these gatherings. The mundane pleasures of an ordinary life seemed so far away. The mere thought of idling his time away caused him an almost physical discomfort.

Much like a bow drawn to the breaking point, Zeke felt his entire being was constantly on edge. And though he knew the danger of such a lifestyle, there was no avoiding it.

As the saying went: just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean no one is following you.

And Zeke’s pursuers were far more than figments of an overactive mind. They were as real as could be—and their malice had attempted to close around his throat more than once.

Therefore, the purpose of these family dinners had changed in recent months. Instead of joining in the merriment and banter, Zeke often found himself a silent observer.

He didn’t begrudge them their happiness and easy smiles—quite the opposite. Every laugh, every smile, every joke, he wore like a badge of honor. They were living proof of his achievements, proof that he had kept his family safe and sound, far removed from the barbarity of high society and the cutthroat world of politics.

Better that he suffer a hundred times the cruelties than let his family be touched by them even once.

Which made the topic he needed to raise tonight all the harder.

“I have some news,” he said when the chatter died down for a moment.

At once, the atmosphere shifted. Though the smiles didn’t vanish entirely, everyone understood that he wouldn’t speak like this if it were something trivial.

“I’ve found a mentor for Maya,” he said, hating that he had to start with the good news. It would likely be forgotten once the rest was revealed, but he had no choice. After the bad news, nothing else would matter.

Maya’s reaction was, predictably, the most excited.

“Who? Where? When? WHO? How? WHO!?”

Despite everything, his sister’s antics managed to draw a smile from his lips.

He raised his hands placatingly, calming her barrage of questions for a moment.

“I’ll explain everything—just let me tell the full story first.”

Maya leaned back, though Zeke doubted her patience would last long. He pressed on.

His next words were directed at Jettero, who, fortunately, was present as well. The old man seemed to age more with every passing day, and it was obvious even to a layman that his time was running short.

Or… it would have been, before today.

“There’s someone I want you to meet, Jett,” Zeke said seriously. “I’ve hired a new healer, and I want you to see them tomorrow.”

The head engineer scoffed. Even his failing body hadn’t dulled his sharp tongue. “No cure for old age, boy.”

Zeke shook his head. “And how would you know, old fart? You know as much about Magic as you do about fashion trends. Just do as I say.”

The old man still looked unconvinced, so Zeke gave him a bit more. “She is an Archmage. And more importantly—an elf.”

As he spoke, Zeke’s thoughts drifted to King Midas—who, despite not being a Mage, had lived for centuries. The reason was no mystery. His wife, an elven Exarch of Life, had clearly played a role in extending his years.

Zeke didn’t know how she had done it, nor if an ordinary Archmage could replicate such a feat, but it was worth the attempt if it meant prolonging Jett’s life, even a little.

A few more years would be enough for him to watch his granddaughter grow up.

This time, his words struck deeper.

The revelation that the healer was an Archmage drew a wave of furrowed brows. None of them were foolish enough to think this had come without a cost.

But they stayed silent, likely because they trusted his promise to explain everything.

“Their delegation came with an offer,” he said, his words more hesitant than he liked. “They offered a mentor for Maya—someone who could guide her as Maximilian once guided me.”

He stopped, though he knew he shouldn’t.

“…At what price?” his father asked gently from the side.

Zeke looked up, meeting his father’s gaze. There was no reprimand there, no sharpness—only the steady eyes of a man who knew that good things always came with a price, a price he himself had paid many times.

That gaze gave Zeke the strength to go on.

“I promised to go to Rukia.”

“…To fight the Empire,” his mother finished for him.

Zeke nodded.

Already, he could see the words rising in her throat.

You cannot.

Too dangerous.

No place for a child.

But he cut her off before she could speak. “There is more,” he said quickly.

“Maya’s mentor is an important figure among the elves. They will not be able to come here to teach her.”

It took only a heartbeat for the meaning of his words to sink in.

“I’M GOING TO THE ELVES!?”

Maya’s voice burst out, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Zeke had expected her to react positively. What child didn’t long for adventure? Still, he wondered how long that eagerness would last once she spent time among the elves. Margret certainly hadn’t enjoyed the experience much.

At least Maya would be protected by her status.

In stark contrast to Maya’s excitement, his mother had gone pale. The thought of both her children being sent far from home filled her with dread.

“You… this… I…”

The words stumbled from her lips in fragments, yet Zeke understood her meaning as clearly as if she had spoken them aloud.

You cannot do this.
This is not right.
I will not allow it.

But she didn’t finish any of those sentences. She knew they were meaningless. He could do this. It was right. And her permission did not matter.

Everyone in the room understood it as well: He had not come to ask, but to inform.

Ezekiel von Hohenheim was their son, their brother, their benefactor—but he was also the head of the house. He needed no one’s approval to act.

Most days, he relished that freedom. But on days like today, he hated it. Hated being the one who carried the weight of such choices. Even so, he would not bend, not even to spare his mother a temporary heartbreak.

Sending Maya to the elves was the only right choice to secure her future.

But that hardly mattered now.

No amount of logic could mend his mother’s breaking heart. Mothers did not live by reason—they lived by love and emotion.

Instead of speaking further, he leaned down and gently embraced her from behind, whispering what little comfort he could.

“It will only be for a few years.”

Her quiet sobs did not cease.

“She’ll be able to return once a month.”

That, at last, eased her trembling breath.

“Margret will be at her side the entire time.”

This, too, seemed to soothe her, if only slightly. His mother finally turned in her seat, her tear-filled eyes meeting his as she stroked his cheek with one trembling hand.

“What about you, Zeke? You are going to war. Not a game, not a duel—a war. You could—”

He placed his hand over hers, noticing how cold it had grown.

“I will be fine,” he said, his voice steady. It was no act, no hollow reassurance. He simply believed in his abilities.

“Besides, I am far from the only one going. The elves are mobilizing over a dozen prominent human houses to join the war.”

Over his mother’s shoulder, his eyes met his father’s. Silently, he mouthed a single word: Bloodletter.

His father’s gaze sharpened, widening for the briefest moment before settling back into calm. He gave a faint nod, showing he understood.

“…But they will target you, won’t they?” his mother pressed, her voice tight. “After all the trouble you’ve caused them.”

Zeke frowned slightly. She wasn’t wrong. The Empire might indeed go to great lengths to strike at him personally. Yet that very eagerness could just as easily be twisted into a rope to hang them with—if they weren’t careful.

“I’m prepared for that,” he said firmly. “Besides, who will bring Leo home if I don’t go? The poor boy has been gone far too long.”

It sounded like a casual jest, but his words carried layers of meaning.

First, it lightened the mood. Then, it planted hope that Leo might return soon. And finally, it reminded his mother that his adoptive brother had been fighting in this war for over a year already—without harm coming to him.

A layered approach meant to chip away at her fear.

Zeke continued to hold his mother’s hand against his cheek, waiting for his words to sink in. A faint, suppressed smile tugged at her lips, a glimmer returned to her eyes, and at last, the tension in her face eased.

Success.

“…When will you leave? Maya?” Her voice was much calmer now.

Zeke gave an apologetic smile. “We will make for the World Tree in a few days.”

“We?”

He nodded. “I won’t send Maya away without making sure she’s treated well—and without confirming that this teacher of hers is truly worth her time.”

“Didn’t you say they were someone important?”

Zeke shrugged, feigning arrogance. “Important or not, if they prove unworthy, I’ll bring Maya straight back.”

“NOOOO!!”

Maya’s mournful wail shattered the last of the tension. Even their mother cracked a faint smile at her daughter’s theatrics.

“She’ll be able to come home once a month?” his mother asked again.

Zeke nodded firmly. “I insisted on that.”

Her lips twitched. “Better than you, at least. You used to vanish for months on end when you first went off to learn magic.”

A jest—but more than that. With Mia’s mood shifting, it was as though the air itself had been given permission to breathe again. The atmosphere grew lighter, and soon, laughter began to creep back into the room.

At that moment, Jett approached his seat.

“Thank you. For getting that healer. That could not have been easy—”

Zeke waved him off at once. “Don’t overthink it. They threw that girl into the deal as a freebie.”

The words weren’t entirely untrue. But even if he had been forced to beg and plead for the healer, he would have said the same. There was no reason to make Jett feel more indebted than he already did.

The old man had worked himself to the bone to bring Zeke’s wild ideas to life. Zeke would work just as hard to ensure Jett’s dream became a reality. If possible, he would see to it that Jett’s failing body endured—at least until Lue was ready to take his place as lead engineer.

“…Thank you.”

Contrary to expectation, the words carried even more weight now. It was clear Jett had seen through his attempt to downplay the favor.

Zeke realized any further deflection would only cheapen the moment.

“Hang in there, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

Their words were uncharacteristically serious, a stark contrast to their usual banter.

Jettero left soon after, accompanied by Lue. Apparently, they wouldn’t even wait until morning to meet the new healer.

That left only Zeke and his family behind. Maya was receiving a lecture on how she ought to behave while living among the elves, while Zeke and his father silently watched the exchange with faint smiles.

Their eyes met, and Zeke gave a nod of gratitude.

His father hadn’t tried to stop him, hadn’t spoken against him, or questioned his decisions. Geralt never did. To outsiders, it might have looked like he didn’t care as much. But Zeke knew the truth.

Just as it was a mother’s role to worry, it was a father’s role to support in his own way. In Geralt’s case, he had always believed in his children’s dreams. Even years ago, when Zeke was just a clueless boy, his father had stood behind him in his wish to become a Mage.

It wasn’t in his nature to hold his children back from chasing greatness. He would simply watch from behind, ready to pick up the pieces if they fell.

How much strength did it take to let your loved ones make their own mistakes without interfering?

Zeke felt his own immaturity more keenly than ever. He didn’t have his father’s patience. He would allow Maya to make her own mistakes only after she had secured her path as a Mage. That was the most he could manage.

But when that day finally came, he too would have to learn to step back and let her fail.

The very thought already made his teeth itch.

Was this how parents felt all the time?

B8 - Chapter 7: Preparations

Zeke lowered his hand, watching the retreating figures. The elven delegation passed through the gate of his estate and disappeared from sight. This time, he could no longer sense their Life Magic as they made their way through the streets of the third circle.

The reason was simple.

He turned his head toward the potent source of Life Magic standing beside him.

“I didn’t think it would be you.”

Raileh inclined her head haughtily. “Why would it not be me? Or have you suddenly changed your mind, human?”

Zeke shook his head. Her attitude didn’t bother him in the slightest. Nothing could dampen his spirits now. This was truly a blessing. Not only had he found an exceptional mentor for Maya, but he had also secured the aid of a Life-attuned Archmage.

Truly, fortune came in waves.

Zeke motioned to a servant as he turned to leave. They would see to it that his new guest was settled. Now that the ball had started rolling, he suddenly found himself pressed for time. A thousand matters demanded his attention at once.

Before he could reach the door, Raileh’s voice stopped him. This time, her tone carried far less attitude. “I would have a word, if you’d allow it.”

Zeke paused. Though they had agreed that Raileh would assist him, the nature of their relationship had yet to be defined. An Archmage, regardless of race, could not be treated as a common servant. It would fall to him to set the terms.

He gave a small nod. “Walk with me.”

A calculated move—it signaled that his time was valuable and that if she wanted any of it, she would have to meet him halfway.

Raileh fell into step without hesitation, waiting until he gave the signal before speaking. “I would like to know my exact duties while I remain in your service.”

Zeke was mildly surprised, though he kept it from showing. He knew the elves lived by a rigid hierarchy, but he hadn’t expected even an Archmage to fall into line so readily.

Instantly, his mind conjured a list of duties, as if prepared long ago. It would be far easier to keep the elf in line by acting as one of the strict superiors she was already accustomed to. Accordingly, he phrased nothing as a request—only as orders.

“Until we make for Rukia, you will serve as head healer of the house, tending to any and all injuries. Second, you may wander the grounds of my estate, but you are not to leave it. Third, you will act as a preliminary instructor for my sister until she meets her official mentor.”

“Understood.”

The word came naturally, as though she had received orders this way countless times before. Good. He had successfully positioned himself as a superior in her mind. Now he only needed to maintain the act until the idea settled firmly.

“…Anything else?” he asked as they continued walking.

“I was wondering how long we would remain here before setting out for the lowlands.”

The lowlands—the term Yggdrasil’s chosen used for the lands of their distant cousins. In other words, the elven name for Rukia.

Zeke shook his head. “In a few days, I’ll take my sister to visit your homeland. If—and only if—everything is in order, I’ll begin preparations to depart.”

“Understood.”

Zeke glanced sideways. The elf still kept pace beside him. More than her famed beauty, it seemed persistence was her true hallmark.

“Anything else?” he asked again.

She nodded without hesitation. “Will I be allowed to join you on your trip home?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “I do not require a healer during my visit to your people. And you have your own duties, do you not?”

“Understood,” she said a third time. This time, she seemed satisfied and finally stopped following him.

Zeke didn’t turn, nor did he look back. Yet the moment he rounded the corner, he vanished from sight.

The entire walk had only been a front to appear busy. In truth, he had no need to walk anywhere—he could traverse space freely within the bounds of his Sphere of Awareness.

Likewise, the reasons he had given her for not accompanying him to Yggdrasil were only half-truths. While he truly doubted he would need a healer there, the real reason was different: he didn’t want her people to see her acting subservient to a human. That would invite mockery—and risk undermining their future relationship.

But that was all the attention he could spare the elf.

Now that he had resolved to go to war, countless matters demanded his focus. Despite his confidence, Zeke would never throw himself into danger without preparing a few trump cards. Some of which he had been working on for some time. But ideas alone would not suffice. It was time for action.

Thankfully, the crushing workload became infinitely more manageable thanks to Akasha. Even while he had been walking with Raileh, the Spirit had already begun carrying out his plans.

When Zeke entered his study, he found it alive with controlled chaos. Letters were being penned, orders dispatched, strategies drafted. And at the center of it all stood Akasha.

Her calm, detached presence was a sharp contrast to the flurry of activity around her. She appeared—and in truth was—the eye of the storm, untouched by its fury.

Of course, the Spirit did not need to appear in physical form to perform these tasks. She did it for him, so that his words felt natural spoken aloud.

“How are we doing?”

“No unexpected hurdles.”

Despite her lips moving and her voice sounding perfectly natural, Zeke knew both her appearance and her words were nothing more than illusions woven straight into his mind, invisible to anyone else.

With a brisk nod, he stepped behind his desk, his gaze shifting between the half-dozen letters being penned at once.

These were for the people who most needed to know of his decision to go to war.

David, who led the reformation of Undercity, topped that list. From the latest reports, progress had been smooth, with no outside forces moving to suppress their growth. That might change once David left, but Zeke had no choice. He could not leave the only Archmage in his service behind while marching to war.

He could only hope Undercity had grown strong enough to stand without David’s shadowy hands guiding events and removing obstacles.

The next letters were for the three Chimeroi still in the wilderness.

Ash would remain in place, continuing to serve as liaison to Winter and his people. Gravitas, Vulcanos, and their small army of Frostscale warriors, however, would join him on his campaign. For now, they were the only fighting force he could mobilize, and he would have to rely on them if he hoped to make any meaningful impact on the battlefield.

The final letter was for Leo, urging him to hold on just a little longer.

Zeke nodded approvingly as he skimmed the letters. The concise phrasing, the cadence of the words—if he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he had written them himself. Akasha was getting frighteningly good at mimicking his mannerisms.

“What about—”

Before he could finish, Akasha raised a hand and pointed toward another desk.

Zeke crossed over, his eyes scanning the blueprints, building instructions, diagrams, and material lists taking shape.

This was to be one of his trump cards.

The Alexandria, his warship turned floating residence, would serve as a mobile forward base. But the ancient Destroyer-class vessel needed a heavy overhaul to live up to his standards. As the man at the forefront of airship technology, he could hardly ride a relic from a century ago into war.

The plans Akasha was finalizing here were the product of a project they had been refining ever since the conception of the Wraith.

It was still far from complete, but what they had already finished would be enough to establish basic functionality. The rest, they would improve along the way.

Zeke rubbed his chin as he scanned the blueprints. Some of the concepts he thought were still in development had already been worked into the preliminary designs. It seemed Akasha had been holding back. This was more than he had hoped for.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he turned back to the Spirit—though he didn’t need to say anything.

As expected, Akasha was already pointing to another desk, the one swarmed with the most activity. Clearly, this was where the bulk of her attention was focused.

When he walked over, he saw why.

Dozens—no, hundreds—of documents were being referenced, layered into the foundation of his strategy for Rukia. As promised, Lyriel had provided him with the names of the other forces that had already accepted the elves’ deal, and more updates would follow as new allies were revealed.

But even the names he had now were enough to keep Akasha busy for the time. More important than the names alone was what forces each would commit. None of the great houses would risk deploying their entire strength. The number and quality of troops they sent would determine how much use they really were.

And then there were the hidden dangers.

The chance that one might take a bribe from the Empire was small, but not zero. Zeke would not leave such risks unchecked. Akasha was already digging into each house’s background, highlighting those who might require closer scrutiny.

It was a monumental endeavor, one that would occupy an entire spy network for weeks, perhaps months. Yet Zeke had no doubt Akasha would manage. Even the faintest clue—the purchase of grain, the shipment of steel—could be enough for her to draw conclusions invisible to anyone else.

One name leapt off the list the instant he saw it.

Bloodletter.

His father’s ancestral house. The one that had cast him aside for failing to meet their standards.

They had tried to court Zeke ever since he appeared on the international stage. But he knew they didn’t value him, not really. As a Mage with mixed affinities, they held little hope for his personal future.

What they valued was his Bloodline.

His perfect Blood affinity made him an ideal vessel to sire high-affinity offspring when paired with the right partners.

The life of a stud—destined to father exceptional children while remaining unexceptional himself.

Few fates disgusted Zeke more.

Naturally, their pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and their attempts to move against him legally had failed as well. Especially now, with his position as a Merchant Lord of Tradespire secured—a title many considered higher than that of the Bloodletters, an ordinary house of Valor.

Yet Zeke could already see it. They would use this conflict as another chance to approach him.

Whether that connection would prove a boon or a curse remained to be seen, but he would keep his eyes open for these nominal relatives—among many others. He had become so engrossed in the list of houses that he didn’t notice Akasha’s projection appear before him. Only when she spoke did he finally register her presence.

“What is it?”

“There is one more task that must be accomplished,” she said in her flat tone. “One I cannot do in Host’s stead.”

Zeke froze. He knew at once what task she meant. The step he had dreaded most, the one he had unconsciously postponed until now.

With a sigh, he tore his eyes from her work. “Where are they?”

“…Just about to have dinner.”

Zeke nodded. “Keep up the good work, Akasha.”

With those parting words, he vanished from the study and reappeared in a far more ordinary room, where five people sat gathered around a dining table.

The scene froze as he materialized behind the last empty chair.

“Did you make enough for me?” he asked with a somewhat awkward smile.

His expression contrasted sharply with his mother’s beaming face. “Always, Zeke. Always. Come, sit, sit!”

Zeke looked around the table and found every pair of eyes fixed on him. His mother, father, and sister—along with Lue and her grandfather, Jett.

Slowly, he sat, letting his mother fill his plate as he considered how best to break the news.

This would not go over well.

B8 - Chapter 6: The Price of Trust

Zeke allowed the silence to stretch. The three Archmages shifted uneasily, the wooden floor creaking beneath their weight. Only Lyriel remained still, though her quickened pulse betrayed her composure.

“Your offer has merit,” he said at last. “But… do you really understand my position?”

“I do.” Lyriel’s voice carried a newfound confidence, as if weathering his earlier provocations had tempered her resolve.

“Then you understand why I cannot accept your offer as it stands.”

The lead Archmage drew breath to object, but Lyriel lifted her hand. The gesture was subtle yet carried authority, and the others fell silent at once. Perhaps the girl wielded more influence than her role suggested.

“What would ease your concerns?” she asked.

Zeke rose from his chair and walked to the window. Beyond lay the eastern gardens where Maya often practiced her breathing. The thought of sending her away gnawed at him, yet keeping her close would stunt her growth. The elves offered resources and knowledge he could never hope to match, accumulated over millennia.

“There is a saying among humans,” he said, watching a sparrow land lightly on the garden wall. “‘Trust is a luxury the wise cannot afford.’”

“We have no such saying.”

“You should.” He turned back to face them. “Because you’re asking me to place my greatest weakness in your hands with nothing but words as assurance.”

Lyriel’s brow furrowed. “Lady Goldleaf’s word carries the weight of—”

“…Of all the things that meant something before your armies fled from a single man.” The words cut deep, judging by the way the Archmages stiffened. “What value does honor hold when survival is at stake?”

“You doubt our integrity?”

Zeke shrugged. “I doubt everyone’s integrity. It’s why I’m still alive.”

Lyriel fell silent. Behind her, one of the Archmages whispered something that made her shoulders tense.

“What assurances would satisfy you?”

“Two conditions.” Zeke held up his fingers. “First, I meet this teacher. I need to judge for myself if they’re worthy of my sister’s time.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Second, and this is non-negotiable, Lady Goldleaf swears an Oath. Not a promise, not a vow. An Oath, witnessed and bound by Yggdrasil itself.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Oaths were no small matter for the elves. They carried weight, real consequences. Most avoided them, preferring contracts that could be argued over rather than bonds that the world itself would enforce.

“What terms?” Lyriel’s voice had gone flat.

“Simple ones. Maya’s safety will never be used as a bargaining chip. No harm will come to her while she resides among your people. Should she commit an offense, though I doubt she would, exile is the harshest punishment allowed. No exceptions.”

“You ask Lady Goldleaf to bind herself?”

“I ask her to prove she negotiates in good faith. If Maya is truly to be treated as one of your own, as you claim, then this Oath changes nothing. But if she’s meant to be leverage…” He let the words trail off.

The Archmages exchanged uneasy glances. One leaned forward to whisper in Lyriel’s ear, but the younger elf waved her away.

“I accept your terms.”

The speed of her reply caught him off guard. Either Lady Goldleaf had given her extraordinary freedom to negotiate, or—

“You expected this.”

A ghost of a smile touched Lyriel’s lips. “Lady Goldleaf said you were… cautious. She prepared me for various possibilities.”

“And she’s willing to swear such an Oath?”

“She is.”

The ease of it made his instincts prickle. When negotiations went too smoothly, it meant the other side wanted something badly. Badly enough to pay almost any price.

“…Which brings us to the next question,” Zeke said, settling back into his seat. “What could the Matriarchy possibly need from me that would warrant such generosity?”

Lyriel straightened, and for the first time since entering his home, she looked genuinely at ease. This was the moment she’d been waiting for—the true reason for her visit.

“Lady Goldleaf has chosen you.”

“Chosen me for what?”

“To be her agent in Rukia.”

Zeke’s brow furrowed, though he couldn’t claim surprise. Rukia was the contested land where the Empire pressed its advantage, where half-elven settlements burned while the world stood idle. The elves couldn’t act directly; any military intervention would give the Empire grounds to unleash its Exarchs again.

But a proxy…

“You want me to fight in your stead,” he said.

“We want you to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

“With what army? What resources? I’m one man with limited reach.”

“One man with a remarkable gift for strategy, with economic influence and political connections. One man who has already shown a willingness to stand against the Empire’s excesses.”

He studied Lyriel’s face, searching for deceit. Finding none didn’t comfort him—the best lies were always those the speaker believed.

“And yet… still only one man.”

Lyriel didn’t continue to extol his virtues. She simply inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That you are. Naturally, we would not ask you to drive out the empire’s forces on your own. Hence my words: Lady Goldleaf has chosen you—not the elves in general.”

“The other Matriarchs will choose their own agents.”

“That is so.”

Zeke leaned back, letting the weight of this new revelation settle. Over a dozen Matriarchs, each selecting their own agent to push back the Empire’s invasion. The question was—would it be enough?

That was hard to judge without knowing which houses would be chosen. Still, it was a safe guess that most would outrank him in both might and prestige. Likely, the only reason Lady Goldleaf had chosen him at all was her impression of his foresight during her hearing.

Even if the combined strength of these agents couldn’t match the Empire, they would at least be able to contest its power. This created a breeding ground of possibilities for someone clever enough to take advantage…

It was still a risk, but a much more manageable one.

Normally, Zeke would never accept such an uncertain arrangement, not even for his sister’s sake. But this time, what they asked of him already aligned perfectly with his own goals. Truthfully, he would have sought a way to act against the Empire regardless. He might even have paid for the chance. But why pay, when someone else was willing to cover the cost?

His decision was already made the moment he learned the elves would mobilize other human forces. Now, the only question left was how much more he could demand.

"…Not a bad plan," he said slowly. "The treaty protects human forces. That means the Empire couldn’t retaliate with Exarchs."

"Precisely."

"But they could send conventional armies. Assassins. Economic pressure."

"Challenges you’re already facing, are you not?"

She had a point. His relationship with the Empire had been deteriorating for years. Adding Rukia to their grievances would only escalate matters—but perhaps that was inevitable anyway.

"What support would the elves provide?"

"Intelligence. Resources. Diplomatic backing where possible." Lyriel paused. "And the gratitude of a Matriarch, which has its own value."

"Gratitude is a currency that devalues quickly."

"Then consider it an investment. The seeds planted today will grow into forests tomorrow."

Pretty words that meant little. But the core proposal had merit. If the elves wanted to act through proxies, they would need those proxies to succeed. That meant real support, not empty promises.

"I’ll need specifics," he said. "Troop movements, supply lines, local contacts—everything your people know about the situation in Rukia and how it is expected to change with the arrival of the reinforcements."

"Provided after you accept."

"Provided before, or there’s no deal."

They locked eyes across the space between his chair and where she stood. Neither blinked. The Archmages shifted uneasily, unaccustomed to seeing their junior colleague locked in such a direct confrontation.

"I can provide preliminary intelligence," Lyriel conceded. "Enough for you to assess the situation. Full details upon agreement."

“Acceptable.”

Zeke sensed he had pressed as far as he could without upsetting the balance. And it was enough. Truth be told, he didn’t care in the slightest about whatever intelligence the Matriarchy had on Rukia. Despite their proximity, he doubted they could match his own network.

Akasha was filtering, assessing, and compiling every scrap of available information in real time. The resulting map was likely unmatched by anyone not directly waging the war.

No—intelligence had never been what he was after. What mattered were the names of the other human powers being sent. Only with that knowledge could he begin to plan in earnest.

Allies or hindrances, sacrificial lambs or key players—everything would depend on who stood beside him…

Zeke felt his blood stir. The mere thought of combat awakened instincts that political intrigue never could. He suspected it was his draconic nature, baring its bloody maw after lying dormant for too long.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Heartbeats like war drums.

A touch of Mind Magic steadied his rousing blood. Not yet.

Clarity returned, sweeping away the haze of bloodlust. His gaze shifted to the delegation—Lyriel and her three companions.

He would accept this deal. He knew it, and they likely knew it too.

All the more reason to keep a cool head. This was the final moment before the terms became fixed, his last chance to wring out an additional edge.

What else did he need? What else could he demand?

His eyes met those of the Archmage who had spoken earlier, the one who had first played at leading their party.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“There is one more thing I want before I accept this deal.”

Lyriel gestured for him to continue, though it was clear she hadn’t expected more demands after everything had already been agreed upon.

Zeke pointed at the Archmage. “I want her.”

Lyriel rolled her eyes. “That joke was effective once, but it won’t fluster us a second time.”

“I am not joking.”

Lyriel’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing to sharp slits. “Explain your meaning.”

Zeke inclined his head, his expression utterly serious. “Despite my influence, it has been difficult to secure a competent healer.” He paused, watching Lyriel’s face shift from hostility to contemplation. “You ask me to go to war—to risk the lives of my people, my friends, my family. How could I not ask for at least a safeguard to improve their chances? Especially when my new allies have healers in spades?”

The words were carefully chosen, but not lies. The plea reflected Zeke’s true thoughts.

The Matriarchy would hardly miss a single Archmage with a common affinity, but to him, a Life-attuned Archmage could mean the difference between burying his people—or not.

Lyriel clearly understood this was no longer a casual request. Nor could she easily refuse. After all, these three had been sent as little more than ornaments; she couldn’t now claim the Matriarchy couldn’t spare them.

To deny him would be the same as saying they didn’t care whether his people lived or died.

“Why her?” Lyriel asked at last.

Not a refusal, not yet an acceptance. But it meant he still had a chance.

“Her Mana is the purest,” Zeke said without a moment’s hesitation. And indeed, that was the only reason he had asked for her.

“Is that all?”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “What else would it be?”

“Raileh is renowned for her beauty, even among my people. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

Zeke studied the elf he had chosen once more.

Her ashen-blonde hair shimmered faintly in the light, cascading in soft waves that framed her features. High cheekbones and a slender jaw gave her an air of refinement, while her pale skin carried the faint glow of Yggdrasil’s chosen.

Her eyes, clear and watchful, held a depth that spoke of centuries, yet her posture was graceful without pretense. Draped in flowing robes that whispered of her heritage, she embodied the effortless beauty for which her people were famed.

Zeke took it all in at a glance, then turned back to Lyriel.

“Fine. I’ll take that one instead.” He pointed at the elf with the second purest Mana.

Both Lyriel and the elf herself froze, their mouths falling open.

“J-just like that?”

Zeke shrugged. “I want a healer, not a concubine. If you manage to teach a pig to use Life Magic, I’ll happily take that instead.”

“P-pig!” The newly chosen elf clearly did not appreciate the comparison.

Zeke winced. His wording had been poor, though unintended.

“How about this?” he said before the outrage could grow. “You decide among yourselves who will stay. All I ask is for a competent healer to keep my people safe. Who that is makes no difference to me.”

He extended his hand, making it clear he was ready to commit on the spot if they conceded this last point.

“Do we have a deal?”

B8 - Chapter 5: Unable to Refuse

The pendulum swung left to right, marking the passage of time as hundreds of tiny gears drove the mechanism within the clock. Zeke’s gaze was fixed on it, though his mind was far away. Even so, his fingers tapped along with the rhythm as he waited for the elven delegation in the reception room.

They had come to see him.

He had often speculated on how the elves would react after their humiliation at the hands of the human powers. Even their supposed allies, the Alliance nations, had turned a cold shoulder to their plight.

It must have stung their pride.

For a race with such strength and history, to be ignored and sidelined was a heavy blow. Yet it hadn’t surprised Zeke.

The elves were powerful, yes—but their power was conditional. No one could touch them within their sacred forest, guarded by the World Tree. There, they thrived, fearing neither man nor beast.

But that safety carried a price. Isolation bred stagnation, and comfort dulled urgency. Once the pinnacle of magical might, the elves had traded hunger for ease.

Zeke still didn’t fully understand Augustus’s reasoning in unleashing an Exarch against a people who had been largely peaceful for centuries, but one truth was clear: the attack had revealed to the continent that the elves were no longer the unchallenged hegemons they had once been.

Augustus certainly didn’t fear them. So why should anyone else?

It was hard to argue against such logic. The elves had been humiliated both on the battlefield and in the political halls, and still, there had been no repercussions for the aggressor.

To many, the Matriarchy now looked like a toothless tiger, ripe to be toppled from its throne and plundered for all it was worth.

Was that Augustus’s true aim in Rukia? To prepare a staging ground against the elves? To strip them of their riches?

Zeke shook his head. Unlikely. No matter how powerless the elves might appear, pushing them too far would be a losing move. The moment they felt truly threatened, all hesitation about working with the Alliance would vanish.

And that was the last thing Augustus would want.

For all their flaws, the elves excelled at one thing above all others: Life Magic. The ultimate support magic, it was their bread and butter, with more than half their population born to it.

It was the main reason they fared so poorly in battle, yet also what made them invaluable as allies. The difference between an army supported by Life Magic and one without was like night and day—an advantage that simply could not be overstated.

Soldiers with Life Magic at their backs stayed healthy, fresh, and rested, often performing as if they were several times their actual number.

Even Zeke could not deny the special place Life Magic held in warfare. More than once, he had tried to recruit skilled Life Mages into his service, but every one of them had left when the Empire began issuing threats against him. At present, he didn’t have a single one in his employ.

That was likely why he sensed the approaching elven delegation before they even entered his Sphere of Awareness. The dense cluster of Life Magic was so potent that few in the third circle could have missed it.

The moment they crossed into his Sphere, his mind was already at work. Before they even stepped through the main gate, Zeke had a full report hovering before his eyes.

Akasha knew exactly how valuable information was at a time like this and had prepared it before he could even ask.

With a silent thanks to the Spirit, Zeke scanned the short dossiers on each member. There were four in total, none carrying the rank of an Exarch. Even so, he knew immediately who the most important among them was.

Lyriel.

Her name had reached his ears more than once. She had been one of the few to accompany Matriarch Goldleaf to the city and was something of a friend to Margret. From their conversations, Zeke knew Lady Goldleaf trusted her with weighty responsibilities.

The others were likely there only to bolster the delegation’s numbers and preserve appearances.

Zeke skimmed through everything he had on the young elf. Thanks to Margret’s reports, there was plenty to review, and he had only just finished when a delicate knock came at the door.

On cue, the reports vanished from his sight.

“Enter.”

The servant girl stepped inside first, followed by four women draped in ornate golden cloaks. Lyriel lingered at the back, almost as though hiding behind the others. The positioning did not seem strange, given that the three ahead of her were Archmages while Lyriel herself was only a Grandmage.

Zeke played the part of the gracious host, rising from his chair to greet them.

“Welcome, friends from the West. To have visitors from the esteemed World Tree brings honor to me and my house.”

He was laying it on a bit thick, but naturally, it served a purpose. The elves were in a precarious position, uncertain how they would be received in light of their perceived weakness.

All the more reason to reassure them that they still held respect here.

And it worked like a charm. Though the three Archmages tried to hide it, to a practiced eye like his, the signs were obvious. Relaxed breathing. Chests puffed out. Spines straightened. Nothing escaped his spatial awareness.

Except for Lyriel.

The youngest of the elves didn’t react at all to his words. Either she saw through the charade, or she cared nothing for flattery. From her dossier, Zeke knew she was something of a free thinker, an oddity among elves.

And supposedly, frighteningly smart.

Most likely, she understood exactly what he was doing and why, which explained her lack of response.

Zeke smirked. If so, then she was indeed a strong choice for a negotiation. And that, in turn, confirmed his suspicion that this visit was exactly that: a negotiation.

Either way, it was time to test the waters.

“What can my humble house do for the mighty chosen of Yggdrasil?”

One of the three Archmages stepped forward. “We have come to extend a belated thanks for the grace you bestowed upon us during our last visit.”

Her presence was majestic, her beauty exceptional. She might have fooled most others, but Zeke already knew she was only a smokescreen. Even so, he chose to play along for now, if only to uncover the real purpose of this farce.

“That is kind of you,” he said. “And what sort of gratitude did you have in mind?”

“That…” The woman faltered, unprepared for his push. Her eyes went to Lyriel ever so slightly before she spoke. “Are our words not enough?”

So, that was how Lyriel wanted to play it? Guide the talks from the shadows while keeping herself out of sight? Not on his watch.

Zeke shook his head and stepped forward. Then another. With each pace, the delegation grew more tense. The sight of three Archmages bracing at his approach was almost laughable.

Yet once again, Lyriel remained calm. Likely, she thought he couldn’t afford to harm them, even if he wished to. The political consequences would ruin him.

What a naive thought.

His smile widened as he reached the delegation. The three Archmages shifted aside when they realized he wasn’t stopping. Careless—such movement left the last member exposed.

Lyriel stood before him, wide-eyed, suddenly face-to-face with a very tall human looming over her.

“I think… I would like to have this one as a concubine,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “That should suffice to show your gratitude.”

Nobody spoke.

Three Archmages stood frozen, as if all sense had left them. Clearly, this situation was beyond their ability to handle. Not that it mattered—this little play wasn’t meant for them anyway.

Zeke raised his hand slowly, placing his index finger beneath Lyriel’s chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“What do you think of that suggestion, Lyriel Silverleaf?”

“I don’t think—” the girl managed after a long moment.

Zeke was already shaking his head, turning away, and strolling back to his seat. “Too late. I’ve already lost interest.”

The sight that awaited him was almost comical. Three elven beauties, each with the strength of an Archmage, glanced back and forth between him and Lyriel. And then there was Lyriel herself—the one most confused of all, as if she had no idea what had just happened.

Just as he thought. For all her wit, this girl likely had very little experience leading a negotiation herself. As an advisor, she had enjoyed the luxury of watching from the sidelines, detached and untouchable. That privilege no longer existed now that she held the reins.

Zeke would make sure she learned the difference.

“This… is quite inappropriate,” the leading woman from earlier said once it became clear Lyriel was too flustered to respond. “We came here—”

Her words were cut short by a raised hand.

“I know you haven’t come to extend your gratitude,” Zeke said slowly, making her shrink back as the lie was exposed. “And I also know that Lady Goldleaf wouldn’t send one of her most trusted confidants for such an errand.”

His gaze returned to Lyriel, dismissing the other three elves as if they weren’t even there.

“I’ll ask again: What can my humble house do for the mighty chosen of Yggdrasil?”

The words were the same, but the meaning had shifted entirely. Now, no one would mistake them for respect. Instead, they dripped with mockery. How far the mighty chosen of Yggdrasil must have fallen, to come and beg for my humble aid.

Now, all that remained was to see what kind of woman Lyriel truly was.

Sink… or swim.

“We… I… have come to make you an offer,” she began, her words halting at first but growing steadier with each syllable, “One you will be unable to refuse.”

By the end, her voice carried a sharp edge. Not teasing—challenging. Good. This girl was learning quickly. Perhaps there was truth to her rumored intellect.

The corner of Zeke’s lips rose. “Those are the offers I like most. Tell me, what is it that you think I cannot refuse?”

Lyriel no longer tried to hide behind pretense. She must have realized she couldn’t outplay Zeke at games, so she played her strongest card instead.

“You are searching for Cassius?”

Zeke nodded. It was inevitable the elves would learn of this. After all, he had asked Margret to keep her ears open. It wasn’t much of a secret anyway.

“You want your sister to walk his path,” Lyriel pressed.

“I do.” There was no point denying it, especially if this talk was heading where he hoped.

Lyriel smiled, much of her confidence restored.

“That is what I offer you.”

Zeke remained silent for a while, weighing the possibilities.

“You have Cassius?” he asked at last. That would at least explain why he had been unable to find the man.

Lyriel shook her head. “Cassius Leafless is not someone who can be captured easily. It would likely take one of our Matriarchs to bring him in alive.”

“—And they wouldn’t leave the forest for such an errand, especially not now,” Zeke finished for her.

Lyriel didn’t even try to deny it. She simply nodded. “And even if we had him in custody, it is highly unlikely he would agree to teach your sister. Fortunately, that is not what we offer. We have… something even better.”

Zeke leaned forward despite himself. Something better? That was a bold claim. Still, he was open to being pleasantly surprised.

Lyriel’s lips curved, clearly savoring his anticipation.

“We have the mentor who trained Cassius—from his awakening until after he became an Archmage.”

Zeke’s eyes widened slightly. That was… indeed something. Instead of the student, they offered the teacher. Instead of the product, the factory.

Interesting.

“And this person is willing to teach my sister?”

“Most certainly.”

Zeke nodded slowly. “When can she be here?”

At that, Lyriel’s expression shifted. “That is not going to be possible, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“This individual holds a… unique standing among our people. They cannot leave the Tree.”

A moment later, Zeke understood the implication. “You want Maya to move to Yggdrasil.”

Lyriel nodded. “That is our offer. Your sister will enjoy privileges few receive, even among our own. Lady Goldleaf will look after her as if she were her own blood. With such a patron, the opportunities before her would be endless.”

“…Even I never enjoyed such prospects,” she added softly.

Zeke was torn. The matter of his sister’s mentor had weighed heavily on his mind for some time. And while this wasn’t exactly what he had hoped for, it was still an extraordinary opportunity. Not only would Maya learn from the one who had guided Cassius, but she would also gain access to the privileges of the elven elite.

Zeke harbored no illusions about his place in the world. Even though his Mana Purifying device was a marvel, it likely paled beside what the Matriarchy could provide. His invention could accelerate the growth of a Core, yes—but for someone without his urgency, its usefulness was limited.

The elves, however, could offer much more. They could broaden Maya’s horizons in ways he could not, with access to knowledge, luxuries, and wealth that few in the world could rival.

Zeke’s expression darkened. It wasn’t indecision; it was his unwillingness to accept the choice his rational mind had already made.

This was, indeed, an offer he could not refuse.

B8 - Chapter 4: The Road Ahead

Zeke opened his eyes, recognizing the vaulted glass ceiling of his personal Mana Purifying Device. This third version had only minor improvements in function, but its auxiliary features had changed considerably.

The once futuristic, menacing chamber now resembled a cozy glass room with a mattress inside. At a glance, one might mistake it for nothing more than a decorative eccentricity rather than the highly complex chemical marvel it truly was. The engineered components had been hidden away, giving the device the look of an ordinary, even stylish, piece of furniture.

From a merchant’s perspective, Zeke would have called it a finished product, ready for market. Not that he had any intention of selling it.

The moment he stirred, the entire upper part of the device swung open like an oyster revealing its pearl.

Zeke rose quickly and stretched, his body feeling as rested and limber as ever. Truly marvelous. The greatest flaw of the device—the dangerously addictive nature of purified Mana—had been countered by Akasha sending his mind into a trance during operation.

For now, the Spirit still did this manually for him and the twins, but they were already working on an Enchantment to automate the process in the future. Without such a safeguard, the device could never be used safely.

Speaking of the twins, both Kallen and Keiran had already met their new teachers. Merchant Lord Chen’s wife had proven to be an exceptionally pleasant woman—gentle, nurturing, and endlessly patient.

If she had been tasked with teaching Zeke, he would likely have felt awkward under such constant praise and affirmation. But for Kallen, it was a perfect match.

It never got old to watch the icy girl flush like an embarrassed child when showered with compliments for the simplest of tasks. The smile that lingered on her face afterward, however, showed she didn’t truly dislike it.

Honestly, she seemed starved for affection.

That realization made Zeke want to have a serious word with her parents—but naturally, he couldn’t. They had vanished after betraying him and his household.

Whatever deal they had struck with the Empire, Zeke neither knew nor cared. They possessed little of real value, and it wasn’t as though the Empire could become any more hostile toward him than it already was.

As for the twins?

If they cared about their parents’ absence, they hid it well. In fact, they seemed to be breathing easier without them around. Then again, it might simply have been that they were so absorbed in their new studies that they had no time for anything else.

Keiran had also begun his tutoring under Solon.

Zeke didn’t know the details of their lessons—Keiran simply vanished from the estate during the appointed times and reappeared once the sessions were over. Still, according to the boy, the Exarch was satisfied, and the lectures were going well.

That was all Zeke knew, and all he truly needed to know.

As for his promise to Solon, he had long since put it out of mind. There was no rivalry between him and Keiran, and there never would be. Exarch teacher or not, the fastest recorded advance to Archmage had taken more than eighty years.

That was considered fast. But if Zeke advanced at that pace, he would likely die long before reaching that stage.

If he so wished, Zeke could push his Core to the peak of Grandmage within weeks by abusing the Mana Purifying device. But there was no point. He had already identified two other requirements that had to be fulfilled before he could even think of stepping into the rank of Archmage.

The first was his Concepts.

The second was his Soul.

At present, Zeke was still refining his Concepts—or more accurately, his singular Concept.

He had once planned to develop a separate one for each of his affinities. But over time, he began to sense that this was not the true path forward.

At the Archmage level, one’s Core merged with the body. The problem was that a human only had a single body. That was also the reason behind the widely held belief that multi-affinity Mages could not advance to Archmage.

Yet Maximilian, Aurelia, and Cassius had achieved it.

Zeke had long wondered what set them apart, why they had succeeded where so many others had failed. Eventually, he found his answer.

Growth Magic and Seismic Magic. That was what they had called it.

Not Life and Nature, but Growth.
Not Earth and Fire, but Seismic.

It implied that they had merged their affinities into one. This was not an entirely new speculation, but Zeke was reasonably sure he had uncovered the method behind it.

A unifying Concept.

It had to be.

No, more than that. Zeke could feel it in his bones. This was the right path, the hidden method to reach the Archmage level with multiple affinities. He sensed that this was the very road Maximilian had been guiding him toward from the very beginning.

The old man had always emphasized synergies between affinities, urging him to engrave spells that worked together.

Zeke was certain. Certain enough to wager his entire future on it.

The problem was… his work with Concepts had stalled. He had successfully combined his Blood Concept of Return with his Space Concept of Avoidance, but the final step eluded him: Merging them with a third. No matter what he tried, the Mind Concept of Planning refused to merge with the others. At this point, Zeke was beginning to suspect something was wrong with his entire approach.

Planning was simple in theory. The easiest way to explain it was this: instead of thinking a single move ahead, the Concept allowed the spell to consider two.

In practice, a projectile returning to him wouldn’t necessarily take the shortest route to dodge an obstacle, but the path that set it up for a quicker return afterward. The more layers of foresight he could implement, the more efficient the Planning would become.

At least, that was how the Concept was supposed to work. In reality, it had done nothing but paralyze the other two, rendering them useless. Zeke had never managed to get a single spell imbued with Planning to even budge.

It was maddening.

His body moved on autopilot while his mind churned over the hurdle before him.

Should he start fresh, building from a different Concept as the base? Would it help to alter his Space Concept into something that meshed better with Mind? Or was it the Mind Concept itself that was flawed?

One possibility chased the next, probabilities forming and dissolving in his mind’s eye—until all thought came to a halt with a casual glance out the window.

There, in the training yard where his wards usually gathered at this time of day, sat a single girl.

She was seated cross-legged on a meditation mat. Her eyes were closed, but in front of her, a tiny seedling peeked from a pot of soil. From the shape of its petals, Zeke recognized it as a young moonflower just beginning to sprout.

His feet stilled as his gaze lingered on the young girl. Only days ago, she had trained alongside three others, but now each of them had found teachers, leaving her the only one forced to study alone.

Who else could it be?

His search for the perfect mentor for his sister had achieved the opposite. The very girl he had most wanted to support had ended up receiving the least guidance. Though she had yet to voice a complaint, Zeke could well imagine how bitter it must feel to watch her friends advance by leaps and bounds while she remained behind.

All the more admirable, then, that the frustration hadn’t shaken her discipline. She hadn’t slacked in the slightest, pouring herself into training with a diligence surpassed only by Kallen.

But how could effort alone be enough to keep pace with students guided by masters of their craft? Zeke remembered his own struggles before meeting Maximilian. As a young apprentice, even a single word from a mentor could cut through hours of doubt and wasted trial.

And though he could try to fill that role, he knew too little of the intricacies of Life and Nature to guide her properly. Especially now, in the early stages, when magic was about cultivating the right instincts and familiarity, his lack of knowledge made him unfit to mentor her.

Even so, one thing was clear: he could not allow his sister to continue floundering. He considered taking the same approach he had with Lue. Finding a decent teacher for Life and another for Nature wouldn’t be difficult.

But a stubborn part of him rejected that idea outright. How could he risk such a path, knowing the key to advancement lay in synergy between affinities? To cultivate them separately from the very beginning could only make the road ahead harder—if it left any road at all.

No.

He would not risk it, not with Maya. The way her eyes had gleamed when she watched that elven Archmage bend trees into houses was seared into his memory. How could he ever tell her she would never reach that level simply because he had failed to guide her well?

Zeke would always choose to endure a little suffering now rather than far greater suffering later.

He didn’t know if Maya saw things the same way, but as head of the household, he would not allow her the chance to choose differently. That was his prerogative.

Even so, the problem remained. Cassius was out of reach, and there was no telling if it would take days or years before Zeke could track him down. Worse, he had no confidence in convincing the man to take Maya as a student.

His arrangement with Solon had been a stroke of luck, and he had nothing to offer an Exarch in exchange for such a service. Cassius was much the same. His unique Growth Magic allowed him to create an almost limitless supply of natural treasures, leaving him with no want for wealth.

If Cassius put his mind to it, he could very well rival Midas in riches. Zeke still remembered vividly the casual ease with which the half-elf had cultivated a new kind of superfood that solved all of Undercity’s problems.

Growth Magic, paired with a keen mind, was an utterly fraudulent ability.

Zeke shook his head, pushing aside the distracting thoughts. He had to make a decision soon. How much longer could he afford to wait for news of Cassius before giving up? Advancement in the early stages came easily, and he didn’t want Maya falling too far behind because of his stubbornness.

Even if Cassius had been his first choice, that didn’t mean he had no other options. Tradespire was a melting pot of people from across the continent. Surely, someone here could serve as a suitable tutor for his sister…

His Spatial Awareness picked up the person rushing down the corridors long before he heard their footsteps. Their destination was clear.

Zeke turned from the window to face the empty hall. Moments passed in silence before the hurried steps finally reached him, followed by the huffing breaths of an exhausted servant. The poor girl must have sprinted the whole way.

He stepped forward to meet her halfway. She greeted him clumsily, still catching her breath.

Zeke waited patiently, extending his Sphere of Awareness to check for any abnormalities that might justify such urgency. But everything seemed in order within the bounds of his estate.

At last, the girl straightened, her breathing steadying.

“Young Lord, there is news from the Potrals,” she blurted.

“What news?”

“The elves… they are sending another delegation!”

Zeke’s brows furrowed. The elves had grown more active of late. One of their Matriarchs had even left their sacred lands to attend the hearing, and now they were sending another delegation to Tradespire. Interesting indeed.

“I understand,” he said. “Are we expected to host them again during their stay?”

The girl shook her head. “No, Lord. This delegation has come specifically to visit our household.”

B8 - Chapter 3: The one who can beat me

"Can I ask you for a personal favor?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Zeke could almost see Solon’s guard rising.

No surprise there. Countless people had likely tried to exploit the power and influence of an Exarch for their own ends. That was probably why the three living in Tradespire rarely appeared in public—and if they did, it was with their identities concealed.

Even so, Zeke pressed on. He had no intention of seeking Solon’s influence or protection. What he truly valued was the man’s unparalleled insight into Space.

If nothing else, he was certain such a request would not offend the Exarch.

“What do you want?” Solon asked, his voice as guarded as his stance. It was clear he was half a mind to refuse outright, yet curiosity compelled him to listen.

“There is a child in my household—one who awakened with a Perfect Space affinity.”

Solon’s demeanor shifted at once. This was clearly not what he had expected. A good start.

“…I reached out to Cosmoa in search of a teacher, but the conditions they demanded were… outrageous.”

This was a gamble. Solon’s grayish skin marked him as a Cosmoa native, but Zeke didn’t know his opinion on their policies. Still, the fact that he had left his homeland even as an Exarch made it a safe bet that he didn’t see eye to eye with them on more than just a few matters.

“…I am not surprised,” Solon said at last. His face, and the slight shake of his head, carried a deep bitterness. “Hoarding anything of value has always been the mantra of my kin. One begins to wonder if we are truly fully human—or if we share some dwarven blood.”

Good.

This was the most Zeke had ever heard Solon speak, aside from when he had lectured about the mysteries of Space. Clearly, this was a subject he cared deeply about.

“It seems we see eye to eye on that. Knowledge should be shared, not hoarded.”

An outright lie.

Though Zeke believed in equal opportunities, he was far too paranoid to ever reveal all his knowledge. His understanding of Soul Magic, for example, was something he intended to take to the grave.

Still, the fact that he had spearheaded an initiative to give commoners access to Magic lent his words credibility.

As expected, Solon nodded slowly. “I have heard of your efforts, and I applaud your dedication…”

That was all he said, but Zeke knew an opening when he saw one. “Unfortunately, my own mastery of Space is far from enough to guide such an exceptional child.”

Solon scoffed. “Naturally. How could a child teach another child?”

Zeke’s pride chafed at the words. Even knowing Solon hadn’t meant them as an insult, the casual dismissal of his abilities and knowledge still stung. Yet he chose to swallow the grievance.

“…Yes. I was hoping you might know someone who could… teach him in my stead?”

Solon stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Zeke without a hint of expression for what felt like an eternity.

“Do you think I cannot see your thoughts?” he asked at last. “It is plain you want me to teach the child myself.”

Zeke put on an embarrassed look, though it didn’t reflect his true feelings. The clumsy attempt to disguise his intentions had been no accident. He had simply wanted Solon to voice the possibility on his own.

“That… was indeed my hope.”

Solon fell quiet again, seemingly lost in thought. Another good sign. It meant he hadn’t rejected the idea outright. Likely, there would be conditions attached, but that was something Zeke could work with—

“I have a question,” Solon said suddenly. “Will you answer it honestly?”

Zeke’s brows furrowed. This wasn’t what he had expected, but he couldn’t back down now.

“I promise.”

Solon studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Are you not afraid of having me teach this child?”

“Afraid?”

The word slipped out, honest confusion in his tone. Why would he be afraid? Wasn’t that exactly what he wanted?

Solon’s frown deepened. “If a child with a Perfect Affinity were to receive tutoring from an Exarch, how long do you think it would take before they surpassed you?”

Zeke’s mind stilled. The question caught him completely unprepared. It wasn’t that it awoke a hidden fear or shocked him with some revelation.

No. The reason he was at a loss was far simpler.

“Not at all,” he answered truthfully. “I do not fear that possibility in the slightest.”

“No?” Solon asked. His tone made it clear he didn’t believe the answer. “Then do you hold so little faith in my teachings?”

Zeke shook his head almost immediately. “I believe there is no better mentor for Keiran.”

“Hoh? Then is the child perhaps lazy?”

Zeke shook his head again. “He is a mature young man who has never shied away from hard work. He is the kind of boy any mentor would be proud to teach.”

“Is he slow to learn, then?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’d say that among all the young talents of my house, his wit is second to none.”

This time, Solon didn’t ask another question. Instead, a look of baffled confusion settled on his face.

“So…” Solon said at last, gathering his thoughts. “This child is intelligent, hardworking, blessed with a Perfect Affinity, and even with an exceptional teacher, you still do not fear him surpassing you?”

Zeke nodded without hesitation. “That is right.”

“Why?”

Why indeed. This question was harder to answer, mostly because he didn’t have a clear reason for feeling the way he did. Was it arrogance? Hubris? The influence of his Draconic heart creeping into his thoughts?

Zeke didn’t know, and he didn’t much care to examine it. Solon hadn’t asked for an academic answer anyway, but a personal one. It was only right he answered from the heart.

“My eyes are fixed on the stars,” he said. “That means I do not look back at a child learning to walk in fear it might sprint past me.”

“Sometimes…” Solon said slowly. “We refuse to see a problem until it grows too big.” The cryptic statement was followed by a slight shake of his head, as though warding away darker thoughts. His eyes sharpened in the next moment, boring into Zeke. “I ask you now: what will you do if this child surpasses you under my guidance?”

Zeke didn’t flinch from his gaze. “It seems you already have something in mind, senior.”

Solon nodded. “If this child surpasses you under my guidance, I would ask that you release him and remove any restriction you might have placed on him.”

Zeke studied the man for a moment. It was clear Solon had a personal stake in this, a glimpse into a past he wasn’t willing to reveal. But Zeke could guess well enough.

Given the crippling constraints Cosmoa placed on its people, it wasn’t hard to imagine the struggles Solon must have endured to win his freedom. No wonder he was so bitterly opposed to their ways.

A smile slowly curved Zeke’s lips.

He had no desire to dig into a past the man wished to keep hidden. It didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was that Solon had agreed to teach Keiran—even if it was only to soothe the scars of his own past.

That was enough.

“I agree to your terms,” Zeke said without hesitation.

Solon frowned. “I sense you only agree because you believe it impossible for this child to overtake you. Be aware: I will hold you to these conditions.”

Zeke nodded easily. “I might be a sore loser, but I do not speak lightly, and I never go back on my word. If Keiran surpasses me, I will do everything in my power to sever ties between us.”

That seemed to reassure the Exarch; his expression eased. Yet the tension was replaced by something else.

Curiosity.

“…You need not answer if you do not wish to,” he began, uncharacteristically hesitant. “But I would still like to know what gives you such confidence.”

Zeke pondered. Naturally, he wouldn’t reveal his secrets, but they weren’t the source of his confidence anyway.

“Talent… Smarts… Resources… Teachers… All of these are valuable, and one can never have too many. But I do not believe they are what matters most in the end.”

Solon watched him, his expression unreadable, though Zeke could tell he was listening closely.

“There is another, more intangible quality. One that I believe plays a far greater role for anyone seeking to rise.”

“What quality is that?”

“I don’t know if it has a name. But if I had to describe it, I’d say it’s the voice in the back of your mind—the one that pushes you when all else fails, the one that refuses to yield when your body is broken and your spirit is crushed.”

Solon looked at him dubiously. “That is your reason? That voice?”

Zeke shrugged. The phenomenon was hard to explain to someone who hadn’t felt it. Maybe an example would help.

“I once crossed the desert of Korrovan during storm season. Did you know?”

Solon’s brows furrowed. “That seems a rather simple feat for a Mage.”

Zeke nodded. “I did it with no water.”

“I am not impressed.”

“With no mount.”

“…”

“Carrying three unconscious people.”

“…”

“With one arm.”

“…!”

“Feeding them my own blood so they would survive.”

By now, Solon was staring at him with a solemn expression. “Is that the power of the voice you spoke of?” he asked. “Was it that whisper that allowed you to push yourself that far?”

Zeke’s smile widened. “Whisper? No. I stopped hearing it as a whisper a long time ago. These days, that voice speaks to me like an old friend. It’s the other voice that has become the whisper—the one that says I’ve done enough, the one that says a human can only endure so much.”

Solon gave him a strange look, as if uncertain how to respond.

“Point is,” Zeke continued, his grin sharpening, “it won’t matter how well Keiran is taught, who teaches him, or how hard he works. It won’t matter what advantages he gains or how many secret methods he learns. I’ll always be working harder, learning more, pushing further.” His grin spread wide.

“The only one who can beat me… is me.”

With every word, Solon’s frown deepened, his eyes turning sharper. Exactly as Zeke intended. He wanted to stoke the pride of an Exarch, to push Solon into teaching Keiran with everything he had, holding nothing back.

“That arrogance will cost you, boy…” Solon said, his competitive spirit clearly provoked. No surprise there. Anyone who reached the level of Exarch had clawed their way to the pinnacle of their generation through sheer effort. Naturally, none of them would take such a challenge lightly.

But who was Zeke? Did he fear the prodigies of the past—or the ones yet to come?

His eyes blazed with challenge.

“Do your worst.”

B8 - Chapter 2: An Unexpected Chance

As if waiting for the signal, four Cores flared at once.

Zeke felt a faint draw on the ambient Mana as the four apprentice-level Mages did their utmost to display their progress.

By far, the strongest pull came from Keiran. The boy with the perfect affinity was already handling Mana on par with a weaker True Mage. His Core, working with almost no loss, turned neutral ambient Mana into pure, Space-attuned Mana.

It radiated from him in waves, pleasantly brushing against Zeke’s senses. It tasted of ozone and freedom.

The next strongest draw came from Kallen. Despite her weak affinity, her Core was far more developed than the other two. Still, Zeke could sense how much Mana was wasted. That was the curse of a lesser Core—twice the effort for half the result.

But in her case, it wasn’t as crippling as it might have been for others. Time affinity spells were famously efficient. With only a fraction of the Mana required for other affinities, they could achieve remarkable effects. The price, however, was precision. They demanded an almost frightening level of control.

The feeling of Time Mana was unlike anything else. Not pleasant, not unpleasant—simply inevitable. Like watching the sunrise, knowing nothing could halt its climb.

Finally, his attention shifted to Lue. Metal and Mind mixed within her Core, forming something both familiar and strange. Zeke knew well the cold, logical presence of Mind Mana. But combined with Metal, it carried another quality altogether. His mind conjured the image of millions of tiny gears locking into place, powering some vast mechanism whose end he could not see.

Finally, his focus shifted to his little sister, her face flushed red from maintaining her output for so long. Even so, her draw had not faltered.

Nature and Life.

The blend of these two affinities could be summed up in a single word: Pleasant.

It felt like a cool summer breeze tousling his hair, carrying the scent of pine and flowers.

If ever there were affinities made to complement one another, it was these two. Zeke almost wished he could distill their essence into a fragrance, just so he could enjoy it all day.

Zeke shook off the distraction and motioned for the four to stop.

Relief spread across their faces as they relaxed their Cores, waiting eagerly for his feedback. Their expectant looks were almost adorable, making him wonder if he, too, had been like that in his first months after Awakening.

Likely not. The brutally competitive environment of the Elementium would have robbed him of such childish eagerness quickly.

All the better, then, that his sister and wards would not be forced down that same path. Competition was good—but not when it stripped all joy from those who competed.

“Impressive,” he said to their visible joy. “Now show me your control.”

This time, the roles reversed. Kallen, who had seemed the least confident before, stepped forward with pride shining on her face.

Zeke focused. His spatial perception gave him a far clearer picture than raw Mana sense ever could. Even so, he could only vaguely follow what Kallen was doing. Not that it mattered, the result was plain to all.

Tick… Tick… Tick… Tick…

Four ticks. Each one spaced exactly a second apart.

Zeke’s jaw nearly dropped.

This was Tick—the very first of his own Time Magic spells. He hadn’t even known Kallen had begun learning spells, much less that she could already cast one effectively.

That pace was terrifying for a Time Mage. It was said that most required at least a year after awakening before they had the control to attempt their first spell. In this regard, Kallen was far ahead of the pack.

This girl…

Zeke knew what this meant. Twelve hours a day spent inside the Mana Purifying device, and now he knew exactly how she had been spending the other twelve.

His expression hardened, all mirth vanishing as he locked eyes with the hopeful young girl.

“Well done.”

Two simple words. No flowery praise, no grand gestures. Yet Zeke spoke with complete sincerity, doing his best to show that he understood how much work it had taken to get this far.

Kallen bowed again, but Zeke's spatial sense told him that it wasn’t a gesture of respect this time. It was to hide the tears welling in her reddened eyes.

“I’ll go next,” Keiran said at once, stepping forward to shield his sister from the moment.

Naturally, Zeke didn’t call it out. He allowed the brother to come to her rescue.

Keiran’s control was… well, there was no polite way to put it: it was terrible.

Zeke understood the reason better than anyone. The Mana produced by a Perfect Core was like a rampaging beast. His own Perfect Blood affinity had caused him no small amount of trouble, but unlike the relatively docile Blood Mana, Keiran had to wrestle a torrent of Space itself.

And if there was one thing Space hated, it was being controlled.

Zeke nodded, his expression caught between a wince and an encouraging smile.

Keiran stepped back, his head bowed. His attempt to shield his sister had come at a cost—a serious blow to his pride, as his two reddened ears made clear.

Fortunately, there was nobody to laugh at his poor showing.

Maya and Lue weren’t much better off themselves. Though their affinities were easier to handle, each had to juggle two at once. That split in focus slowed their progress with both. It was much like a child raised with two languages—often slower to speak, and their words more halting at first.

Again, this was something Zeke knew all too well from personal experience.

He clapped his hands, drawing his wards’ attention. “Control isn’t something that can be forced. Even if it doesn’t feel like it now, every hour you invest brings you one step closer to your goals.”

Though true, the words offered little comfort. With Kallen around, Zeke himself wouldn’t have believed them either. That girl was simply a freak.

“When am I gonna get my tutor?” Maya asked hopefully. “Any progress?”

Zeke sighed. He had mentally chosen Cassius as her mentor the moment her affinities were revealed, but his search for the man had stalled completely. That particular half-elf and his Titan wife were like the wind—impossible to pin down. It seemed they could only be encountered by chance, never by pursuit.

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t expect too much, Maya. Even the best mentor can only guide you. Doing the work will still be your responsibility.”

Maya pouted but didn’t argue. After all, Kallen had mastered her first spell without a tutor, leaving her with no excuses. Even so, Zeke understood his sister’s hope. Having Maximilian as a mentor had been invaluable to him, and he had wished to find someone similar for her.

“I will do my best to find suitable tutors for both of you,” he promised, looking at Maya and Keiran in turn. “But in the meanwhile, do not waste time. Until you’ve mastered the basic spells from Maximilian’s collection, there isn’t much a tutor can help you with.”

At that, their expressions grew more resolute. It was always better to give people a concrete goal. That way, they felt more in control of their situation. The only downside was that Zeke had also placed a timer on his promise.

If he couldn’t find suitable tutors before they mastered the basics, he would be in trouble.

Before he could continue, a strange sensation gripped his body. It was like a gentle pull, urging him to follow. Zeke had never felt anything like it, yet he knew exactly what it meant.

A small smile spread across his face as he allowed the force to take hold.

“Work hard—”

That was all he managed to say before the surrounding Space swallowed him whole.

In the next moment, Zeke found himself in a different, yet familiar place. As expected, not far away stood the man he had anticipated.

“…Good to see you, Solon,” Zeke said, doing his best to hide his eagerness.

The somewhat gloomy-looking man nodded back, unbothered by the casual tone. Zeke had already noticed during his last visit that none of the Exarchs around King Midas cared much for formalities.

That suspicion had now been proven.

“Come,” the man urged, pointing behind him.

Zeke stepped closer, still unable to use his spatial perception within the Exarch’s domain of absolute control. He had no idea what Solon wanted to show him until he moved near enough to peer over the man’s shoulder.

There, he found a bowl filled with strange purple sand.

He shot Solon a questioning look.

Solon pointed at the bowl. “The old man thought you might want to see this…”

Before Zeke could ask what it was, the change began. The sand, inert only moments before, stirred. A few grains shifted at first, then the entire bowl rose into the air, arranging itself into the image of two men locked in conversation.

Though the scene lacked color, their faces were so finely detailed that Zeke recognized one immediately—wavy shoulder-length hair, high cheekbones, thin lips.

Azra von Hohenheim.

Zeke didn’t recognize the other man, though his features marked him as an Empire native.

So this was Solon’s method of spying? Or simply the medium he used to present his findings? Either way, it was fascinating—though Zeke still considered it inferior to his own Sphere of Awareness.

After all, he couldn’t even hear what they were—

Just as the thought crossed his mind, words appeared in the air beside the unknown man.

“…You have received your orders.”

Azra’s face twisted bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. “Please… if I were just given another chance.”

The man shook his head. “Midas personally requested your replacement.” He hesitated, then added, “The list of overreaches and bribes he accused you of is… quite extensive.”

Azra’s expression shifted from unwilling to angry before collapsing into helplessness.

“So what? We let the kid get away with it?”

The man shook his head again. “That is no longer your concern.”

“What if I challenged him openly?”

Zeke’s heart skipped a beat.

Azra wanted to fight him? Had his name day come early this year? From the very beginning, that had been the outcome Zeke most desired. It would be the perfect chance to rid himself of a future threat once and for all.

But the hope was short-lived.

"No," the man said. "Your existence is too valuable to risk on such an uncertain gamble."

"Has the Chancellor lost faith in me?" Azra asked, dismayed.

The stranger's tone grew firm. "The Chancellor's thoughts are his own. It is not for us to question his orders."

The fight drained out of Azra. His body sagged, collapsing inward.

"…How long do I have?"

"You are expected to leave before day's end."

With that, the stranger turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Azra stood motionless, staring into empty air for a long time. Then, a single word slipped from his lips.

"Shit…"

The sand projection collapsed, grains drifting back into the bowl.

"With this," Solon said, "the old man has kept one of his promises."

Zeke nodded. He'd never doubted Midas's sincerity, but seeing it confirmed was satisfying.

Still, now that he was here, he had no intention of wasting the opportunity. Before Solon could think of sending him back, Zeke raised a hand to stop him.

The Exarch paused, his gaze sharp and questioning.

Zeke considered how to approach this. He knew too little about this man to attempt a tailored approach, so he chose honesty.

"Can I ask you for a personal favor?"

---------------------

As promised, the second chapter of the day!

By the way, today is my mother's birthday, and she is actually reading the story here on Patreon together with all of you.

Sooooo... It would mean a lot to me if you could show her some love in the comments ❤❤❤

B8 - Chapter 1: Human Nature

To clarify what has been going on with recent releases and answer some of your questions:

Has the schedule changed?
No, the schedule has not changed. I have merely struggled to keep up due to the start of the new book.

But Elara, doesn't that mean that you owe us another chapter?
Yes. I owe you another chapter, you cheeky bastard. That is why you are getting a double release today!

But Elara, I only see a single chapter. What is going on?
I am writing as fast as I can, ok???

---------------------------------------------------------------

Humans were truly astounding creatures.

Their behavior somehow straddled the line between predictable and utterly incomprehensible at the same time.

Thoughts like these had occurred to Zeke continuously over the past few days.

Just like now, as he opened yet another letter. The sender was a councilwoman who had barely spared him a glance in recent months, and when she had, it had been with open disdain.

And yet, here it was.

Best wishes. Hopes for collaboration. She even had the audacity to claim she had secretly admired him for a long time.

Zeke shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Or perhaps shamelessness was the better word.

Still, he couldn't claim surprise at this letter, nor at any of the dozens like it he had received. With the changing of the wind, so too had his standing in the city transformed.

If he were being generous, he might call the months preceding his trial a hazing ritual. Though he had been officially inducted months ago, it had never once felt as if they truly saw him as an equal.

On the contrary, Zeke had always felt as though every last one of his fellow Merchant Lords was waiting for the chance to cut his throat or stab him in the back. As if he were an intruder in their vaunted circle.

That feeling had vanished.

And all it had taken was publicly humiliating them, threatening to burn their businesses to the ground, and striking a secret deal with the ruler of the city. In a sense, though, he understood perfectly why the Lords had changed their tune so drastically.

While he had presented himself as an enemy during the trial, he had also proven something else: he didn't need this city. He didn't need any of them. He would stand on his own, no matter what anyone else decided.

The message had been sent and received.

Ezekiel von Hohenheim was a dangerous man—a beast with claws and fangs, willing to use them against all who barred his path.

That, above all else, seemed to have earned him the respect of the ruling class.

Though he often derided them as cowards, Zeke would never deny that the Merchant Lords possessed an extraordinary sense for power dynamics. They must have felt the shift more keenly than anyone else. The signs had been there for those who paid close enough attention.

The Wraith had freed him from their whims.

The trade contracts guaranteed his supply lines.

And the right to seek refuge in any Alliance nation had severed the final thread binding him to this city. With it, he had cut away his last remaining weakness.

He had to admit, it felt good to finally remove the blade that had hung over his head for so long. If he had known that all it would take was becoming a strategic asset to the Alliance, he would have worked toward that goal long ago.

Better late than never.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Zeke tossed the letter into the air. It sailed gracefully across the room and landed squarely in the fireplace, where dozens of others already fed the flames.

Naturally, Zeke wasn't arrogant enough to believe he would never again need their help. Nor was he so close-minded as to permanently forsake every Lord who had once stood against him. Petty as he was, he could still set aside grudges if it served his interests.

The reason he burned the letters now was simple.

He didn't lack anything.

His supply lines were secure, his clients eager to buy, and his production moved like clockwork.

Whatever collaboration, deal, or offer they had, Zeke wasn't interested.

Another letter joined the fire, then a third. Until his hand suddenly stilled.

His eyes darted from left to right, a slow smile spreading across his face. Within moments, he retracted his earlier statement. There was something he needed, something he wanted enough to warrant an exception.

A teacher for his wards.

While he could easily find tutors for most of the children given his wealth and status, four posed greater challenges: Keiran, Kallen, Lue, and Maya.

With the twins, the issue lay in their affinities. Space and Time were the rarest of all, and teachers were not easily found—especially since they were also considered the most difficult affinities to master.

Zeke had reached out to potential candidates, but securing tutors had proven unexpectedly difficult. Renowned figures in those fields never lacked gold, making monetary offers less persuasive.

For Keiran, he had contacted some of Cosmoa's famous academies, but their conditions had been anything but attractive.

For Kallen, he had tried to enlist one of the Seers of Seraven. That had been even less fruitful. Those people were truly elusive, and the promise of money meant nothing to them.

Then came the question of Lue and Maya.

With Lue, he had been the most successful—or more precisely, twice successful. She had affinities for both Metal and Mind, both relatively common, and she already knew exactly which direction she wanted her education to take.

That left Maya. Life and Nature.

For her, Zeke knew exactly who he wanted as a teacher: Cassius Leafless. But tracking down that elusive recluse had proven harder than expected. Zeke had even dispatched the Alexandria to the jungles of Irroch, where he had last encountered him, but the place was already abandoned.

That left him with little more than a dead trail. Still, this was for his sister, and Zeke would not give up so easily. Cassius could be to Maya what Maximilian had been to him—not just a mentor, but someone who foresaw roadblocks before they emerged and prepared accordingly.

All that being said, the letter before him now presented the solution to one of those problems.

Lord Chen, a rather reclusive member of the council, had reached out with an offer Zeke could hardly refuse.

He proposed to introduce a teacher for Kallen—someone even Zeke himself had been unable to reach. It was none other than his own wife, a woman with a high Time affinity who had once been a Seer herself.

That was an offer too valuable to decline.

Even better, Lord Chen's request was modest. Instead of proposing a concrete deal, he merely asked for a vague promise of cooperation, that they keep each other in mind for future dealings.

In other words, Chen was asking for a favor in the future.

It was both something Zeke could easily agree to and, in a way, a great compliment. It meant Chen expected him to grow, to rise further in value and influence.

Zeke had no problem with that. If Chen's future demand turned out to be outrageous, he could simply refuse. But for someone who had done him a favor, he had no qualms about repaying in kind.

Repay silver with gold—that had always been his motto.

Zeke instantly penned a reply to the letter, agreeing to these terms.

Unfortunately, the rest of the letters were all more of the same. Praises, congratulations, and offers of cooperation. His trusty fireplace made quick work of them all.

Zeke stretched, the midday sun bathing his study in brilliant light. In the courtyard below, he spotted four figures. They were young, three girls and one boy.

It was exactly those four he had not yet found personal tutors for: the twins, Maya, and Lue. Well, he had just solved one of those problems. With a snap of his mind, Zeke vanished from his spot in front of the window and reappeared in the courtyard below.

The four children suddenly found their path blocked.

Kallen and Keiran reacted first, their heads lowering in a deep bow. Though Zeke didn't require such gestures, the twins insisted on them.

Lue was startled for an instant, waved, and then, seeing what the twins were doing, clumsily mirrored their bow.

Maya, with the agility of a monkey, clung to his midsection with deadly force.

Zeke looked down, seeing his sister's pouty expression looking back up at him.

"Where were you? You said you were gonna help us with practice."

Zeke carefully peeled her off and placed her beside the other three, who had by now risen from their bows.

"I am here now, am I not?"

Zeke shook his head at his sister's antics. Was he spoiling her too much? Even so, he couldn't help it.

"I have news," he said, hoping to distract her. It worked like a charm. Not just on her—all four children perked up.

"I found a teacher for you, Kallen."

"M-me?" the usually composed girl asked, pointing at herself. As Zeke had discovered, she was extremely vulnerable to acts of genuine kindness. A stark contrast to her icy facade.

"Your new mentor is a former Seer. She will guide you well."

Kallen looked excited for a moment, but then her gaze shifted to the boy beside her, who shared her features. "What about Keiran? Shouldn't he be the priority?"

Zeke studied the boy with the perfect Spatial Affinity. Beyond what the eyes could see, he used all his senses—spatial perception, Mana sense, everything.

Kallen’s words rang true. Despite spending no more than a few minutes each night inside the Mana purifying device, the boy had nearly reached the realm of True Mage.

To be fair, his twin sister wasn't far behind, but her progress came at a much greater cost. She needed nearly twelve hours inside the device each day just to keep up. The sacrifices she made to match her brother's pace were significant.

But the results were undeniable. Even with her low affinity, she had nearly reached the threshold for advancement as well. It was an unprecedented speed for someone with such a weak Core.

Zeke inspected Maya and Lue next. The two, despite having good affinities, were still lagging behind the others. This was simply the difference between those using the Mana Purifying device and those who did not.

Despite the obvious benefits, he was not in a hurry to have his sister or Lue use it. At their level, the biggest challenges weren't to strengthen the Core but to master one’s control of Mana, to learn spell forms, and to practice mental fortitude.

That was something that could not be rushed.

"...I am working on it," he answered belatedly. "But it is not so easy to find suitable teachers."

That was the truth, but not all of it. In his mind, Zeke had already decided on who he wanted to have as a mentor for Keiran. However, he was still waiting for an opportunity to meet that person again.

And even if he did, there was no guarantee he would agree. Maybe Keiran's perfect affinity would be enough to entice them...

Zeke shook his head. Those were thoughts for another day. Now, he needed to make good on the other promise he had made.

"Come, show me what you've learned!"

Book 8 - Prologue: The Weight of Ashes

Sorry for the late release!

I wanted to make sure the new book started off on the right note. This chapter went through countless rewrites, and even now it’s longer than I originally intended. Still, I hope you enjoy the result.

On another note, I’ve picked a new voice for this chapter, the one I personally like best. If you feel differently, let me know—I can always put up a poll to determine a winner.

The wind no longer whispered.

Lyriel stood at the same edge of the living platform where she had stood a year ago, her bare feet pressed against bark that felt unchanged beneath her soles. Below, the world spread out as it always had—verdant valleys, winding rivers, great mountain spines slicing through the land. But to the southwest, where smoke had once been a distant smear, black scars now cut through the land like claw marks.

The ruins of what had once been forest.

The platform beneath her feet pulsed with the familiar vitality of Yggdrasil, but something in the air had changed. The petals of bark that formed the seats remained elegant, but Lyriel noticed they had been recently regrown. Fresh. As if the tree itself understood that old comforts no longer sufficed.

"They're coming," Selvanna said behind her.

Lyriel turned. Her patron stood three paces away, and for the first time since Lyriel had known her, Matriarch Goldleaf wore simple robes. No flowering vines wove through her hair. No precious ornaments caught the light. Only the living sigil of her House coiled above her heart, marking her station.

"Even Matriarch Thornweave?"

"Especially her."

The name alone made Lyriel's stomach tighten. Thornweave had been the one to volunteer last time, the youngest of the Matriarchs. The one whose forces had been scattered like leaves before a hurricane while she watched from afar, helpless.

They took their positions as before—Selvanna claiming her seat while Lyriel and the two other attendants stood behind. But where last time anticipation had made Lyriel's heart race with excitement, now a heavy weight settled in her chest like iron.

The first to arrive was the Treemother herself, and she moved with the same timeless grace as always. But her eyes no longer drifted. They focused, sharp and calculating. She took her seat without ceremony.

Next came the one with robes of mist and starlight, though the fabric hung differently now—less like decoration, more like armour. Her attendants walked closer together, their whispered conversations urgent rather than idle.

Then another, and another, each arriving with less flourish than the year before.

When Thornweave arrived, silence followed her like a bad stench.

The youngest Matriarch, who only a year ago had stood here radiating ambition and confidence, now appeared a shadow of her former self. Every movement was hesitant, tinged with fear, as though the slightest motion might cause her to flinch.

A year of public mockery, condemnation, and accusations had worn her once-proud facade to nothing. Three attendants flanked her, their faces masks of practiced neutrality, yet Lyriel noticed how their eyes never quite met those of anyone else.

She took her seat without acknowledging anyone, her spine straight and her hands folded. The very picture of composure—save for the faint rhythm of her jaw clenching and unclenching, visible only to those who looked closely.

The circle filled steadily. Some Matriarchs exchanged measured glances, others stared into the distance, lost in their own calculations. When the last of them settled, the platform itself seemed to draw breath.

“We are gathered,” the Treemother said. “Let none say later that we did not face this with clear sight.”

No one laughed. No one scoffed. The time for such indulgences had passed.

“Thornweave will speak.”

The youngest Matriarch rose from her seat.

"One."

She spat the word with such venom it grated on the ears like a curse.

"One human. Not an army. Not a legion. Just… one." Her gaze swept the circle. "I sent ten thousand. Warriors who had spent five centuries perfecting their craft."

She paused, and Lyriel noticed her hands tremble before she clasped them tightly behind her back.

"He didn’t fight. Fighting implies they were opponents. He simply…" Her voice faltered. "Existed. And they died."

Lyriel recalled the reports that had trickled back, stories too absurd to believe. Because if they were true, then everything the elves believed about their place in the world was a lie. A human who had stood unmoving against an army. Who had turned the very air into a weapon. Who had killed with the casual indifference of a farmer harvesting wheat.

Her gaze swept the circle of Matriarchs. They were Exarchs, every one of them—the elite of the elven race. Yet instead of reassurance, Lyriel felt only doubt as she looked upon their majestic forms.

Who among them could stand against that human Exarch, who seemed bred for slaughter?

“Show us,” the Treemother commanded.

Thornweave raised her hand, and light pooled above her palm. An elegant piece of jewelry on her arm shimmered, conjuring the illusion. The image unfolded above the dais, shapes forming slowly until the scene of a distant battle came into focus. The first thing Lyriel saw was…

Wind.

But not wind as she understood it. This was something else, something moving with terrible purpose. At its heart stood a figure, humanoid in shape but not in presence. Silver-white hair caught the light like spun moonlight. He wasn’t commanding the wind. He was the wind. It bent around him like a loyal servant, flowed through him as if it were his very will made manifest.

The elven forces charged, their forms strengthened by Life magic, their weapons singing with power. The wind answered with vortexes dropping from clear skies, each one precise, surgical, devastating. Bodies didn’t fall with grace; they were flung aside like leaves caught in a hurricane.

Then came the blades. Each one the size of a building, visible as distortions in the air itself. They moved slowly, almost lazily, giving the elves time to see death approaching. Not that it mattered. Within the Exarch's domain, their magic simply ceased to function.

When the first blade hit the right flank, bodies didn't fall so much as simply cease, bisected with such clean precision that some took steps before realizing they were dead. The second carved through a desperate shield wall like it wasn't there. The third, fourth, fifth—Lyriel lost count.

The memory ended with the shattered remnants fleeing toward the forest, their commander’s final words echoing across the blood-soaked field: “The Matriarchs will answer this outrage.”

With these final words, the crystal on Thornweave’s armband dimmed and cracked apart.

Silence hung over the gathering, a sharp contrast to Lyriel’s raging thoughts. Doubt pressed harder against her mind now. That commander had believed with certainty that the Matriarchs would avenge the slaughter, but Lyriel was not so sure. The longer she sat among these vaunted leaders, the more she realized how lacking they were in the ways of war.

“We believed Augustus Geistreich was the Empire’s only weapon,” Thornweave said into the silence. “…We were wrong.”

She tried to speak the words casually, as if stating a simple fact. But the undertone of raw pain was so heavy it nearly drowned the words themselves. They had been wrong—and ten thousand of Thornweave’s brothers and sisters now lay dead in the fields, their bodies slowly returning to nature.

“So what if they have one more Exarch?” one of the Matriarchs said. “Every one of us here has reached that level.”

There it was again.

That established, agreed-upon truth every elven child heard from birth: the elves were the strongest. The elves had the most talent in Magic. The elves were the pinnacle of evolution, shaped by nature itself into the perfect form.

A lie.

One that had grown so large it now reached even into the minds of their highest leaders, who still clung to a superiority that had never been proven in reality.

But who would dare speak against such a consensus? Who would risk criticizing their own people in a gathering of Matriarchs?

Lyriel couldn’t think of a single soul bold enough to correct that misunderstanding—

"Have we?"

A familiar voice—too familiar. Lyriel’s head snapped toward the speaker seated beside her.

Selvanna Goldleaf rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping the circle. She met every astonished look with grim determination. Not only Lyriel, but every Matriarch was taken aback. Selvanna had always been a moderate, a voice of reason when tempers flared. No one had expected her to speak now.

“When did you last face death, sister?” she asked the previous speaker. “When did any of us last test our power against an equal?”

"Our magic is deeper—"

"Our magic is softer." The words fell like stones. "We are gardeners who mistook ourselves for warriors, only because we had never faced a soldier."

“You…” The Matriarch stared at Selvanna in disbelief. Perhaps for the first time in their people’s history, one of the Matriarchs had spoken such words in council. Unsurprisingly, no one knew how to respond. “What happened to you in the Human Lands, Goldleaf?”

The question carried both accusation and genuine curiosity. What indeed? What could have transpired during her journey to Tradespire that had turned the council’s voice of reason into the woman they now beheld?

Lyriel, of course, knew. She had been there through all of it. And yet even she hadn’t foreseen how deeply the experience would reshape her patron’s mind.

This was a variable she had not accounted for.

“I have woken up, sisters,” Selvanna said softly. “I have woken from a dream that has gripped my mind for centuries.”

The entire assembly hung on her words, even the Treemother leaning forward ever so slightly.

“We have all been dreaming,” she continued, “imagining a world that exists only in our minds. But outside this forest, outside our lands, the real world is nothing like we picture it to be…”

“What makes you speak such words?” one of the Matriarchs asked, her voice laced with concern. “Surely, you weren’t intimidated by the human Mages?”

Selvanna shook her head. “I have encountered the Exarch of Light, the Exarch of Storms, even our dwarven neighbors. They were formidable, on par with our finest. But if that were all I had seen, I would not speak as I do today…”

She paused, a visible shudder running through her body. The fear in it was so stark that many of the Matriarchs gasped, yet none dared interrupt.

“I have seen Death,” Selvanna said, her voice carrying the raw, childlike terror of something far beyond her. “Death so absolute it made my own light feel like nothing more than a candle in a storm, struggling just to keep its flame alive.”

Faces turned pale.

“…I have encountered schemes and machinations so intricate that I did not see the trap until my head was already on the chopping block.”

Expressions of disbelief spread through the circle.

“…And I have met a child, younger than my latest hair-cutting, who lectured me on the intricacies of policy until I truly believed he could see the future.”

Selvanna swept her gaze around the circle, meeting every eye in turn. “Whether we like it or not, the world has moved on while we remained isolated. The brutish races of the past have grown refined in their use of Mana,” she said, nodding at Thornweave. “They have advanced in their tools, sharpened their swords, and honed their wits in war. Meanwhile, our people have done nothing, changed nothing, discovered nothing.”

A mocking smile curved her lips. “When I walk the towns of Yggdrasil today, I see the very same sights I saw as a child, centuries ago.”

The words hung heavy in the air. They stung all the more because they were difficult to refute, striking at the very heart of elven culture. Tradition and hierarchy had always been their highest values, but now one of their own had exposed how those ideals had become the chains that bound them.

The world had moved on, leaving the elves behind—relics of history, refusing to adapt to the present.

“So we surrender?” another Matriarch asked. “Bow to these cretins who slaughter our kin as we speak?”

“Kin?” Thornweave’s voice dripped with bitterness. “Half-elves. Mongrels. We call them kin only when their deaths wound our pride. If you wish to save their kind, do not expect me or mine to spill more blood for such unworthy cause.”

Her words, though spoken in spite, revealed another pressing truth. The Empire had won its trial and gained the continent’s tacit approval to unleash its Exarchs against the elves without consequence. Under such conditions, who among the Matriarchs would even dare to act?

“And yet, the insult remains,” the Treemother said softly. “Truth or not, we cannot allow the continent to perceive us as weak.”

Silence stretched, and only now did Lyriel truly understand how accurate her patron’s words had been. The minds of these powerful figures had grown sluggish from years of disuse. Without threats to their power or serious conflicts, they had let idle hobbies and vain displays of wealth consume them.

Compared to the human elites, it was a pitiful sight. Even the shoeshiners outside the von Hohenheim estate showed more guile and cunning than these Matriarchs.

“…There is a way.”

The words came from Selvanna once more, and every head turned toward her.

"Speak, sister," the Treemother urged.

Selvanna’s fingers stilled against the armrest. “We cannot face their Exarchs. That much we know. But who ever said we had to move ourselves?”

“Mercenaries?” someone scoffed. “You think hired swords can do what even we cannot?”

“I am not speaking of common sellswords, but of those who have stood aside despite having the power to act.” Selvanna rose from her seat with the first graceful movement Lyriel had seen all day. She stepped into the circle’s center, and Lyriel noticed how the other Matriarchs leaned forward despite themselves.

“Let us call upon those who already oppose the Empire. Let us make their enemies our instruments.” Her gaze swept the assembly. “Let human blood spill human blood.”

That garnered a few hesitant nods. Yet, the council as a whole remained unconvinced.

“You speak of making humans into puppets,” said the Matriarch with eyes like burnished steel. “If they are as cunning as you claim, what makes you think they won’t see the strings?”

“Let them see. What matters is they dance when we pull.” Selvanna spread her hands. “We will offer them what they desire—power, wealth, knowledge—in exchange for actions that serve our purposes.”

“And when the Empire comes for these puppets?”

“…Then humans will die instead of elves.”

The brutality of it silenced even the skeptics.

Thornweave was the first to speak, her voice heavy with approval. “You’ve thought about this before today.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’ve thought about many things of late,” Selvanna replied. “Most of all, about our place in this world.”

That drew the attention of the entire council. As the only one among them who had ventured beyond their borders in recent years, no one was better suited to judge the truth of such matters than the Goldleaf Matriarch.

“Though we have declined, a starving dragon is still larger than a snake. We still hold secrets, treasures, and advantages that could allow our people to thrive—if we choose to use them wisely.”

Selvanna’s smile turned cold. “Each of us has cultivated relationships over the centuries. Trade partners. Scholarly exchanges. Diplomatic channels. We treated them as diversions…”

She let the silence linger, letting her words sink deep.

“Now, let those connections become weapons. Everyone here knows humans who hunger for power—ambitious lords, desperate merchants, idealistic fools who believe they can change the world. We know their desires, their fears, their… price.”

“You propose we act independently?” a quieter Matriarch asked.

“Independently, but in concert,” Selvanna answered. “Together, we weave a web of human ambition that will act where our hands cannot reach.”

The air shifted for the first time since the gathering began. Not Yggdrasil’s sacred breath, but true wind, carrying with it the scent of rain and distant thunder.

One by one, the Matriarchs began to nod. Not with enthusiasm, nor with the casual confidence they had carried a year ago, but with the grim acceptance of those who had begun to remember that pride mattered less than survival.

“Each of us will choose an instrument,” the Treemother declared. “Our enemies must be contained, balanced, eventually weakened. Not by our hands, but through human ambition guided by elven wisdom.”

She rose, and the others followed.

“Sister Goldleaf has spoken it better than even I could: we are no longer the masters of this world,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “But that does not change the truth of what we were—and what we still are. We were here before their first kingdoms. We will be here after their last.”

The platform pulsed once, acknowledging her words.

As the Matriarchs dispersed, each moving toward their own schemes and preparations, Lyriel caught a glimpse of Selvanna’s face. Her patron was not looking at the others, nor at the scarred land below.

She was looking northwest. Toward the human lands.

Toward her chosen instrument.

“Come,” Selvanna said to her attendants. “We have seeds to plant…”

As they descended from the platform, leaving behind the empty seats and the memory of ten thousand dead, Lyriel wondered if the humans truly understood what they had awakened. Not the fury of the elves—that had already proven toothless.

But their patience.

Their memory.

Their ability to plant seeds that would not bloom for decades, to tend grudges like gardens, to water revenge so carefully it would turn into a flood.

The Empire had won the battle with wind.

The elves would win the war with time.

B7 - Epilogue: All Consuming Flames

“Don’t slow down!”

The shout jolted Leo out of his haze, but the clarity lasted only a heartbeat. His body’s weakness reasserted itself almost immediately. His lungs burned so fiercely that the pain drowned out every other sensation. His legs had gone numb, their weight dragging at him with every step.

Even so, he did not falter. Hesitation meant death. Weakness meant death. Indulgence was death.

That had been the truth of his life from the moment he set foot in this forsaken place—ever since he first crossed blades with the Ehrenlegion.

Through bleary eyes, he could just make out the figures around him: His few remaining comrades from Korrovan. Former slaves turned soldiers. Each had faced death a hundred times at his side, and each had paid the price. Fewer than half a dozen remained of their original number.

Surrounding them ran tall figures with pale hair. Once slender and graceful, they were now caked in dirt and grime from weeks of brutal battles and desperate retreats. Little remained of their noble elven heritage.

The Resistance.

At least, that was what they called themselves. But it was more wishful fantasy than reality. In truth, they were simply the most capable among the victims, fast enough to retreat before being cut down.

They fought, yes—but only to survive. The only thing they truly resisted was their imminent execution.

A sharp pain jolted him back to his senses. His shoulder burned as if pierced by a needle—no, not one, but five. A quick glance confirmed it: Ripper’s talons were dug into his flesh.

Leo looked up to find her face far too close to his own.

The feline woman stared at him with the same wearied seriousness she had worn for weeks.

“Don’t slow down.”

She repeated the words calmly this time, yet they struck him harder than before. Only then did Leo notice his steps had faltered and their comrades were pulling farther ahead with every moment.

He forced himself into a slow jog. Ripper moved beside him, unwilling to trust that he wouldn’t fall behind again if left alone. He was grateful for her care. He didn’t trust himself either.

Despite all the time spent with them, he was not one of the Chimeroi, and his human body was far weaker than theirs. While they had grown used to frantic retreats and endless running, each day left him more drained.

While he struggled to maintain even this slow pace, Ripper jogged backward, her sharp eyes scanning the skies.

He knew exactly what she feared. Empire flyers. If they were spotted now, rest would be out of the question—their escape would stretch on for days.

The flyers were like bloodhounds.

Once they caught your scent, shaking them off was nearly impossible. Only by leaving their perimeter entirely could you force them to retreat.

Easier said than done.

Guided by an invisible web of Mind Mages, the entire Ehrenlegion moved with seamless coordination.

There was no friction between units, no mismanagement to exploit. They shared information instantly across any distance, launching coordinated strikes without setup or warning. It was as if a single mind orchestrated the entire invasion, moving each piece with perfect precision.

That was the power of the Legion. That was the power of the Empire.

With every day spent in this brutal warzone, Leo came to understand more clearly the oppressive might of the Empire. It was no wonder so many regarded the elemental affinities as supreme. Not because any one of them dominated alone, but because together they formed a devastating force.

Wind carried their spies faster than any runner.

Earth secured their positions with impregnable defenses.

Water commanded the rivers, seas, and lakes.

And Fire burned all that stood in their path.

This created an army that seemed unstoppable. Though the Alliance had managed to halt them on the eastern front, it had taken years of preparation and staggering sacrifice. Here, however, the Empire’s devastating strength was laid bare.

The Ehrenlegion was the kind of elite fighting force every nation dreamed of possessing. An army composed entirely of Mages, where even the weakest among them were on par with Leo and his crew.

Despite considering himself accomplished, Leo wasn’t confident he could face more than two of them at once. Their coordination and unity turned their numbers into a weapon more lethal than any spell.

And for the first time since he had gone to war, Leo felt wholly inadequate. Here, he was nothing more than a speck of dust, carried and crushed by the true forces at play. It made him realize just how sheltered they had been on the eastern front, where he had fought alongside the young scions of noble houses.

They had believed themselves to be great warriors, clashing with the Empire. Only now did he understand those battles had been little more than playfights for children, while the real war raged elsewhere.

But he had abandoned that security when he chose to come to Rukia. A foolish choice. A choice that had cost him and his companions dearly. Many had paid the ultimate price for his arrogance.

That thought weighed on him more heavily than exhaustion ever could. Once again, Leo realized he wasn’t cut out for the weight of command. Zeke had sent him to the front under the Alliance’s protection, and in that environment, they had thrived. It had been the perfect place.

But it hadn’t been enough for him. He had felt stifled by the constant oversight. He had thought himself capable of striking out on his own.

If only…

If only he had possessed even half the wit of his adoptive brother, he wouldn’t have led his men to their deaths so pointlessly. He wouldn’t have stood helpless as they were burned to ash beneath a torrent of fire.

Leo bit his lip, forcing his mind back under control. This was not the time for such thoughts. His self-recriminations could wait until they were safe.

He opened his eyes wide, catching sight of something he had desperately hoped for on the horizon.

Green.

The color of safety.

A vast forest slowly rose into view, each tree bringing a small measure of relief. Despite everything, a faint smile tugged at his lips as the first shapes sharpened before him. Even Ripper’s tense shoulders eased as they passed beneath the canopy’s shade.

No flyer would spot them here.

It was the only real refuge left against the Ehrenlegion’s constant pursuit. Perhaps that was why the Empire was so intent on burning the forests to the ground. Luckily, the many Nature Mages among the half-elves could raise them back almost as quickly as the flames devoured them.

It was the only reason the resistance still endured at all.

They entered the forest at the same time as their comrades, having finally caught up. Their leader guided them deeper inside, moving with the certainty of one who knew the way.

Soon, the forest grew so dense that passage should have been impossible—if not for the path that seemed to part for them, as though the woods themselves were welcoming them in.

Leo followed with careful steps, at last allowing his body to relax. Such moments were rare, and he knew he had to make use of every second. No one could say when they would be forced to flee again.

Finally, they arrived before a barrier of raw nature, appearing as impenetrable as a wall of stone. Their leader came to a halt.

“I am Randar, leader of the Seventh.”

Silence followed, broken only by a voice that drifted from somewhere within the living wall.

“Where do you hail from, Randar?”

“We come from the far west. Most recently, we were stationed in Duskwood Forest.”

“…What happened in Duskwood?”

The voice held a sharp edge of unease.

“Five days ago, the forest was attacked. We were powerless against their might.”

Another pause.

“…What of the guardians of the forest?”

Randar shook his head. “The last I saw of them, they each stood against the Legion’s all-consuming flames.”

A curse slipped from the hidden speaker, but even as it did, a path opened within the wall.

“Enter. Quickly.”

Their troop slipped inside, the barrier closing behind them as seamlessly as it had opened. Leo found himself in a vast space. The sun was invisible through the thick canopy, yet the area glowed with clusters of bioluminescent flowers and moss clinging to the trees.

A turquoise light bathed everything, casting eerie shadows across every face. Leo had long since grown used to it. All the hideouts looked much the same.

“Halt!”

The commanding voice came from a young man leading a squad of soldiers who quickly surrounded them.

They obeyed without hesitation. Leo already knew what this was about.

“Approach me, one by one,” the man ordered, holding a peculiar flower in his hand.

Randar went first. As he stepped forward, the man held the flower toward him. When it showed no reaction, he was waved through.

One by one, the others followed, each passing without incident.

The process was painfully slow, but absolutely necessary.

At last, it was Leo’s turn. His eyes fixed on the flower, praying it wouldn’t react. A moment passed, then another, but the bloom remained still.

Leo exhaled as he was waved through.

The Mindeater flower, as it was called, reacted strongly to the presence of Mind Magic. It was their only reliable method of rooting out those under its influence, a safeguard born after far too many bases had fallen to traitors.

The worst part?

Most of those people hadn’t even realized they were compromised. A chilling thought. If Leo had ever been captured and turned into an unwitting pawn, he wouldn’t even remember it. Only the flower could reveal such corruption.

Before they were allowed deeper inside, the guardsman raised a hand, halting the group.

“Which of you is Leo von Hohenheim?”

Leo stepped forward, already familiar with this routine. As expected, the man reached into his robe and produced a sealed letter.

“…When you see your brother, thank him for the intel he provided, alright?” the guard said, eyeing him with a hint of respect.

Leo nodded and accepted the letter.

Once again, Zeke had predicted his movements and sent word ahead. It was an eerie level of foresight, but Leo was grateful for it. Thanks to Ezekiel’s network, he was welcomed wherever he went—human or not.

The moment he opened the letter, Leo noticed how the people around him drew closer. He didn’t stop them. Ezekiel’s letters always carried news of the wider war, updates on the world, and even detailed reports on the movements of the Ehrenlegion.

Such information could mean the difference between life and death, so Leo never kept it to himself.

Despite his better judgment, hope always stirred in him whenever he received one of these letters. Time and again, that hope had been crushed, yet still, foolish or not, he let it rise anew each time.

His eyes raced over the first few lines, braced for disappointment, but…

Excited murmurs rippled through the group.

The alliance had developed a tool to transport men and supplies undetected by the Empire? Progress on the Western Front? Reinforcements possibly arriving within weeks? The elves convening their High Council to address Rukia’s plight once more?

Leo could hardly believe what he was reading. Could it be true? After months of nothing but despair, was the tide finally beginning to turn?

“What’s it say?” Ripper asked beside him. Though she couldn’t read, the excitement in the air was unmistakable.

Leo opened his mouth, but no sound came. His lips were cracked, his throat parched. Gathering what little moisture he could, he managed to croak out a single word.

“Hope.”