ElaraFiction

B7 - Chapter 24: Power Play

The great hall felt different to Margret as she entered for the second day of proceedings. The marble pillars still stretched toward their vaulted heights, the gold veins still caught the morning light, but now she saw them for what they truly were—a stage.

Once more, she took her seat among the elven delegation, the gossamer robes settling around her. Yesterday, she had fidgeted with the unfamiliar fabric. Today, her hands remained still, folded in her lap. All tension had left her with the uncertainty of the future.

The Empire will win.

The words echoed in her thoughts as she watched the delegations file in. The Empire's representatives moved with the same military precision, but now she noticed their subtle confidence for what it was: Certainty.

Otto Geistreich's shoulders sat relaxed beneath his formal robes. The four Elders chatted quietly among themselves, their postures speaking of men and women attending to formality rather than crisis.

And Azra von Hohenheim—Margret's eyes tracked him as he took his seat. Yesterday, she had seen polish and calculated charm. Today, she recognized the predator's patience in his movements, the way his gaze swept the room, cataloguing every detail while maintaining that pleasant, diplomatic smile.

The Alliance representatives arrived in a similar fashion to the day before. The Storm Exarch moved with the measured calm of gathering clouds, the Light Exarch of Equinox held herself with rigid control, and Aurelia Thorsten glided between them like a pale specter. But now that Margret knew what to look for, she saw the subtle signs: the way none of the Exarchs quite met the eyes of the elven or dwarven delegations, the careful distance they maintained.

"Unbelievable," Margret murmured, the realization striking her like cold water.

"What was that?" Lyriel asked softly beside her.

"Nothing," Margret replied, but her gaze remained fixed on the Alliance delegation. She had not been told how the talks from the day before had ended, but judging by the apparent distance, it was clear they had not reached an accord. She hoped this didn’t mean what she feared it might.

Soon after, Midas entered with his three guardians, taking his position at the head of the assembly. The childish form of Sheol Veylor had already claimed the isolated chair, grey eyes bright with what might have been amusement. Today, the King of the Dead had brought a different book, one she recognized from her lord’s study. And not for the first time, Margret asked herself what this formidable being was doing here, observing these meaningless proceedings.

"We reconvene to address the matter of Exarch deployment," Midas began, his voice carrying that same neutral weight. "The positions were made clear yesterday. I trust the night has brought... clarity."

The word hung in the air like a challenge. Margret watched as the Exarchs remained still, seemingly no longer in the mood to argue. Instead, it was a younger Korrovan diplomat who rose—someone Margret vaguely recognized from yesterday's proceedings.

"We have considered the Empire's arguments," the diplomat said, his voice carrying carefully rehearsed notes. "We maintain concerns about the precedent of Exarch deployment."

"Yet the legal framework remains clear," Azra von Hohenheim replied smoothly. "The Accord's language is unambiguous in its scope."

And there it was: the crux that her lord had identified. The subordinates danced around the point while their masters sat in regal silence. The Accord of Limitation applied only to its signatories. The elves had never signed.

Since the beginning, the Alliance had never challenged that assertion. Was it because they couldn’t? She had thought so, once, but now she saw behind that facade. The Alliance didn’t want to escalate the war. At least, not over a few dead elves.

"Perhaps," another Alliance representative interjected, "the empire should at least state their position on the nature of their plans? Will Exarchs’ deployments stay defensive?"

Margret's attention sharpened. The Alliance wasn't even trying to win anymore. They were fishing for information, pressing for commitments that might benefit them later. She glanced at Lady Goldleaf, noting how the Matriarch's eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Azra von Hohenheim leaned forward slightly, his reasonable smile never wavering. "The Empire remains committed to continental stability. We seek unity, not destruction."

"Through the deployment of your most destructive assets?" the Alliance diplomat pressed.

"Through the proportionate defense of our forces," Azra countered smoothly. "But as we've established, this is a matter of interpretation best resolved through expanded agreements."

"The elven position?" one of the Alliance diplomats prompted, turning toward their delegation.

Lady Goldleaf remained silent for a long moment, forcing the subordinate to wait. When she finally spoke, her words were measured. "We seek justice for our slaughtered kin."

"By what means?" the diplomat pressed, showing more boldness than wisdom.

"That be our own business," Lord Stoneforge rumbled before Goldleaf could answer. "As it always has been."

Margret saw it then, the trap her lord had described snapping into focus. The Alliance wanted the elves and dwarves to demand action, to force escalation that the human powers could then reluctantly support. But more than that, they wanted commitment. They wanted the non-human races to finally, officially, choose a side.

"Surely," another Alliance representative tried, "the continental community must stand together—"

"Must we?" Lady Goldleaf's tone remained pleasant, but Margret heard the steel beneath. "We held our peace while you humans waged your wars for centuries. Now you invoke community when it serves your purpose?"

The Alliance diplomat faltered, glancing toward his silent masters for guidance that wouldn't come. The Exarchs had delegated this performance to their subordinates, maintaining their dignity while the necessary words were spoken.

"You are free to join a new Accord," Azra von Hohenheim said, filling the awkward silence. "We propose comprehensive talks, new frameworks that include all peoples—"

"Under yer guidance, no doubt," a dwarven representative spat.

"Under mutual cooperation," Azra corrected gently. "Unless others prefer the current ambiguities?"

The morning wore on, and with each exchange, Margret saw more clearly the elaborate dance being performed. The Alliance pressed, but not too hard, their representatives careful not to overreach. The Empire defended, but magnanimously, offering solutions to problems they had created. Both sides were maintaining the fiction that this was genuine negotiation rather than choreographed theater.

Through it all, the Exarchs remained largely silent. These were beings who could reshape the land with their will, who ruled nations and commanded armies. They would not lower themselves to bickering over semantics. That was what subordinates were for.

"Perhaps," Midas said into a lull, "we should move toward resolution. The positions seem clear."

There were no dissenting voices. All that could be said had been.

"If there are no further substantive arguments," Midas continued, "we shall proceed to judgment."

"Korrovan maintains its position," Bijal Raja said, speaking for the first time today. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, carrying the weight of his station. "The Accord stands as written."

Just that. No passion, no fury, no demand for justice. Simply an acknowledgment of legal reality that absolved them of responsibility while leaving the door open for future maneuvering.

The Light Exarch nodded once, sharp and decisive. Aurelia Thorsten merely blinked slowly, like a cat acknowledging the obvious.

The formal voting proceeded with mechanical precision. The Empire voted for its own innocence. The Alliance representatives, following their masters' lead, voted the same.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

Margret's fingers tightened in her lap. So this was how the powerful played their games: not with righteousness or fairness, but with calculated moves designed to trap others. The Alliance couldn't force the elves and dwarves to join them, but they could create situations where neutrality became increasingly untenable.

"The verdict is unanimous," Midas announced. "The Empire's deployment of an Exarch against elven forces did not violate the Accord of Limitation, as the affected parties were not signatories to said Accord."

"However," Midas continued, "this hearing has highlighted significant gaps in our continental agreements. I propose the formation of a special committee to draft expanded accords, with representation from all affected parties."

More committees. More talks. More opportunities for the great powers to maneuver while Rukia bled out.

As the delegations began to rise, maintaining the same dignified order they'd shown throughout, Margret caught sight of the Alliance Exarchs. No fury marred their features. No disappointment weighted their shoulders. They moved with the satisfaction of pieces successfully played, their gambit complete even in apparent defeat.

The elves and dwarves had been shown, in no uncertain terms, that the human powers would not protect them, that laws and accords meant nothing when push came to shove. The message was clear: choose a side, or stand alone against whatever came next.

"Halt."

The single word, spoken in a soft tone by an immature throat, brought the entire hall to a standstill. Every delegation froze, heads turning toward the isolated chair where Sheol Veylor had finally closed the book.

The King of the Dead rose from the chair with the easy grace of a child stretching after a nap. Those grey eyes swept the room, and Margret felt the temperature drop several degrees.

"Since we’ve now established that I, too, am not protected by your laws," Sheol said, each word precise despite the childish voice, "I find myself in need of an... alternative arrangement."

A piece of parchment materialized in those small hands, appearing from nowhere with casual impossibility. With a gentle push, it floated through the air to land on the table before King Midas.

The veiled figure leaned forward to read, and even through the obscuring fabric, Margret saw the sudden tension in those shoulders. Midas read the document once, then again, his stillness speaking volumes.

"What is the meaning of this?" His facade had cracked, revealing something close to alarm.

"Exactly what it says," Sheol replied, moving to the center of the room with skipping steps that somehow made the gesture more menacing than any dramatic stride. "My proposed amendment to the Accords. No Exarch may approach my domain—offensively, defensively, or for any other purpose."

The Light Exarch recovered first. "You can't simply make such a demand."

"No?" Sheol tilted that young head, grey eyes bright with amusement. "You've just established that agreements only bind their signatories. I'm proposing to become one. Surely that's... reasonable?"

Otto Geistreich rose slowly. "Lord Veylor, such restrictions would be unprecedented. The movement of Exarchs has never been—"

"Restricted by written law?" Sheol finished. "How fortunate that we're drafting new ones."

"This is absurd," Azra von Hohenheim said, his diplomatic composure finally cracking. "You cannot simply demand—"

"I'm not demanding." The childish voice had taken on an edge that made Margret's teeth ache. "I'm offering. Sign, and be protected by the same laws you've just used to justify slaughter. Refuse..." A shrug, casual as a child dismissing a broken toy.

"And what?" Azra pressed, and Margret had to admire his courage even as she questioned his wisdom. "What could possibly—"

"Is that your answer?"

The words were soft, but Azra went rigid. His face paled, lips pressing together so tightly they turned white. His hands gripped the edge of the table as if fighting against some invisible force.

"Perhaps," Sheol continued conversationally, "I should clarify."

The King of the Dead raised one small hand, and Margret felt power gather, not the structured force of a spell, but something grander, deeper, as inevitable as death itself. A moment later, the hall was engulfed in that same force.

Margret couldn’t even feel her Core anymore. The wind, which had been her constant companion for decades, was silent and unreachable. For the first time in a long time, she felt completely helpless. The only thing that allowed her to hold on was the faint aura of Life shielding her.

Lady Goldleaf had risen, her own Domain protecting her delegation from the worst of the effects. Yet the look on her face was anything but calm. It was clear that maintaining this defense required her full concentration.

The other Exarchs weren’t faring much better, each caught in their own state of disarray. Aurelia Thorsten, despite not being an Exarch herself, held up the best. The black crow on her left shoulder seemed to feed on the baleful energy as if it were its favorite meal, allowing her people to breathe more easily than the others.

"So many beautiful cities," Sheol mused into the silence. "So full of life, of ambition, of carefully laid plans. Arkanheim’s twin spires. Equinox's rainbow gates. Korrovan’s golden palace."

Each name fell like a stone into still water, the implications rippling outward.

“Stay away from my people,” the Storm Exarch growled.

Those grey eyes found him a moment later. "Stay away? But I am already there. Have been there for quite some time. Watching. Waiting."

"You're bluffing," the Light Exarch said, but her voice lacked conviction.

Sheol's smile was terrible on that young face. "I've reaped more souls in a single day than you've seen in your lifetime, child. What's a few more?"

The silence that followed was absolute. Margret could hear her own heartbeat, wild and frightened. This was no negotiation. It was a demonstration of power so complete that resistance became meaningless.

"You wouldn't," someone whispered. Margret couldn't tell who.

"No?" Sheol turned in a slow circle, addressing them all. "You've proven that laws only matter when enforced by strength. Very well. Here is my strength. Here is my law."

"This is... this is extortion," Azra muttered. For once, he had no clever retort.

Sheol shrugged as if he couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

Meanwhile, the parchment still lay on the table, innocuous yet damning. Margret watched the delegations wrestle with the impossible choice: submit to demands backed by naked threat, or risk the annihilation of everything they sought to protect.

"I will sign," a voice interrupted the stalemate.

Aurelia Thorsten stepped forward, took a feather from her robe, and bent down to sign her name on the paper.

"Beware," Sheol said before she could put ink to parchment. "This is no simple contract; breaking your word will mean your life is forfeit."

Aurelia paused for an instant, hesitated, and then continued to sign. "…In the name of Invocatia, we accept the extended Accord."

Without another word, she turned and walked toward the exit, her delegation scrambling to follow. The door closed behind them with a sound like finality.

The dam broke. Arguments erupted from all sides: protests, threats, desperate attempts to find another solution. But Sheol simply stood in the center of it all, patient as death itself, that terrible child's smile never wavering.

"I would rather die than give in to threats," Otto said, but sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I'm not threatening you," Sheol replied. "I'm threatening Arkanheim. Your capital. Your people. Your Emperor." Those grey eyes glinted. "Speaking of which, shouldn't he be making this decision? Fetch him."

"The Emperor does not—"

"Fetch. Him."

The words carried such weight that Otto actually took a step backward. Then, remarkably, the chancellor's spine straightened. His hand moved to a pendant at his throat, fingers tracing a pattern Margret couldn't follow.

"No need," Otto said in a strange tone, more resonant, carrying an authority that made the previous version seem like a pale shadow. "I am here."

Margret's breath caught. The Emperor. Augustus Geistreich was speaking through his subordinate, strings of Mind Magic allowing him to project his will across impossible distances.

"Veylor," the Emperor's voice said through Otto's lips. "This is in poor taste."

"I would agree," Sheol replied, seeming more delighted than intimidated. "Unfortunately, it seems you children get overconfident if I don’t raise my voice now and again."

"You overstep."

"I step where I want." The child giggled. "Unless you're saying power isn't its own justification? That would be quite the reversal."

Otto—no, Augustus—remained silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, resignation colored his words. "Your terms?"

"Simple. No Exarch approaches the Deadlands. Ever. For any reason." Sheol gestured to the parchment.

"And if circumstances—"

"There are no circumstances." The playfulness vanished, leaving something ancient and unwavering. "This is not a negotiation. Sign."

The possessed chancellor moved forward with mechanical precision. As Otto's hand took up the quill, Margret saw it tremble. Whether it was from the strain of distant control or the Emperor's reluctance, she couldn't tell.

"In the name of the Empire," Augustus said through his proxy, "we accept."

The signature was sharp, aggressive, nothing like Otto's normal hand. The moment it was complete, the chancellor sagged, catching himself on the table's edge as the Emperor's presence withdrew.

After that, the rest fell like dominoes. Faced with the reality that even the Emperor had bent so easily, the other powers had no choice. One by one, they approached the parchment. One by one, they signed.

The Storm Exarch's hand shook with suppressed rage as he wrote his name. The Light Exarch looked as if she'd swallowed poison. Even King Midas, when his turn came, moved with the careful precision of one handling a venomous snake.

Through it all, the elven and dwarven delegations stood forgotten. No one asked them to sign. No one offered them the protection of this new accord. They had been deemed irrelevant to human law, and now that same irrelevance excluded them once more.

"Excellent," Sheol said when the last signature was complete. The parchment vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. "I do so enjoy unanimous agreements."

The King of the Dead turned those grey eyes on the elven delegation, and for a moment, Margret thought she saw something almost like pity there. "You see the difference?”

Lady Goldleaf said nothing, her ageless face a mask of perfect composure. But Margret saw how her hands had clenched in her lap, knuckles white beneath the skin.

"The strong do what they will," Sheol continued, addressing the dwarves now. "The weak suffer what they must."

Lord Stoneforge's response was a growl too low for words, but his meaning was clear enough.

"This hearing is concluded," Sheol announced, having assumed the role of host. "You are free to depart."

The exodus that followed was nothing like yesterday's dignified withdrawal. Delegations fled as if the hall itself had become cursed ground. The Empire's representatives moved with the haste of those who'd won a victory that tasted of ash. The Alliance members departed in bitter silence, each nursing their own humiliation.

The trial had ended with no one satisfied.

The Empire had won its verdict but suffered humiliation. The Alliance had avoided direct confrontation but was forced to bow to naked threats. The elves and dwarves had been shown just how little their grievances mattered in human politics.

And above it all, the King of the Dead had made one thing clear: in a world where might made right, death itself held the ultimate authority.

Margret pulled her robes tighter as a chill swept through the streets. She needed to report to her lord, to help him understand what had transpired. Though knowing Ezekiel, he had probably predicted this too.

The thought brought her more comfort than she expected. In this shifting world of uncertainty, it was deeply reassuring to follow someone who seemed able to see through the whims of fate and defy common sense.

If anyone could safely navigate these troubled waters, it would be him.

B7 - Chapter 23: When Interests Align

The heavy oak door closed behind Margret with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden stillness of the study. She had rehearsed her report a dozen times on the walk from the great hall, organizing every detail, every nuance of expression she'd witnessed. Yet now, standing before her lord's desk, the words caught in her throat.

Not because of Ezekiel, who sat behind his desk with fingers steepled, golden eyes sharp with interest. But because of the small figure perched on a cushioned chair in the corner, legs swinging idly as grey eyes tracked the movement of dust motes in a shaft of afternoon light.

Sheol Veylor, the King of the Dead.

Margret's gaze flicked to Zeke, a silent question in the slight arch of her eyebrow. Her lord's shoulders lifted in the barest of shrugs, his lips pressing together in a way that suggested he was no more comfortable with their observer than she was. The gesture was so uncharacteristic of him—Ezekiel von Hohenheim, who always seemed three steps ahead of everyone else—that it almost made her smile despite the circumstances.

Well. If the most powerful being on the continent chose to sit in on their meeting, there was precious little either of them could do about it.

"My lord," she began, forcing her voice to steadiness. "The hearing has concluded for the day."

"So I gathered." Zeke leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "Tell me everything."

Margret drew in a breath, letting the familiar rhythm of reporting center her thoughts. "The Empire's delegation arrived with Otto Geistreich leading them, accompanied by the four Elders and Azra… von Hohenheim."

She watched Zeke's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly at the mention of the pretender's name, but he made no comment.

"Their argument rested on legal technicalities," she continued. "The Accord of Limitation applies only to signatory nations. Since the elves never signed, the Empire claims they were within their rights to deploy an Exarch in response to elven interference."

"Audacious," Zeke murmured, though his tone suggested admiration for the strategy rather than approval of the act.

Margret nodded. "Azra von Hohenheim proved particularly... effective. He presented their actions as defensive, emphasizing that warnings were given and that they sought to minimize casualties."

"Did he now?" A hint of something dark colored Zeke's voice.

"The Alliance representatives challenged them, naturally. Equinox was particularly vocal about the hidden Exarch, demanding to know their identity." Margret paused, remembering the tension that had gripped the hall at that moment. "The Empire deflected, claiming the rapid development of the situation prevented premeditation."

She continued through her report methodically: Lady Goldleaf's measured responses, the verbal sparring between delegations, the way Azra and Otto had worked in perfect synchronization to deflect every accusation while maintaining an air of reasonable cooperation. At last, she told him about the tension as the elves refused to join hands with the alliance.

"Midas remained largely silent throughout," she finished. "Only speaking at the end to observe that positions were clear and progress seemed unlikely. The delegations will reconvene tomorrow."

Silence settled over the study. In the corner, Sheol had produced a small book from somewhere and was turning pages with apparent fascination, though Margret suspected those grey eyes missed nothing.

Zeke remained still for a long moment, his gaze distant as he processed her report. Then his expression shifted, brows drawing together in a frown that made her straighten instinctively.

"The Empire is going to win this hearing," he said quietly.

Margret blinked, unable to hide her confusion. "How could that be? Despite their defense being admirable in its construction, they're still clearly in the wrong. Such injustice simply cannot go unanswered."

"…Justice," Zeke echoed, his fingers drumming once against the desk. “What good is the concept with nobody willing to enforce it?”

“The alliance—” she started, but Zeke was already shaking his head.

"Think about it, Margret, really think about it. What does the Alliance want in this situation?"

She opened her mouth to answer—justice, obviously, punishment for the Empire's transgression—but Zeke was already shaking his head again.

"They want—"

"We have listeners."

The childish voice cut through the room like a blade through silk. Sheol hadn't looked up from the book, but there was something in the casual way the words were delivered that made Margret's blood run cold.

Zeke went very still, and in that stillness, Margret saw something she rarely witnessed: genuine surprise on her lord's face. His golden eyes swept the seemingly empty study, and she could almost see the moment he expanded his awareness, that supernatural perception he wielded like a sixth sense.

"Impressive," he said after a moment, and Margret wasn't sure if he was addressing Sheol or their hidden observers. "I hadn't considered that possibility."

The air in the study shifted, a subtle distortion that made Margret's inner ear protest. Two figures materialized as if stepping out of shadow itself: Lady Selvanna Goldleaf, still in her flowing robes from the hearing, and Lord Grimnar Stoneforge, his mithril-threaded beard catching the light.

Margret's hand had moved instinctively toward where her weapon would be if she were armed, but she caught herself. These were guests, technically. Even if they had been spying on a private conversation.

"Forgive the intrusion," Lady Goldleaf said, though her tone suggested she felt no real need for forgiveness. "When one finds doors closed to important discussions, sometimes one must... create alternatives."

Lord Stoneforge was less diplomatic. "Ye were about to explain somethin', lad. Why don't ye continue?"

Zeke studied them both for a moment, and Margret watched him make some internal calculation. When he spoke again, there was no hesitation in his voice.

"The Empire will win because their goals and the Alliance's goals align in this matter."

Confused silence greeted this pronouncement. Even Sheol glanced up from the book, though whether in interest or amusement, Margret couldn't tell.

"That makes no sense," she found herself saying. "They're at war with each other."

"So?" Zeke rose from his chair, moving to the window that overlooked his estate. "The Empire seeks an innocent verdict, obviously. They want their actions validated, the precedent established. But what does the Alliance truly want?"

When no one answered, he continued. "They don't necessarily want a guilty verdict. Oh, they'd take it if offered freely, but consider the cost. If the hearing condemns the Empire, who enforces that condemnation?"

Understanding began to dawn in Margret's mind, cold and unpleasant.

"The Alliance would have to deploy their Exarchs," Lady Goldleaf said slowly.

"Precisely." Zeke turned from the window. "They'd have to risk their strongest assets, their own lives, on behalf of people who still refuse to formally join their cause. The elves haven't declared for either side. Neither have the dwarves. Why should human Exarchs die for your grievances?"

Lord Stoneforge's face had darkened, but he said nothing.

"More importantly," Zeke continued, "if the verdict is innocent, if this slight goes unanswered through official channels, then the burden of response falls to you. The injured parties. And what better way to draw you into the conflict than to make it clear that only through alliance can you find justice?"

The silence that followed was profound. Margret felt as though she were watching master players reveal their hands in a game she'd barely understood she was witnessing.

"Clever bastards," Lord Stoneforge muttered finally.

Lady Goldleaf's expression remained serene, but Margret had spent enough time among elves to recognize the tightness around her eyes. "You believe the Alliance will approach us. Officially."

"I'd stake my fortune on it." Zeke returned to his desk. "Probably within the hour. They'll express regret at their inability to help, offer sympathy for your losses, and then present a simple proposition..."

"We have no interest in being drawn into this war," Lady Goldleaf said, though her voice lacked its earlier certainty.

"Nor do we," Lord Stoneforge added. "Let the humans slaughter each other. The mountains will endure regardless."

"Will they?" Zeke's question was soft, but it carried weight. "The Empire has shown they're able to ignore common sense. What makes you think they'll stop outside your mountains?"

Before either Exarch could respond, a knock came at the door. Margret watched Zeke's expression flicker—he'd known someone was approaching, of course, but the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.

"Enter," he called.

One of the household servants stepped in, bowing low. "Forgive the interruption, my lord. Messengers have arrived seeking audience with Lady Goldleaf and Lord Stoneforge. They claim the matter is urgent."

The two Exarchs exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. In the corner, Sheol turned another page, a small smile playing at childish lips.

"Show them to the parlor," Zeke instructed. "Our guests will join them shortly."

As the servant departed, Margret watched the weight of Zeke's prediction settle on the room. The game was playing out exactly as he'd foreseen, the pieces moving with inevitable precision.

"It seems," Lady Goldleaf said quietly, "that your assessment was accurate."

"The Alliance wastes no time," Lord Stoneforge grumbled. "Probably had the messages written before the hearing even began."

"Undoubtedly," Zeke agreed. "The question now is how you'll respond."

Margret saw the trap clearly now. Refuse the Alliance's overture and stand alone, without any human support in seeking justice. Accept, and they'd be drawn into a conflict that could consume their peoples for generations. Either way, they would not be allowed to stay out of this conflict.

"We should hear what they have to say," Lady Goldleaf said finally, though she sounded as though the words tasted bitter.

Lord Stoneforge nodded reluctantly. "Aye. Though I suspect we already know the tune they'll be singin'."

As the two Exarchs moved toward the door, Zeke called out softly. "Whatever you decide, remember: the Emperor’s ultimate goal likely isn't simple. It never was. He is reshaping the entire continental order, one calculated move at a time."

Lady Goldleaf paused at the threshold, looking back with those ageless eyes. "And what of you, young lord? Where do you stand in this reshaping?"

Zeke's smile was sharp as a blade. "Wherever I need to, to protect what's mine."

The Exarchs departed, leaving Margret alone with her lord and the entity that wore a child's face. The study felt smaller somehow, as if the weight of what had just transpired had compressed the very air.

"Excellently reported, Margret," Zeke said, returning his attention to her. "Your observations were invaluable."

She ducked her head, warmth spreading through her chest at the praise. But questions still burned in her mind. "My lord, if you knew this would happen, why not warn them earlier?"

Zeke shook his head as if the proposition were absurd. "And why would I do that?"

"To make sure they don’t fall victim to the—"

"Margret," he interrupted gently. "Did you ever ask yourself what outcome I am hoping for?"

Margret opened her mouth to answer, wanting to claim that he was naturally aiming for the Empire to be punished. However, the words died in her throat before she could even utter the first syllable. She had been gone from his side too long, utterly unaware of her lord’s plans and machinations.

Did he even support the Alliance anymore? The dwarfs? The elves? None of them?

"What side are we on, my lord?"

Zeke shook his head again, as if she had misunderstood something fundamental. "We are a small boat lost at sea, Margret. Around us, a storm rages. Tell me, is it even possible for a sailor to side with the waves?"

Margret blinked, not understanding what her lord was saying.

He gave her a fond smile. "We are on our side, Margret. As always."

From the corner, Sheol's voice drifted like smoke. "The child of blood grows ever more interesting. Tell me, did you predict my presence here as well?"

Zeke's smile turned rueful. "I've learned better than to try predicting anything where you're concerned."

The King of the Dead laughed, a sound far too old for the throat that produced it. "Wisdom beyond your years. How refreshing."

Margret shivered despite the warmth of the room. The game being played here had layers she couldn't begin to fathom, powers and purposes that stretched beyond her understanding. But she was here, in the center of it, serving a lord who seemed to see the shape of things others missed.

She could only hope his vision was clear enough to navigate the storm that was surely coming.

B7 - Chapter 22: A Dance of Knives

The great hall rose before Margret like a monument to neutrality. Pillars of white marble veined with gold stretched toward a vaulted ceiling that seemed to capture and amplify every whispered word. She adjusted her robes for the third time, the gossamer fabric still feeling foreign against her skin despite the months she'd spent among the Children of the Tree.

"Stop fidgeting," Lyriel murmured beside her, the elf's voice carrying that particular blend of fondness and exasperation Margret had grown accustomed to. "You'll wrinkle the silk."

She forced her hands to stillness, though her fingers itched to smooth the fabric again. Around them, the elven delegation moved with liquid grace toward their designated section of the hall.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her.

Her lord, who had orchestrated so much, was barred from these proceedings while she, a nobody, had been granted entry. She touched the metal pin at her throat, the mark of her temporary status within the Goldleaf household. It felt heavier than it should.

"Remember," Matriarch Goldleaf said softly as they took their seats, her voice meant only for their small group, "Words spoken matter far less than those left unsaid."

Margret nodded, trying to quell the nervous energy that made her want to shift in her seat. She'd attended elven councils, weathered their polite condescension and layered conversations, but this was different. This was the continental stage, where a misplaced word could shift the balance of power.

Not long after they had taken their seats, the Empire's delegation entered with military precision: six in total.

Otto Geistreich led them, his bearing that of a man who had navigated these waters for decades. The four Elders flanked him: Windtänzer, Feuerkranz, Wellenrufer, and Steiner. Seeing these legendary figures of the Empire once more gave Margret a strange feeling. Once, she had looked up to them as heroes.

They were widely known as the pillars of the Empire, recognized for their might and contributions. Even though they were no longer the nominal leaders of their families, everyone knew they were the true movers and shakers. These titans were the men and women upon whom the Empire’s foundation had been built.

Her gaze met that of Victor Windtänzer, the Elder of Wind. His expression changed slightly upon seeing her. Victor had been like a brother to Maximilian. Naturally, he would recognize her, even dressed in the garb of the elven people. His gaze didn’t linger on her for long, though, returning soon after to his watchful observation of his surroundings.

The last member of their group drew Margret's attention last: Azra von Hohenheim.

To see the nominal heir to the von Hohenheim name in person felt almost surreal. Who was this stranger who claimed to succeed Maximilian while walking hand in hand with his murderers? It was absurd.

Margret studied him closely. The man was young and handsome, that much she had to admit. He had flowing auburn locks and strong brows, framing a symmetrical face. In a way, he reminded her of Ezekiel. Yet where her lord's presence commanded through conviction and barely restrained intensity, Azra's seemed all polish and calculated charm.

It was like comparing a trained seductress to a natural beauty. While they both shared the same attractive features, Azra clearly knew how to wield those traits as weapons, while Ezekiel barely acknowledged his own charms.

The young man seemed to notice her gaze as he turned to look at her. A polite smile, a slight nod, and then he continued to go about his business, dismissing her from his concerns as if she weren’t worth a second glance. Clearly, he didn’t know who she was. Or who she served.

During this time, the Alliance representatives had already taken their seats. The Storm Exarch sat with the stillness of a gathering thundercloud. His dark hair and brown skin marked him as a Korrovan native, and the faint scent of ozone followed him like a shadow.

Beside him, the Light Exarch of Equinox practically vibrated with contained energy, her jaw set in a way that suggested she was anticipating conflict. The woman looked so much like Lara Sonnenstrahl that Margret found it eerie to look at her—same face, same figure, the same flowing blonde hair and radiant golden eyes. The two could have been sisters, though she knew that was impossible.

Aurelia Thorsten occupied the space between them like a bridge between extremes. It was the first time she had seen this legendary figure in person. The Immortal Witch, the undisputedly strongest Archmage on the continent, and the only known person with two perfect affinities.

Her face was delicate and as pale as a corpse, her colorless hair only deepening that impression. On each of her shoulders sat a raven. Her famous familiars: Aether and Nexus. One was completely white, with a black beak, and the other completely black with a white beak.

Out of everyone in the hall, she was by far the most eye-catching, despite being the only Archmage among Exarchs. If that disadvantage bothered her, she gave no sign. Her pale hands rested calmly on the table, but Margret noticed how her eyes tracked every movement in the room.

The dwarven delegation had claimed their section with typical efficiency. Lord Stoneforge's ancient presence made the other Exarchs seem young, his beard woven with mithril threads that caught the light. The way he studied each arriving delegation reminded Margret of a smith examining metal for flaws.

Each of these people held the power and status to be the center of attention no matter where they went. Yet today, all these titans of the continent had gathered in a single location. Each came with their own intentions, their own plans for how this meeting would end. It remained to be seen who would come out on top and who would go home with a sour feeling in their bellies. It was like an invisible game of chess, where every word and gesture counted as a move.

A subtle shift in the air announced the entrance of the final participant. Sheol Veylor entered, their stride as casual as if they were on their way to a picnic. The childish form they had chosen sparked murmurs throughout the hall—such innocent features housing such ancient power. The small figure skipped to an isolated chair set apart from the factioned seating, grey eyes taking in everything while revealing nothing.

Margret had heard stories of the King of the Dead, naturally, but they had always sounded like cautionary tales and overstated legends to her growing up. But to see the most powerful figures on the continent unwilling to even meet eyes with this being sent a shiver down her spine.

The only one who even acknowledged their presence was Aurelia Thorsten, who had gotten up from her seat and gave a reverent bow. It seemed the stories were true. The immortal witch truly had some sort of relationship with the ruler of the Deadlands.

King Midas entered last, accompanied by three hooded figures. Not only he, but all four of them wore clothing that completely obscured the senses, making it impossible to get a read on any of them. However, Margret would bet her last shirt that these were the three Exarchs of Tradespire.

Midas took his seat at the head of the assembly, not elevated above the others, but positioned to see all. The three figures arranged themselves behind him, their presence a quiet reminder of Tradespire's strength.

"We gather to address the deployment of an Exarch in active warfare," Midas began without preamble. "The first such use since the Accord of Limitation. Chancellor Geistreich, the floor is yours."

Otto rose smoothly, his movements measured. "The Empire's position rests on clear legal foundation. The Accord of Limitation, which we have honored faithfully for over two centuries, is explicitly a compact between signatories. We have the documents here if any wish to review the specific language."

He gestured to a stack of papers before him, the gesture somehow making his argument feel more grounded in fact than rhetoric.

"When elven forces moved to intervene in our operations," Otto continued, "we faced a difficult choice. Allow interference that could cost thousands of our soldiers' lives, or respond with proportional force. We chose the latter."

"Proportional?" The Light Exarch's voice cut sharply. "Ten thousand dead is what you call proportional?"

"With respect," Azra von Hohenheim interjected, "a warning was given, even a second chance to retreat. No pursuit of fleeing forces. No expansion of engagement beyond the immediate threat. We sought to end the confrontation, not to maximize casualties."

Margret watched how he presented the argument: reasonable, measured, almost apologetic. It was far more convincing than bluster would have been. The second thing she noticed was how smoothly the young man had interjected himself into the conversation. This was clearly not a place for him to speak; even Otto himself barely qualified. Yet his earnest demeanor had somehow managed to gloss over that fact, as no one seemed to have taken offense at his words.

"The Empire recognizes," Otto continued, "that this situation highlights a gap in our continental agreements. We are prepared to work with all parties to address this. The Accord could even be amended, expanded to include all peoples of the continent."

"You forget to mention the reason only our human nations were signatories in the first place," Bijal Raja, the Storm Exarch, observed. "Unlike us, who are roughly on par in strength, the Matriarchy has at least a dozen Exarchs under its banner. Why would they subject themselves to the same restrictions we initiated to prevent mutual destruction?"

"Then let us write a new accord," Otto suggested. "The Empire is prepared to host negotiations, to fund scholarly research on terms that would be equitable for all."

"And in the meantime?" Aurelia Thorsten asked, her pale hands still on the table. "Your armies burn through Rukia while you speak of negotiations."

"These matters are inherently separate," Azra replied calmly. "We cannot allow past grievances to prevent future cooperation. The Empire offers a path forward. Will others not even consider it?"

Matriarch Goldleaf had remained silent through the opening exchanges, her expression serene. Now she spoke, each word precise as drops of morning dew.

"The Empire offers inclusion in a framework of its own design. How generous." Her tone carried no obvious sarcasm, yet somehow the words stung. "Tell me, Chancellor, if we deployed an Exarch against the Empire, would your arguments remain the same? Would we remain outsiders to the accord then?"

"The law applies equally to all," Otto replied steadily. "If humans invaded elven territory without treaty protection, the defenders would have every right to respond in whatever way you see fit."

"You invaded our brethren," Goldleaf countered. "You could not have expected us to sit still after that.”

"The historical record shows—" Azra began.

“Silence, child,” Goldleaf interrupted gently, her voice like that of a disappointed mother. “The adults are speaking.” Her eyes remained on Otto Geistreich, demanding an answer.

“The half elves might be your kin in blood, but not in spirit,” he said, meeting her gaze. “By joining the alliance of nations, they have chosen a side. Is the Matriarchy prepared to make the same choice by stepping into this conflict?”

All eyes turned to Lady Goldleaf.

If the elves truly declared support for the Alliance, then it would have been like an unexpected present. No, more than that. It would likely spell the end of the war.

Lady Goldleaf didn’t meet any of their gazes, refusing to answer entirely.

The representatives of the Alliance reacted in different ways. Aurellia simply looked away, her face an emotionless mask. The Exarch of Storms sighed, while the ruler of Equinox clicked her tongue, her eyes blazing.

"The Empire welcomes all good-faith negotiations," Otto said, filling the silence. "We have prepared preliminary proposals that we believe address the major concerns—"

"I'm sure you have," the Light Exarch cut in. "The Empire always prepares thoroughly before it acts. Like preparing legal justifications before deploying Exarchs. An Exarch, by the way, you have hidden from the public eye. Care to explain who that was?"

The temperature in the room shifted slightly. Margret felt the tensions building like pressure before a storm.

"We prepared nothing," Azra said with apparent sincerity. Despite having been reprimanded earlier, the confidence with which he spoke had not diminished. "The situation developed rapidly. Our forces were threatened. We responded with the minimum force necessary to ensure their safety. That we did so within legal boundaries is not evidence of premeditation but of consistent adherence to law."

"…Minimum force," Aurelia repeated flatly. "An interesting characterization of an Exarch's power."

"Would the Marshal have preferred we deploy an army? Risk greater casualties on both sides?" Azra asked. "The Exarch ended the confrontation quickly, with survivors able to withdraw. This was mercy, not massacre."

"You speak of mercy while your armies slaughter civilians," the Storm Exarch observed.

"A separate matter," Azra replied. "One we are also prepared to discuss, though it falls outside the scope of this hearing."

"A separate matter, yet nonetheless connected," Goldleaf reminded softly. "The Empire's actions in Rukia prompted our intervention. Your response to that intervention brings us here. To separate these threads is to willfully blind ourselves to the pattern."

"What pattern does the Matriarch see?" Otto asked with what seemed like genuine curiosity.

"I see your people testing boundaries," she replied. "Seeing how far it can push before something snaps."

"Or perhaps," Otto suggested carefully, "you see a nation struggling to maintain stability in an increasingly dangerous world. Our proposals for expanded accords, for inclusion of all peoples: these are not the actions of aggressors but of those seeking lasting peace."

“You aim to shackle us with word and law,” Goldleaf said. “Knowing fully well that the chosen of Yggdrasil will never agree to your terms.”

The arguments continued, each side probing and testing, neither giving ground nor escalating too far. Margret's head swam as she tried to follow the implications, the subtle verbal traps, and careful redirections. Her lord would have seen patterns she was missing, would have understood the deeper game being played.

One thing that stood out, though, was the interplay between Otto Geistreich and Azra von Hohenheim. The two acted in perfect synchrony: Otto, always on the offensive, and Azra playing defense. Together, they formed an impenetrable bulwark, offering responses to every accusation while exposing every flaw in their opponents' arguments.

As the hours wore on, she noticed how Sheol Veylor remained absolutely still, those grey eyes in a child's face watching everything while contributing nothing. Their presence was like a weight in the room—acknowledged but never directly addressed, as if the other powers had silently agreed to pretend that particular force of nature wasn't sitting among them.

"…The dwarven kingdoms need guarantees," Lord Stoneforge added. "Words on paper didn't protect the elves. Why should they protect us?"

"Because we would all be signatories," Azra said earnestly. "All bound by the same terms. The old divisions would be replaced by universal law."

"Universal law written by whom?" the Light Exarch demanded. "Interpreted by whom? Enforced by whom?"

"By all of us," Otto said. "That is what we propose: true collaboration."

“That is why nobody trusts your Empire, Geistreich,” the Light Exarch said, shaking her head. “No matter how good your words sound, we all know what they truly are: a mask you wear while sharpening your knife.”

The arguments had come full circle. Positions had been stated, probed, and defended. No one had given ground, but neither had anyone escalated to irreparable hostility.

Midas, who had remained silent throughout, finally spoke. "The positions are clear. The Empire offers legal justification and future cooperation. Others question both the justification and the sincerity. Progress today seems unlikely."

It wasn't a dismissal, merely an observation. But the various delegations took it as such, beginning to gather their papers and prepare to leave.

"We reconvene tomorrow," Midas added. "I trust all parties will consider what movements might break this deadlock."

As Margret filed out with the elven delegation, she caught sight of Azra von Hohenheim again. He was speaking quietly with Otto, and for just a moment, his polished diplomatic mask slipped. The expression beneath wasn't satisfaction exactly, but something close, as if the day's stalemate had been precisely what he'd hoped for.

She thought of her lord, excluded from these proceedings, and wondered what he would make of it all. The Empire had presented itself as reasonable, offering solutions rather than threats. It was a more dangerous approach than belligerence would have been, wrapping ambition in the cloak of cooperation.

The dance of knives had begun with words of silk. Tomorrow, she suspected, the blades would begin to show.

B7 - Chapter 21: Three Delegations

The portal flared to life with a spatial resonance that shook the very air. Zeke stood at the head of his assembled household, hands clasped behind his back as the first delegation emerged from the swirling vortex.

A group of stocky dwarfs poured through in orderly rows, their heavy boots striking the platform in perfect synchronization. He recognized several faces immediately: Erlin Ironhide's massive frame was impossible to miss, and beside him walked Drogar, looking somewhat uncomfortable in formal attire. But it was the figure at the center of the formation that made Zeke's spine straighten.

An aged dwarf moved with the measured steps of one who had seen centuries pass. His beard, more silver than grey, was woven with mithril threads that caught the light. But what truly set him apart was the absence around him. Where the other dwarves radiated magical presence like forge-heat, this one seemed to exist in a pocket of nothingness.

[Notice]

Exarch-level entity detected. Identity: Grimnar Stoneforge, brother to the late King, uncle to the current ruler.

Zeke stepped forward, offering a bow that his household mirrored behind him. "Lord Stoneforge, representatives of the Mountain Kingdoms, Tradespire welcomes you."

The ancient dwarf's eyes, sharp as chipped obsidian, studied him for a long moment. Then he snorted. "Fancy words fer a fancy city. Where're we stayin', lad?"

"I would be honored to host you at my estate," Zeke replied smoothly.

A ripple of discontent passed through the dwarven ranks. One of the younger members actually scoffed. "Above ground? In some human mansion?"

Zeke allowed himself a small smile. "If you would follow me, I believe you'll find the accommodations... suitable."

The Gondola ride to his estate was tense with dwarven skepticism. They grumbled about the height, the open air, the impracticality of flying vessels. But when they descended into the newly excavated chambers beneath his manor, the complaints died on their lips.

The geometric patterns carved into living stone, the support pillars that seemed to grow from the bedrock itself, the perfect temperature maintained by cleverly designed ventilation: it was dwarven architecture at its finest.

"By the Stone Father..." one of them breathed.

Lord Stoneforge ran a gnarled hand along one wall, his expression unreadable. "Grimtak’s boy?"

"Indeed," Zeke confirmed. "He insisted on overseeing every detail personally when he heard who was coming."

The old Exarch's lips twitched, perhaps the ghost of a smile. "The fool always was a perfectionist." He turned to Zeke, those ancient eyes suddenly sharp. "Heard ye've got workshops worth seein'."

"Several. My personal workshop is also available for inspection, if you're interested."

That got their attention. Even suspicious dwarves couldn't resist the lure of new engineering marvels. Within minutes, the formal atmosphere had dissolved entirely. Dwarves were already planning which workshops to visit first, arguing about optimal inspection routes.

Thankfully, Zeke had had the foresight to move all of his more delicate projects, including the Mana Purifying device, inside the realm of the World Anchor beforehand.

"Lue," he called, and the girl appeared at his elbow with practiced ease. Her small body practically vibrated in the presence of so many master craftsmen. "Would you serve as guide for our honored guests?"

Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, offering a proper curtsy. "Of course, my lord."

Drogar's father clapped her on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a grown man. "This little sprite's got metal in 'er blood! Aye, she'll do fine."

As the dwarves followed Lue toward the workshop complex, their voices already rising in technical debate, Zeke allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. One delegation settled.

[Notice]

We just received word of the next delegations arrival.

He barely had time to return to the arrival platform before the portal bloomed again, this time with a gentler light that seemed to carry the scent of deep forests. The elven delegation emerged like a procession from a dream: flowing robes, measured steps, each movement deliberate and graceful.

But Zeke's eyes locked onto a single figure among them, and all pretense of lordly dignity evaporated.

"Margret!"

He crossed the distance in three quick strides and pulled her into an embrace that would have scandalized any court. She stiffened for a moment, over a year among the elves had clearly reinforced certain proprieties, then melted into the hug with a sound that might have been a sob.

"My lord," she managed, her voice thick. "I've returned."

"So you have." He held her at arm's length, studying her face. The elven influence was subtle but present, her posture more refined, her expressions more controlled. But the defiant spark in her eyes remained unbroken. "We have much to discuss."

"…Later," she murmured, glancing meaningfully at the waiting delegation.

Right. Formalities.

Zeke released her and turned to face the elves properly. The woman at their center made even the concept of age seem irrelevant. Her golden hair seemed to capture and reflect light in impossible ways, and when she moved, Zeke could swear he smelled spring flowers.

[Identification.]

Matriarch Selvanna Goldleaf. Life Exarch. Age: Estimated 850+ years.

"Matriarch Goldleaf," he said, offering a bow precisely calibrated to show respect without subservience. "Your presence honors my house."

She studied him with eyes that seemed to see through flesh and bone to something deeper. When she smiled, it was like watching the sun rise. "Young Ezekiel. I've heard much about you."

The way she said 'young' made him feel approximately five years old.

"And so have I,” he offered carefully. “Margret has spoken of your interest in trade expansion."

"Oh, we're interested in far more than trade, I assure you. But let’s not talk of such mundane affairs now…" She glided closer, and he had to resist the urge to step back. This close, her presence was overwhelming, not threatening, exactly, but intensely vital, as if she were more real than everything around her. "Tell me, is it true you've met Cassius?"

The question came from nowhere, delivered with the casual tone of someone asking about the weather. But Zeke could feel the weight behind it.

"Briefly," he admitted. "In Irroch."

"And what did you think of him?"

What kind of answer was she looking for? Zeke's mind raced through possibilities before settling on honesty. "Brilliant, industrious and surprisingly open-minded, given his reputation."

She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "All true. He mentioned you in his latest letter, you know. Called you 'adequately interesting,' which from Cassius is practically a declaration of love."

More questions followed, each seemingly innocent but probing deeper than the last. His research methods, his advancement speed, his understanding of Mana. Zeke deflected what he could, offered partial truths where necessary, and occasionally let genuine insights slip through. He couldn't afford to seem a fool, but neither could he reveal too much.

"You seem to have a unique method of nurturing your Core," she said finally, "Where did you learn it?"

A dangerous question. "My mentor left extensive notes. I've merely refined his observations."

"Hmm." She didn't press, but her expression suggested she knew there was more to the story. "Well then, shall we see these accommodations you've prepared?"

The tree houses in his eastern forest drew satisfied nods from the elven delegation. Even Selvanna's perpetual composure cracked slightly as she ran her fingers along the living wood.

"Elven work," she murmured. "I'd recognize it anywhere."

"I had some help in ensuring cultural sensitivity," Zeke agreed.

"Maya," he called, and his sister emerged from behind one of the larger oaks. She'd clearly been watching the elves with barely contained excitement, her affinities resonating with their presence. "Would you guide our guests?”

Maya's eyes lit up. "Of course!" She turned to the elves with a bow that was technically perfect, if slightly over-enthusiastic. "If you'll follow me, honored guests?"

As the elves dispersed to explore their temporary homes, Selvanna lingered. "Your sister?" she asked, watching Maya lead the group toward the stream that wound between the trees. "Affinities in Life and Nature, correctly nurtured, could bloom into something remarkable, as you are well aware."

Zeke nodded, thinking of Cassius, who shared Maya’s exact affinities. The man had combined them to achieve his unique Growth-type Magic.

Selvanna smiled again, and this time it actually reached her eyes. "We shall speak more, young lord. I find myself quite curious about what other surprises you might be hiding."

She glided away before he could respond, leaving him with the distinct feeling he'd just survived an interrogation.

[Notice]

Large object approaching from the east.

Zeke looked up to see what could only be described as an impossibility against the afternoon sky. The skeletal form moved with a grace that defied its lack of muscle or sinew, wing bones catching air that shouldn't have been able to support them. And on its back...

"A child?" he murmured.

The creature circled once before landing in the courtyard with surprising delicacy. Its passenger slid down with the easy confidence of someone dismounting a pony rather than an undead monstrosity.

She couldn't have been more than twelve, with coal-black hair and grey eyes that belonged on someone who'd seen centuries pass. She wore a simple dark dress that wouldn't have looked out of place on any merchant's daughter, except for the way shadows seemed to cling to its hem.

"Child of Blood," she said, and hearing Sheol's familiar cadence from such a young throat was deeply unsettling. "How refreshing to see you've survived your latest ambitions."

"Sheol." He bowed, uncertain what else to do. "Your... form is unexpected."

She laughed, a bright, childish sound that somehow made the skeletal creature behind her seem even more unnatural. "I sometimes forget how attached most living beings are to appearances.”

Zeke highly doubted that. If anything, Sheol had likely chosen that form on purpose to make people even more uncomfortable in their presence. A ploy that was likely to work, too.

"Would you care to join me at my estate?"

"How could I refuse such gracious hospitality?" She skipped—actually skipped—toward him. "Lead the way, Child of Blood. I won’t ask for anything but a quiet place to rest. Do you think you’ll manage to provide that?"

As Zeke led the King of the Dead toward his manor, he couldn't shake the feeling that Sheol's question wasn't entirely rhetorical. Three Exarchs, three completely different cultures, all with their own agendas and centuries of complicated history.

[Notice]

All three delegations successfully received. Current Exarch count within estate boundaries: Three confirmed. Recommend maximum security protocols.

Zeke didn't need Akasha's warning. He could feel it in the very air: power enough to reshape continents, all gathered under his hospitality. The next few days would either establish him as a masterful diplomat or see his estate reduced to a very expensive crater.

He suspected the odds were about even.

B7 - Chapter 20: Preparations

The elven Mage's fingers traced patterns in the air, and the oak responded like a lover to a caress. Branches twisted upward, weaving themselves into elegant spirals that defied everything Zeke knew about structural engineering. Wood shouldn't bend that way. Shouldn't flow like water while maintaining the strength of steel.

"How does she do that?" Maya whispered from beside him, her Nature affinity practically vibrating with excitement.

Zeke glanced down at his sister. She'd been following the elven woman around for the past three days, a dutiful shadow absorbing every gesture, every whispered word in the old tongue. Her dirty blonde hair was adorned with leaves, whether by accident or design, he couldn't tell.

"Practice," he replied, watching as another treehouse took shape thirty feet above the forest floor. "And an understanding of wood that goes beyond mere magic."

The elven woman paused in her work to look back at them. Her ageless face bore the faint smile that seemed perpetual among her kind. "The young one has good instincts," she said in perfect Common. "She listens to the trees rather than commanding them."

Maya's cheeks flushed at the praise, but her eyes never left the woman’s hands as they resumed their work. Another dwelling emerged from the living wood, complete with curved doorways and windows that seemed to have grown naturally from the trunk.

Zeke nodded his approval. He'd commissioned seven such structures throughout the small forest on his estate's eastern border. Each one unique, each one a work of art that would hopefully meet the exacting standards of the elven delegation. The fact that the woman shared their heritage had been a stroke of luck—who better to know their preferences than one of their own kind?

[Notice.]

The construction crew has reached the third sublevel. They await your inspection.

Akasha's voice in his mind drew his attention to the other major project underway. He'd have to leave Maya to her observations.

"I need to check on the underground chambers," he told his sister. "Try not to stare holes in the new buildings."

She barely acknowledged him, already moving closer as Silviana began shaping what looked like a spiral staircase around one of the larger oaks.

The entrance to the new underground complex lay hidden behind his manor's wine cellar. A seemingly ordinary stone wall now pivoted on hidden hinges, revealing stairs that descended far deeper than any normal basement should. The dwarven craftsmen had outdone themselves, carving through bedrock as if it were butter.

The sound of hammers and chisels echoed up from below, accompanied by the gruff voices of dwarves singing a work song in their native tongue. Zeke descended three levels, passing completed chambers that would soon house dignitaries from the mountain kingdoms. Each room was a masterpiece of stone carving, with geometric patterns that served both aesthetic and structural purposes.

At the bottom level, he found Master Grimtak overseeing the installation of support pillars. The dwarf's beard was grey with stone dust, but his eyes were sharp as he directed his crew.

"Lord von Hohenheim," Grimtak acknowledged with a nod. "We're ahead of schedule. Should have all seven suites completed by week's end."

"Excellent work." Zeke ran his hand along one of the carved walls, feeling the precision in every chisel mark. "The connecting tunnel to my workshop—when can you begin?"

"Soon as the delegates leave, we'll break through. Already got the breach mapped." The dwarf's eyes glinted with professional pride. "Your workshop'll triple in size once we're done. Maybe quadruple."

Zeke smiled, already looking forward to the added space. Akasha’s capabilities had grown exponentially, and with them, her need for space to operate. What had once been a single workshop barely large enough for his experiments would soon become an underground complex rivaling some smaller mansions.

A tremor ran through the stone—controlled, deliberate. Another chamber being carved somewhere deeper.

"No issues with structural integrity?" Zeke asked.

"Boy, I've been shaping stone since before your grandfather was born," Grimtak scoffed. "These chambers'll outlast your fancy manor up there by a thousand years."

Satisfied with the answer, Zeke made his way back to the surface. The sun had reached its zenith, reminding him of the test scheduled for the afternoon. Eight Grand Mages were already waiting in the main courtyard, each a trusted member of his guard force, among the most reliable in his employ.

They would be the core members of his increased security measures.

A new spire rose from the manor's east wing like an accusatory finger pointed at the sky. At its peak sat a crystalline arrangement that had cost him more than most merchant lords made in a year. From below, it resembled nothing so much as a massive eye, its faceted surface catching and refracting light in patterns that made his head spin if he stared too long.

"Positions," Zeke commanded, and the Mages spread out in a perfect octagon around the spire's base.

Each one placed their hands on the carved focusing stones embedded in the ground. The engravings lit up as mana flowed through them, racing up the spire in spirals of golden light. The crystal eye at the top began to glow, pulsing with restrained power.

"Target the practice dummy," Zeke instructed, pointing to a figure made of compressed stone and metal placed two hundred yards away.

The lead Mage nodded, and the formation shifted its focus. The eye glowed—an unnerving sight—and locked onto the target. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a beam of pure light lanced out, crossing the distance instantaneously.

The dummy didn't explode. It simply... ceased. Where solid matter had been, only a perfectly circular hole remained, its edges glowing cherry-red from the heat.

"Again," Zeke ordered. "Moving target this time."

Akasha animated another dummy, sending it racing across the courtyard in erratic patterns. The lead Mage tracked it smoothly, and another beam struck out. This time the dummy's arm vanished, severed cleanly at the shoulder.

The Mages were sweating now, the strain of channeling so much power evident on their faces. But the system worked. An Archmage might survive a direct hit—might—but they'd certainly think twice about attacking his estate.

"Enough," he called, and the formation powered down. The eye's glow faded to a dim luminescence that would remain constant, a warning to any who might harbor ill intentions.

As the Mages departed, Zeke allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The preparations were nearly complete. Accommodations that honored each delegation's culture, defenses that could repel all but the most determined assault. Now he just needed to—

"Young lord?"

Zeke turned to find a servant approaching, and beside him, a familiar figure moving with the careful gait of a man whose body was betraying him. Jettero's face had gained new lines since their last meeting, and his breathing carried a slight wheeze that hadn't been there before.

"Jett," Zeke greeted, genuine warmth in his voice. "Come to complain about my latest design modifications?"

"Your designs are shit, as always," the old engineer shot back, but his heart wasn't in the insult. "Though I'll admit the modular frame is growing on me. Like a fungus."

They made their way to Zeke's study, the servant tactfully excusing themselves. Once seated, Jettero's facade cracked slightly. The tremor in his hands was more pronounced when he thought Zeke wasn't looking.

"The new production line is running smoothly," Jettero reported. "Trained three new engineers to handle the work. They're not as good as me, obviously, but they'll do."

"Obviously," Zeke agreed dryly. "No one could match the great Jettero's skill with a wrench."

"Damn right." The old man's smile was genuine this time, but it faded quickly. "Look, boy, I didn't come here to discuss production schedules."

Zeke leaned back in his chair, already sensing where this was headed. The way Jettero's eyes kept darting to the portrait on the wall—the one that included both Maya and Lue from last year's celebration—told him everything.

"It's about Lue," Jettero continued, his voice rougher than usual. "I've been... making arrangements. For after."

The word hung in the air between them. After. After the inevitable. After Jettero's body finally gave up the fight it was clearly losing.

"She's a bright girl," the old man pressed on. "Brighter than I ever was. Those affinities of hers, High Metal and Mind, could make it far in the field of magical engineering. But she'll need guidance. Protection. Someone who—"

The old engineer's words cut off as he slowly, painfully, lowered himself from his chair to his knees. The gesture was so unexpected that Zeke shot to his feet.

"Jett, what are you—"

"Please." The word came out cracked, desperate. "I know I already asked too much. You gave her Magic when I could only dream of it. But I'm asking for more. When I'm gone, she'll have no one. No family. No—"

"Get up." Zeke's voice came out harsher than intended, emotion making it tight. He rounded the desk and physically hauled the old man back to his feet. "Get up, you stubborn fool."

Jettero's eyes were wet, but he met Zeke's gaze steadily.

"You think I need you to beg?" Zeke's jaw clenched. "You think I'd abandon her the moment you're gone? What kind of man do you take me for?"

"I just... I needed to be sure."

"Lue is family. Has been since the day she and Maya became inseparable." Zeke's golden eyes blazed with intensity. "I'll protect her, guide her, give her every opportunity to reach her potential. Not because you asked. Because she's one of mine."

The old man studied his face for a long moment, searching for something. Whatever he found there made his shoulders sag with relief.

"You mean that," Jettero said, not a question but a statement.

"Every word."

They stood there for a moment, the weight of the promise settling between them. Then Jettero cleared his throat, scrubbing at his face with one gnarled hand.

"Well then. Glad that's settled. Now, about those shit designs of yours—"

"They're revolutionary and you know it."

"Revolutionary garbage is still garbage, boy."

The familiar banter restored some normalcy, but Zeke couldn't shake the image of Jettero on his knees. The man who'd never bowed to anyone, who'd told noble clients exactly what he thought of their idiotic requests, reduced to begging for his granddaughter's future.

As they discussed production schedules and design modifications, Zeke made a silent vow. Lue wouldn't just be protected: she'd be given every advantage his power could provide. The same opportunities as Maya, just as he'd promised years ago.

The old man might not have long left, but his legacy would live on. Zeke would make certain of that.

[Notice.]

Visitors are approaching the study. They appear agitated.

Zeke sighed inwardly. The newly awakened had been... an adjustment. More precisely, their parents were. They roamed the city, searching for the best working conditions for their beloved children, only to return to him, complaining about the insulting offers they received.

"Looks like duty calls," he said to Jettero. "Want to join us for dinner? I’m sure Lue would love to show you her latest blueprints."

The old man's face brightened. "That girl’s already creating her own blueprints? She just awakened!"

"She learned from the best."

"Damn right she did." Jettero rose carefully but with dignity intact. "Dinner sounds good. Give me a chance to remind her about the new workshop safety protocols. Again."

As they left the study, Zeke spotted the agitated couple approaching down the hallway. Whatever crisis they faced, he would handle it—just as he would handle the arriving delegations, the political maneuvering, and everything else the coming month would throw at him.

Now all that remained was to see what kind of wrench fate was about to throw into his plans.

B7 - Chapter 19: Crossroad of History

The chamber hummed with nervous energy, a dozen conversations overlapping like waves breaking against stone. Zeke arrived precisely fifteen minutes before the appointed hour—neither fashionably late nor desperately early.

Half the Lords had already gathered, clustered in their usual factions like iron filings around magnets. The pro-Empire contingent huddled near the eastern alcove, their voices pitched low but urgent. The neutrals occupied the center, as always, while his nominal allies from the anti-Empire faction held court near the great windows overlooking the city.

Zeke chose a seat apart from them all, settling into the same chair he'd claimed last time, close to the spot he had been standing during his hearing. The irony wasn't lost on him—a few months ago, he'd stood before this very council as a petitioner. Now he sat among them as an equal.

Or so they pretended.

[Notice]

Shall I compile the profiles, Host?

"Do it," he murmured under his breath.

Instantly, translucent screens materialized beside each Lord's head, visible only to him. Akasha's work was, as always, meticulous. Names, trade volumes, political alignments, personal weaknesses—all catalogued with brutal efficiency.

Lord Vantine:
Anti-Empire faction. Primary trade in rare metals. Gambling debts of 47,000 gold crowns, carefully hidden. Susceptible to bribes involving his daughter's magical education.

Lord Thorne:
Anti-Empire faction. Textiles and dyes. Unmarried. Three illegitimate children. Maintains correspondence with Alliance merchants that borders on breaking neutrality.

Lord Harwick:
Neutral. Newly appointed. Grain stocks. Ambitious but naive. Sister married to minor Imperial nobility—potential leverage point.

"—complete annihilation, from what I heard," Lord Vantine was saying, his usually composed face animated with something between excitement and horror. "Ten thousand elven warriors, gone in minutes. Minutes!"

The profile beside his head updated: Received information through a cousin in the Alliance military. Likely accurate within a 15% margin.

"The numbers grow with each telling," Lord Thorne replied dryly, though even she couldn't hide the tension in her shoulders. "First it was five, then seven, now ten. By tomorrow, someone will claim it was the entire elven race."

"Does the number matter?" This from Lord Harwick, one of the newer appointments. "An Exarch was deployed in open warfare. The precedent alone—"

"Will drive up prices across the board," Lord Varnes interrupted, rubbing his hands together. "Uncertainty breeds opportunity, gentlemen. While others panic, we position ourselves."

Lord Varnes:
Pro-Empire. Food trade monopolist. Currently shorting grain stocks while publicly maintaining optimism. Estimated profit if war escalates: 2.3 million gold.

Zeke watched them with carefully concealed disbelief. Here they sat, discussing the shattering of continental order as if it were merely another market fluctuation. No fear in their eyes, no true comprehension of what had been unleashed.

They reminded him of sheep debating wool prices while wolves circled the pen.

"Lord von Hohenheim." The voice belonged to Matthian Allard, approaching with measured steps. "I trust your new responsibilities haven't proven too burdensome?"

Lord Allard:
Neutral faction leader. Shipping and transport. Considering shifting alliance based on profit projections.

"Manageable," Zeke replied, not bothering to rise. The slight was calculated—just enough to establish boundaries without causing offense. "Though I suspect tonight's agenda will test us all."

Matthian's eyes sharpened. Unlike the others, he seemed to at least recognize the gravity of their situation. "Indeed. When the Speaker calls an emergency session with such haste, one must wonder what fires need dousing."

"…Or what infernos are about to be lit," Zeke murmured.

Before Matthian could respond, the great doors swung open. The Speaker entered, but it wasn’t his entry alone that drew everyone’s attention. It was his reverent bow that stole every breath from the room.

The high seat had been prepared. Black velvet curtains had been drawn across the throne's alcove, thin enough to reveal a silhouette but thick enough to preserve mystery. The shadow behind that veil could have been anyone, but they all knew who it was.

King Midas had come.

Conversations died mid-syllable. Lords scrambled to their seats with undignified haste. Even Zeke straightened slightly, though he kept his expression neutral. The screens beside each Lord's head flickered and vanished. Akasha knew when absolute attention was required.

A voice emerged from behind the veil, soft enough to demand attention, clear enough to cut steel.

"My apologies for the delay," the King began. "I preferred to wait until all the dice had landed before gathering you here."

An interesting choice of words. Zeke filed it away, sensing layers of meaning beneath the casual metaphor.

"By now, you've all heard whispers of what transpired three days past in the Great Forest. Allow me to separate truth from speculation." Though they couldn't see his face, the King's presence filled the room completely. "An Imperial force invaded Rukia. When elven reinforcements moved to intercept, they were met by a single individual: an Exarch of Wind. The entire elven force was destroyed. There were fewer than two thousand survivors from a host of ten thousand."

So the rumors had been accurate, at least in scope. Zeke watched his fellow Lords process this confirmation. Some paled, finally grasping the implications. Others—too many others—still wore expressions of calculated greed.

"This action," the shadow continued, "represents the first deployment of Exarch-level power in warfare since the signing of the Accord of Limitation over two centuries ago."

Lord Fies's empty chair seemed to loom large in the corner of everyone’s vision. The man who'd challenged Sheol's endorsement had learned the hard way that some powers transcended merchant politics. Now the Empire had thrown one such power onto a battlefield.

"The elves have demanded satisfaction," the King said. "They claim the Empire has violated the fundamental principles that maintain continental stability. The Empire, in turn, has asked for a chance to explain their actions."

A clever ploy, Zeke admitted grudgingly, though not wholly unexpected. This was the kind of legal maneuvering Augustus Geistreich excelled at. Follow the letter of the law while gutting its spirit.

"Other powers have taken notice," the veiled figure continued. "The Alliance, the Dwarven Holds, even certain... interested parties from the Deadlands have expressed concern about this precedent."

The Deadlands. Zeke's hand tightened imperceptibly on his armrest.

"Therefore," the King said, his voice taking on the weight of pronouncement, "a disciplinary hearing has been called. Representatives from across the continent will gather to debate this matter and determine whether the Empire's actions constitute a violation worthy of collective response."

The silence stretched until Lord Harwick, younger and less wise to the King's ways, dared to ask, "Where will this hearing be held? Surely neutral ground must be—"

"Here."

The single word fell like a hammer blow.

"The hearing will convene in Tradespire in a month's time," the shadow elaborated, though his tone suggested the matter was already decided. "What other place could guarantee true neutrality? Where else could the greatest powers of our age gather without fear of ambush or betrayal?"

Zeke's mind raced through the implications. Tradespire, flooded with representatives from every major power. Exarchs, possibly. Certainly high-level Mages and diplomats. The security concerns alone would be staggering. The opportunities...

"The following have confirmed attendance," the veiled King continued. "From the Alliance: the Storm Exarch of Korrovan, the Blood Exarch of Valor, the Light Exarch of Equinox, and Marshal Aurelia Thorsten of Invocatia."

Each name landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples through the assembly. These weren't just powerful individuals: they were forces of nature, legends given flesh.

"From the Empire: Otto Geistreich will lead their delegation, accompanied by the four Elders and the newly appointed Azra von Hohenheim."

Zeke's jaw tightened at the last name. The pretender who dared claim his name. Their meeting would be... interesting.

"The elves will send an Exarch, though they haven't specified which. The dwarves likewise. And from the Deadlands..." the shadow paused, seeming to savor the moment, "...the King of the Dead will attend personally."

This time, even the greediest merchants couldn't maintain their composure. Chairs creaked as Lords shifted uneasily. Someone dropped a goblet, the crash of metal on stone sharp in the silence.

Three of the continental powers were sending their strongest. It would be the greatest gathering of magical might in living memory.

"As hosts," the King said, his tone shifting to something almost conversational, "Tradespire must remain absolutely neutral. Any Lord who compromises that neutrality—through word, deed, or association—will face immediate expulsion from this council."

A heavy silence lingered for a moment before the king continued.

"Now then, to the matter of preparations. You each have roles to play." The shadow shifted slightly behind the veil. "Lord Thorne, you'll coordinate with the city guard. Triple the patrols, but keep them discreet. We want security, not the appearance of a siege."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied crisply.

"Lord Vantine, housing arrangements. The delegations will expect accommodations befitting their status. Spare no expense, but bill them fairly. We are hosts, not servants."

Vantine nodded eagerly, already calculating potential profits.

"Lord Matthian, you'll oversee the merchant quarter. Many will seek to exploit this gathering for trade agreements. Ensure all contracts are registered and legitimate. We'll not have Tradespire's reputation sullied by wartime profiteering."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The assignments continued, each Lord receiving specific responsibilities. Zeke waited, knowing there was more to come. In these meetings, the most crucial tasks were often saved for the end.

"Lord von Hohenheim."

"Your Majesty," Zeke responded, keeping his voice neutral.

"You'll serve as liaison to our non-human guests. The elven delegation, the dwarven representatives, and..." a pause, heavy with meaning, "...the King of the Dead."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Several Lords shot him looks ranging from envy to relief that they hadn't been chosen for that task.

"Your connections to these parties are well documented," the King continued. "The dwarves of Ironhide Hold speak highly of you. The elves have granted you privileges few humans have ever received. And as for Sheo Veylor..."

The shadow seemed to focus on him through the veil. "They endorsed you personally. I trust you understand the weight of that act."

"I do, Your Majesty," Zeke replied. This role was both an acknowledgment and a warning. By placing him in charge of the most politically sensitive delegations, the King ensured Zeke would be too busy to pursue any personal agendas.

"Excellent. You all have one month to prepare. I suggest you use it wisely. Fortunes will be made and lost based on how we handle this gathering. More importantly, Tradespire's position as the continental center of commerce hangs in the balance."

The shadow behind the veil shifted, preparing to withdraw.

"Oh, and gentlemen? You might wish to invest in additional security for your estates. When powers of this magnitude gather, collateral damage is not a possibility—it's a certainty."

With that cheerful warning, the curtains around the high seat fell still.

The eruption of panicked conversation was immediate. Lords who moments ago had seen only profit now grasped the knife's edge they balanced upon. Exarchs in their city. The potential for violence that could level districts. The political ramifications of any perceived slight.

Zeke remained seated, letting the chaos wash over him. His mind was already working through possibilities, calculating advantages. The twins would need accelerated training. His security measures required updating. And he'd needed to reach out to Margret, assuming elven communications hadn't been completely severed.

Most importantly, he'd be responsible for hosting the three non-human powers. The very beings the Empire had just demonstrated could be targeted without consequence.

"I’m not sure I like this," Zeke murmured.

[Notice]

This appointment makes host invaluable as a mediator. However, it also makes host a target for all factions seeking to influence or harm these delegations.

Rising from his chair, Zeke made for the exit. He had work to do and precious little time to do it. The dice had indeed landed, as Midas said.

Now came the far more dangerous game of deciding what to do with the numbers showing.

B7 - Chapter 18: Honor Guard

The invitation arrived less than an hour later, appearing in his hands the moment the messenger handed it over. Zeke caught it without looking up from his preparations, the council's seal already familiar to his touch.

Emergency session. Sunset. Mandatory attendance.

He frowned at the timing. When the Empire shattered decades of precedent by deploying an Exarch, he'd expected the Merchant Lords to convene immediately. Instead, they'd scheduled it for evening, nearly eight hours away. The delay nagged at him, but he pushed the concern aside.

He had his own preparations to make.

"Is it ready?" he asked the empty air.

[Answer]

The ritual circle has been inscribed in the secondary workshop. All components are in place. The modifications you requested have been integrated.

Zeke set down the delicate gear he'd been pretending to examine. His hands had been moving on autopilot while his mind churned through the implications of what he was about to do. The Honor Guard ritual, the same binding he'd used on the Frostscale warriors, would soon claim its first human subjects.

Children, technically. Barely awakened Mages who trusted him completely.

His jaw tightened. The world had forced his hand, but that didn't make the decision sit any easier.

"Summon them."

[Acknowledged]

Interrupting educational session. The twins will arrive momentarily.

While he waited, Zeke moved to the secondary workshop, a smaller chamber he'd had carved from the bedrock specifically for sensitive magical work. The ritual circle dominated the floor, concentric rings of precious metals inlaid with crystallized mana, the lines between them filled with an alloy that had cost more than most merchants saw in a year.

The design was virtually identical to the one he'd used beneath Winter's mountain. Only minor adjustments had been made, refinements suggested by months of theoretical study. Where the original had been crude but functional, this iteration approached true artistry.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside: one set measured and precise, the other slightly quicker but trying to match the first. The twins entered together, as always, though their lesson with Akasha had clearly been interrupted mid-exercise. Kieran still had a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from mana circulation practice, while Kallen's fingers bore the telltale of copying magical scripture.

"Master," they said in unison, offering shallow bows.

The synchronized gesture might have seemed rehearsed from anyone else, but Zeke had observed the twins long enough to know it came naturally to them. They moved through life like two halves of the same whole, each instinctively aware of the other's position.

"I have something important to discuss with you." He gestured for them to approach but stopped them just outside the circle's boundary. "What I'm about to offer will fundamentally change your relationship with this house. With me."

Kallen's dark eyes sharpened with interest, while Kieran's expression grew thoughtful. Neither spoke—they'd learned quickly that he preferred they listen first.

"You've been studying magical theory. Tell me, what have you learned about advancement?"

The twins exchanged a glance before Kieran answered. "That power comes slowly. Years of meditation, careful cultivation, and gradual expansion of the Core. Most take decades to reach Grandmage level."

"Most, yes." Zeke began to pace, careful to keep his movements measured despite the energy thrumming through him. "But I reached it in less than two years after leaving the Elementium."

Their eyes widened, not with surprise at the fact itself, which was common knowledge, but at him acknowledging it so directly.

"That wasn't talent alone," he continued. "I discovered—developed—a technique that accelerates Core cultivation beyond anything the noble houses know."

He paused, letting the weight of that settle. In the corner of his vision, he caught Kallen's fingers twitching, a nervous habit she was still learning to control.

"I'm willing to share this technique with you. To give you the same advantage I used. But it comes at a price."

"…A ritual," Kieran said softly, his gaze dropping to the intricate pattern carved into the floor.

Smart boy. Of course he'd put the pieces together.

"Yes. This binding will ensure my secrets remain protected. It's similar to the oaths other houses use, with some key differences." Zeke met their eyes directly. "First, it can be reversed. If you ever choose to leave my service, the bond can be broken. In exchange, the binding goes much further than any oath you will ever swear in your life."

He let his expression soften slightly. "Furthermore, if you do choose to leave, everything you learned while bound: every technique, every secret, every memory of privileged information, will be wiped clean. You'll remember your time here, remember me, but the knowledge itself will vanish like smoke."

The twins stood perfectly still, processing. Zeke could practically see the thoughts racing behind their eyes, weighing opportunity against obligation.

"You don't have to decide immediately—"

"We accept."

The words came from both simultaneously, without even a glance between them. Zeke blinked, caught off guard by the speed of their response.

"You didn't discuss it."

Kallen tilted her head slightly. "What is there to discuss? You've already given us more than we dared hope for. Our lives, our futures, everything we might become, we owe it to the house and to you."

"…And this protection works both ways," Kieran added. "If someone tries to force your secrets from us, we couldn't betray them even if we wanted to."

The pragmatism in his voice was unsettling from someone so young. But then, the twins had always been mature beyond their years—a product of growing up in a family that saw them more as future assets than children.

Still, Zeke felt compelled to press. "You're certain? Once this is done, there's no taking it back lightly."

"We're certain, Master." Kallen's voice carried quiet steel. "You promised to make us Grandmages by twenty. This is the path to that promise, isn't it?"

He couldn't argue with that logic. With a slow nod, he gestured them forward. "Then step into the circle. Stand in the secondary rings—yes, there and there. Face each other."

They moved without hesitation, taking their positions with the same unconscious synchronization they brought to everything. The ritual circle began to glow faintly as it sensed compatible subjects.

Zeke moved to the primary platform at the circle's heart. The moment his feet touched the raised dais, power surged through the carved channels. Light raced along every line, every intersection, until the entire room blazed with magical radiance.

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

The formal words felt heavy on his tongue. He'd spoken them before, to desperate Chimeroi who saw him as their salvation. But these two had genuine choices, genuine futures beyond his service.

"I swear," they said in perfect unison, without a moment's doubt.

"Do you understand that should you choose to leave this service, all knowledge gained under my protection will be forfeit?"

"I understand."

"Then let it be done."

Zeke released his hold on his mana, letting it flood into the ritual. The intricate patterns flared to brilliant life, each line becoming a river of power. The very air grew thick with magical pressure as reality bent to accommodate the working.

But something was different this time.

When he'd bound the Frostscale warriors, the process had been almost violent—their souls yielding to his with the desperate gratitude of the condemned. This felt more like... a negotiation. The twins' souls didn't surrender so much as step forward to meet his, maintaining their shape even as the connection formed.

Through his enhanced perception, he watched the bonds take shape. Where the Chimeroi had formed thick, rope-like tethers, the twins manifested as elegant threads—no less strong, but far more refined. The difference was fascinating.

[Observation]

The variation could stem from willing participation versus coerced acceptance, or it could be a difference brought about by the variance between Human and Chimeroi. The twins' souls maintain greater autonomy within the binding.

The ritual reached its crescendo, power crashing through the chamber like a tide. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. The lights dimmed, the pressure eased, and Zeke found himself looking at two figures who appeared completely unchanged.

No, not completely. There was something in their posture now, a subtle alertness that hadn't been there before. They could feel the bond just as he could, that gossamer thread between them.

"How do you feel?" he asked, stepping down from the platform.

The twins considered the question with characteristic thoughtfulness.

"Different," Kieran said finally. "Like there's a compass in my mind, always pointing toward you."

"Safe," Kallen added quietly. "Like standing under shelter during a storm."

Interesting descriptions. The Chimeroi had spoken of overwhelming reverence, of his presence replacing their dead Progenitor in their minds. These two maintained their independence even while acknowledging the connection.

"The binding was successful," he said, more for their benefit than his own. "You're now members of my Honor Guard—the first human ones, in fact."

Something shifted in their expressions at that. Pride, perhaps, mixed with the weight of responsibility.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Kallen asked.

"It means you'll know things even my closest family doesn't. Secrets that David, for all his decades of loyal service, has never been told." Zeke moved toward the door, gesturing for them to follow. "It means you'll walk a path only I have walked before."

They fell into step behind him, and he could feel their curiosity like a physical thing. The workshop corridors had never seemed longer as he led them deeper into the complex, past storage rooms and half-finished projects, to a door that looked utterly unremarkable.

"Beyond this point," he said, hand resting on the handle, "you'll understand why the binding was necessary."

He opened the door.

The Mana Purifying Device dominated the chamber beyond. It sat like a crystalline flower bloomed from pure magical theory, its transparent panels revealing the mechanical perfection within. Two containers crowned the structure: one holding liquid darkness that seemed to drink light, the other pulsing with radiance that hurt to look at.

The twins stopped breathing.

"This," Zeke said softly, "is how I reached Grandmage in a matter of months."

Kieran took an involuntary step forward, eyes wide with wonder. "That’s impossible."

"It's beautiful," Kallen whispered.

"It's both." Zeke moved to the device's base, running his hand along its smooth surface. "And it's the reason empires would go to war. The noble houses maintain their power through bloodline advantages and resource hoarding. This device makes both irrelevant."

He turned to face them directly. "A few hours each night in purified mana, and your cultivation will accelerate beyond anything traditional methods could achieve. But it requires absolute secrecy. If word of this spread—"

"…The balance of power across the continent would shatter," Kieran finished.

"Every nation would demand access," Kallen added. "Or try to destroy it to maintain their advantages."

Their quick understanding pleased him. They truly grasped the magnitude of what he'd shared.

"Your first session begins tonight, Kallen," he said. "But remember: this knowledge is now part of you in a way that goes beyond memory. The ritual ensures that. Guard it accordingly."

The twins nodded solemnly, still staring at the device with something approaching reverence.

As Zeke watched them circle the machine, asking tentative questions about its operation, he felt the weight of his decision settle fully on his shoulders. He'd bound two children to his service, made them keepers of a secret that could reshape the world.

But looking at their eager faces, seeing the brilliant futures now open to them, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

The world was changing. The old rules had died the moment an Exarch's wind scoured an elven army from existence. If he wanted to protect what mattered—if he wanted to matter at all in the coming chaos—he needed people he could trust absolutely.

Today, he'd gained two.

[Notice]

Three hours until the council session. Shall I begin preparations for your attendance?

Zeke nodded absently, still watching the twins explore their new reality. Whatever the Merchant Lords had planned, whatever crisis awaited in that chamber, he would face it knowing his position had grown stronger.

B7 - Chapter 17: A Weighty Letter

Sorry for the late realease, I had some technical problems. However, this delay will not influence tomorrows release. It should be on time again.

Zeke sat cross-legged on the stone floor, a dozen droplets of blood suspended in the air before him like rubies caught in amber. Each one pulsed with its own rhythm, maintaining perfect spherical form despite gravity's pull.

"Return," he whispered.

Seven of the twelve droplets wavered, then darted back toward his outstretched palm. They struck his skin and vanished beneath it, rejoining his bloodstream with barely a ripple. The remaining five trembled, fought against his command for a heartbeat, then splattered uselessly against his forearm.

Progress, but not enough.

Zeke wiped the failed attempts away with practiced indifference. Two weeks ago, he couldn't manage even one successful return. Now he could reliably recall over half. The seedling wrapped around his heart pulsed with each attempt, growing more responsive to his Will.

Still, the drain was significant. Each droplet he imbued with the concept of return cost him more mana than a dozen ordinary blood spears. The inefficiency grated at him, but that was the nature of learning. Mastery would come with time—time he wasn't certain he had.

[Notice]

Host's success rate has improved by twelve percent since yesterday's session.

Akasha's voice echoed in his mind, clinical and precise as always.

"Only twelve percent?" Zeke muttered, already forming new droplets from a fresh cut on his palm. "At this rate, I'll be dust before I master it."

[Answer]

The learning curve for Will manipulation follows an exponential pattern. Initial progress appears slow, but—

"I know, I know." He waved her off, focusing on the blood hovering before him. "Doesn't make it less frustrating."

The blood began to take shape again, each droplet spinning slowly as he infused it with purpose. This was his reality now—endless repetition, gradual refinement, the slow accumulation of power. His days had fallen into a predictable rhythm: mornings spent wrestling with Will, afternoons dedicated to the World Anchor's mysteries, and nights...

His gaze drifted to the corner of the workshop where the Mana Purifying Device sat dormant. Tonight would mark his fourteenth session with the improved design. Just a few hours each night, but the results spoke for themselves. His Core had swelled with power, the seedlings growing thicker and more vibrant with each exposure.

No addiction. No cravings. Just pure, efficient growth.

Akasha had been right about the modifications. Whatever she'd done to induce that deeper meditative state had eliminated the device's most dangerous side effect. He could use it sustainably now, pushing toward the peak of Grandmage without burning himself out.

[Notice]

Your usual guests are approaching the workshop entrance.

Zeke's concentration shattered. The blood droplets fell, spattering across the floor in an abstract pattern. He pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache building.

"Again? What is it this time?"

[Answer]

Unknown. However, their demeanor suggests increased agitation compared to previous visits.

"Of course it does." He rose to his feet, brushing dust from his robes. "Let them in. Might as well get this over with."

The heavy door swung open before Konrad could knock. The man stumbled slightly, fist still raised, while his wife Sybilla clutched a leather folder to her chest. Both looked haggard, dark circles under their eyes suggesting sleepless nights.

"Lord von Hohenheim," Konrad began, his voice strained with forced politeness. "We must speak with you about our son."

Zeke gestured to a pair of chairs near his workbench, though he remained standing. "As I've told you repeatedly, Kieran made his choice. Both your children did."

"Children don't always know what's best for them," Sybilla interjected, her knuckles white around the folder. "Surely you can understand a parent's concern?"

"I would have more sympathy for your situation were you to show the same care for Kallen as you do for her brother." The words came out sharper than intended, but Zeke was tired of dancing around the truth.

Konrad's face flushed. "How dare you—"

"We’ve argued about this exact topic seven times in the past two weeks," Zeke continued, his voice flat. "Every day since, you've tried to convince your son that his oath was coerced, that he's being manipulated. Every day, he's rejected your arguments."

The couple exchanged startled glances. They hadn't known anyone was listening to their private conversations. Good. Let them squirm.

"You've been spying on us?" Sybilla's voice pitched higher.

"You live in my estate. You work for my house. Did you think your conversations were private?" Zeke let a hint of his draconic aura leak out, just enough to make the air grow heavy. "Your son is exactly where he wants to be. Your daughter is thriving. The only problem here is your inability to accept that they've chosen their own paths."

Konrad stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone. "This isn't over. We have rights—"

"You have exactly the rights I grant you," Zeke cut him off. "Even if we were of equal standing instead of lord and servant, you would have no leg to stand on in this matter. Neither in the court of law, nor in the public eye, nor in the realm of morality do your demands hold any merit. It is time you both finally understood that fact."

Before either could respond, Akasha's presence flared in his mind—not with words, but with urgency. Something had happened. Something significant.

[Notice]

Intelligence received. Empire forces have deployed an Exarch against elven military units. Thousands confirmed dead. No response from elven leadership yet.

The blood drained from Zeke's face. An Exarch. Used in open warfare. The implications crashed over him like a cold wave.

“What sort of a Lord would speak in such a—”

"Get out."

The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, but they carried more weight than any shout. Konrad opened his mouth to protest, but something in Zeke's expression stopped him cold.

"I said get out. This matter is settled. If you bring it up again, you'll be seeking employment elsewhere." His voice had gone eerily calm, the kind of stillness that preceded a storm. "Your son remains in my service. Accept it or leave. Those are your only options."

Sybilla tugged at her husband's arm, recognizing the danger. They retreated hastily, the door slamming shut behind them with a resonant clang.

The moment they were gone, Zeke sank into his chair. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed them flat against the workbench.

"Tell me everything."

[Report]

Initial intelligence suggests a single Wind-attribute Exarch intercepted elven reinforcements heading to Rukia. The entire force was eliminated in under five minutes. No elven Exarch responded. The Empire is claiming the action was defensive, citing the elves' non-signatory status to the Accord.

"Defensive." Zeke laughed, but there was no humor in it. "They're rewriting the rules of warfare and calling it defense."

[Analysis]

This action will likely force a response from the Elven Matriarchy. The continental balance of power has shifted dramatically.

Zeke's mind raced through the implications. The Accord had kept Exarchs from being used as weapons of war for generations. It was the only thing preventing the strongest individuals from simply conquering whatever they pleased. If the Empire had found a loophole...

"He planned this," he muttered. "No wonder the Emperor didn’t fear an elven response. If he were willing to use Exarch-level powerhouses, then their interference would be negligible. There is no way the Matriarchs would ever leave the forest. With this, he has them over a barrel, and he knows it."

[Concurrence]

The tactical pattern matches previous Imperial strategies. Create a situation where the enemy must respond, then exploit that response with disproportionate force.

Zeke stood and began pacing, his earlier experiments forgotten. Every major power on the continent would be scrambling to respond to this. The Alliance would be in emergency sessions. The dwarves would be fortifying their positions. And the elves...

"Margret. Is she—?"

[Answer]

No further communication after she informed us of this situation. Given the situation, silence is expected. The Matriarchy will likely restrict all external communications.

Of course. His one reliable source of information about elven movements would be cut off just when he needed it most. Still, knowing Margret was there, possibly in danger, added another layer of urgency to an already critical situation.

The workshop suddenly felt too small, too confined. Zeke's gaze swept across his various projects: the blood droplets drying on the floor, the notes on spatial manipulation scattered across his desk, the dormant Mana Purifying Device waiting for tonight's session.

All of it seemed trivial now. His steady progress, his careful plans, his measured approach to gaining strength—none of it mattered if the continent erupted into Exarch-level warfare.

"The children," he said suddenly. "Where are they?"

[Answer]

Currently in the eastern garden with my projection. Today's lesson covers basic Mana circulation theory. They remain unaware of current events.

Good. Let them have a few more hours of innocence. Soon enough, they'd learn that their awakening had come at the precipice of a new age, one where the old rules no longer applied.

Zeke moved to his desk, sweeping aside the spatial theory notes to reveal a map of the continent. His finger traced the borders between nations, lingering on Rukia's position relative to the elven forests.

"Show me everything we know about Imperial force movements."

Akasha's projection materialized beside him, gesturing at the map. Glowing markers appeared, indicating known positions of the Ehrenlegion, supply lines, and potential staging areas.

“Based on current intelligence, the Empire has committed approximately sixty percent of the Ehrenlegion to the subjugation of Rukia’s main strongholds. This leaves their eastern borders relatively exposed, though still defended well enough that no standing army can break through.”

"They're all in," Zeke murmured. "Whatever they're truly after, they're willing to risk everything for it."

His mind kept circling back to the same questions. Why now? What had changed? Augustus Geistreich had waited centuries to make his move. Every action had been calculated, measured, designed to achieve maximum effect with minimal exposure.

Using an Exarch openly broke that pattern. It was a declaration, a challenge to the entire continental order. It said: We are strong enough to break the rules. Stop us if you can.

"The King will summon an emergency session," he said, thinking aloud. "Tradespire can't remain neutral if Exarch-level combat becomes normalized."

[Analysis]

Estimated 94% chance of an emergency council within 48 hours. Your attendance will be mandatory.

Zeke nodded absently, still staring at the map. The careful balance he'd been maintaining—building his strength while avoiding direct confrontation with the Empire—was crumbling. Soon, everyone would be forced to choose sides.

His gaze drifted to the World Anchor, sitting innocuously on a nearby shelf. The cube pulsed gently with spatial energy, a reminder of the power he'd only begun to understand. The space within had grown steadily over the past weeks, expanding from a small room to nearly the size of the workshop itself.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I need to accelerate everything," he said quietly. "The timeline just collapsed."

[Question]

Shall I begin preparations for advanced training regimens?

"Yes. And..." He paused, weighing the decision. "Begin drafting the Honor Guard ceremony. We'll need to move quickly with the twins."

The thought of using the ritual on children barely into their magical awakening felt wrong, but the alternative was worse. If war came—when war came—he couldn't afford to have his secrets exposed. The Mana Purifying Device alone would make him a target for every power on the continent.

[Notice]

Beginning preparations. Estimated time for ritual setup: six hours.

"Make it four. And increase tonight's device duration to five hours."

[Notice]

Extended exposure may risk—

"I know the risks." His voice carried an edge of steel. "But playing it safe is no longer an option."

Zeke returned to the map, his mind already spinning through contingencies. The Empire had changed the game. The careful dance of politics and gradual accumulation was over. What came next would be decided by strength alone.

His hand clenched into a fist, blood seeping between his fingers from the earlier cuts. Without conscious thought, he shaped it into a needle-thin spike, imbuing it with the concept of return.

This time, when he released it, the blood shot forward like an arrow, pierced the air in a perfect arc, and curved back to sink seamlessly into his palm.

Perfect execution. It had only taken the complete upheaval of continental politics to achieve it.

Zeke laughed bitterly at the irony. Then he got to work. There was too much to do and far too little time to do it.

The age of chaos had begun.

B7 - Chapter 16: The Empire’s Diplomacy II

The light faded, leaving spots dancing across Viola's vision. When the world reassembled itself, the hooded figure had moved twenty paces forward, standing alone in the grass between their small group and the vast elven host.

The morning breeze died completely. Not stilled—murdered, cut off mid-breath as if the air itself recoiled from what was about to unfold.

"Turn back." The figure's voice carried across the valley without rising, without strain. It simply arrived, inevitable as gravity. "Consider this a formal warning."

Viola's chest tightened. The sheer audacity of it. One person, radiating no magical signature whatsoever, standing before ten thousand elven warriors and issuing commands. Her grandfather would have called it sublime arrogance. Her instructors would have called it suicide.

The elven commanders remained mounted on their dream-beasts, antlers catching the light like crystalline crowns. One urged their mount forward, stopping in shouting distance of the hooded figure. This close, Viola could see the commander's face clearly: She had an ageless beauty married to barely contained fury, lips pressed thin, jaw muscles taut beneath porcelain skin.

"You dare?" The commander's voice rang like struck silver. "You dare stand before the Emerald Host and speak commands? We smell the blood on your winds, human. We have seen the smoke of our cousins' pyres. And you—" a gesture of disgust, "—you who reek of nothing, who brings no power to this field, would presume to threaten us?"

The hooded figure tilted their head slightly. "I presume nothing. I merely state what will be."

Laughter rippled through the elven ranks, not mirthful, but sharp as breaking glass. The commander raised one elegant hand, and from the host rose the flyers.

Viola's breath caught. She'd thought herself skilled in aerial combat, had taken pride in her family's mastery of the skies. But these elves moved like wind given form. They didn't fight the air—they were the air, flowing upward in spirals that defied every principle of aerodynamics she'd been taught. A hundred of them, perhaps more, ascending with such grace that her own abilities felt like a child's fumbling.

They struck without warning, without battle cries. Silent as diving hawks, they descended on the lone figure from every angle. Blades of compressed air, invisible to normal sight but clear as day to Viola's senses, sliced toward the hooded form in a pattern that left no escape route, no possibility of—

The figure snorted.

Such a mundane sound. Dismissive. Bored.

The flyers dropped.

Not fell—dropped. Like marionettes with severed strings, they plummeted from the sky. The air that had been their ally, their very essence, simply ceased to acknowledge them. Viola watched in horror as bodies tumbled earthward, some trying desperately to summon their magic, others already unconscious from the shock of separation.

They hit the ground hard. Bones snapped. Cries of pain rose from those still conscious. But none died, their bodies too strong to succumb from such a fall.

"Your people yet live," the figure said, still in that tone of absolute certainty. "This mercy will not be extended twice. Turn back."

The elven commander had gone very still atop their mount. Around her, the perfect formations wavered slightly, uncertainty rippling through ten thousand warriors who had never known defeat.

"Who are you?" The question came out careful now, weighted with new wariness.

The figure's hood turned slightly, as if considering whether the question merited a response.

"I have no name." Each word fell like a stone into still water. "I am will made manifest. I am the word of my Emperor given form. And like that will—" the pause stretched, "—I cannot be defied."

The commander's face flushed, beauty transformed by rage. Her mount reared, antlers slicing air, and their voice cracked like a whip across the valley.

"Emerald Host! Show this creature the price of defying the Children of the Tree!"

The charge began like an avalanche: slow at first, then building to inexorable momentum. The ground trembled beneath thousands of feet moving in perfect synchronization. Nature Mages led the van, and Viola's eyes widened at their appearance.

These were not the lithe, graceful beings of elven stereotype. Their skin had taken on the texture and hardness of ancient bark, muscles corded like old roots. Some stood eight feet tall, their limbs elongated and joints bent at angles that shouldn't have been possible. They ran with their hands touching earth, and where they passed, the grass itself became weapon—blades of green shooting upward, hardening to steel-sharp points.

Behind them came the regular infantry, spears lowered, shields interlocked. And threading through it all, the Life Mages worked their art. Viola watched muscles swell to twice their size, fatigue banished, strength doubled and redoubled.

An army of nightmares bearing down on four people, one of whom still radiated nothing.

Beside her, Ignis cursed. "We need to—"

The words died in his throat. Viola felt it at the same moment: a pull, gentle at first, then insistent. Her mana, the warm current that had flowed through her for years, began to slip away. Not stolen, exactly. Called. Summoned by something so far beyond her that resistance wasn't even a concept.

"What—" Livia's hands flew to her chest, eyes wide with panic.

Viola dropped to one knee, not from pain but from sudden understanding. The absence of a magical signature hadn't been emptiness: it had been restraint. Like standing next to a dam and not hearing the water because it was so perfectly contained.

Now the dam opened.

Power flooded the valley. Not wild or chaotic, but structured, purposeful, overwhelming in its sheer scope. The air itself became thick with potential, crackling with forces that made her teeth ache. And at the center of it all, the hooded figure hadn't moved.

"Exarch," Ignis whispered, the word torn from him like a confession.

The charging elves hit the edge of that power and stumbled. Their enhanced forms wavered, bark skin flaking away, elongated limbs snapping back to normal proportions with sounds that made Viola's stomach turn. The grass they commanded withered and died. The strength granted by Life Mages evaporated like morning dew.

For a heartbeat, the entire army wavered on the edge of breaking.

Then the figure raised one hand.

Wind answered. Not the playful breezes Viola knew, not even the fierce gales she'd learned to summon. This was wind as primordial force, wind as the world's own breath turned to purpose.

The first vortex formed directly above the elven center. It descended like the finger of an angry god, touching earth with a roar that deafened. Bodies flew, not dramatically, but with the casual indifference of leaves in a hurricane. The funnel moved with surgical precision, carving through formations, scattering weapons, reducing ordered ranks to chaos.

A second vortex. A third. A dozen.

Then came the blades.

Viola had thought she understood wind blades. Her family's techniques had been refined over generations, each edge honed to perfection. But these, these were different. Each one was the size of a building, visible to the naked eye 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, they had no power to defend themselves.

The first blade hit the right flank. Bodies didn't so much fall 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 paper. The third, fourth, fifth—Viola lost count, could only watch as those perfect formations dissolved into screaming chaos.

Some elves tried to flee. Hurricanes caught them, hurled them back into the killing ground. Others attempted to rally, to form defensive circles. Compressed air burst their eardrums, left them writhing in agony. A few, the bravest or most foolish, actually charged the hooded figure directly.

They never made it close. The very atmosphere around the Exarch had become hostile to life—pressure so intense that bodies simply crumpled, bones snapping, organs rupturing.

Through it all, the figure never moved from that single spot. Never gestured beyond that first raised hand. Never spoke.

It wasn't a battle. It was a demonstration.

When the survivors finally broke—really broke, discipline and pride shattered equally—they fled for the forest's edge. Perhaps two thousand from ten, stumbling over the bodies of their kin, supporting wounded comrades, all beauty and grace torn away to reveal the terrified creatures beneath.

The wind died as suddenly as it had risen. The vortices dissipated. The blades faded. In the terrible stillness that followed, only the moaning of the wounded and the whisper of settling dust remained.

One figure didn't flee. The commander who had ordered the charge sat slumped on her mount, one arm sliced clean off, blood streaming from a gash across their forehead. But their eyes burned still, fixed on the hooded figure with hatred pure enough to kill.

"Vow breaker," they spat, blood flecking their lips. "The world will know what the Empire has done this day. What you have done."

The hooded figure turned slightly, considering. Then, with deliberate slowness, reached up and pushed back their hood.

Viola's heart stopped.

Silver-white hair spilled free, caught by the morning light like spun moonlight. The face beneath was neither old nor young, features sharp enough to cut, eyes the color of winter storms. But it was the hair that held her—that impossible, unmistakable shade that marked her own bloodline, that had been her family's pride for twenty generations.

The Exarch's expression never changed. "I am the will of my Emperor. Whatever will come of my deeds is what he intended, nothing more and nothing less."

With effort, the commander turned their mount toward the forest. "The Matriarchs will answer this outrage. And when they do—" a final glance back, "—may your Emperor's will protect you then."

They rode away, slowly, proudly, leaving the Exarch standing amid the carnage they had wrought.

Viola remained on her knees, unable to move, unable to think beyond that singular impossibility: silver-white hair on someone who shouldn't exist. Her family had no Exarchs. Had never produced one. It was their shame and their safety both—too weak to threaten the Emperor, too useful to discard.

So who was this person who wore their colors and wielded power beyond imagining?

The Exarch pulled the hood back up, becoming once again just another robed figure. When they spoke, their voice had returned to that earlier emptiness.

"We return now."

No one argued. Ignis helped Livia to her feet—she was shaking, face pale from having her magic ripped away. Viola stood on her own, legs unsteady but functional. None of them looked at the field behind them, where the morning sun was beginning to warm cooling bodies.

They walked in silence, retracing their path through lands that now seemed alien after what they'd witnessed. Viola's mind churned with questions that had no safe answers. The Accord that kept Exarchs from being used as weapons of war had been shattered. The consequences would ripple across the continent.

But beneath that political understanding, more personal questions burned. Who was this person with her family's blood? Why had her grandfather never spoken of them? What other secrets did the house hide?

And darkest of all: if the Empire had hidden Exarchs, weapons beyond the Emperor himself, what else waited in the shadows?

The journey back stretched before them, three people who had witnessed the impossible and now had to live with that knowledge. The morning's beauty had curdled into something oppressive. Even the wind, when it finally dared to stir again, felt different, tainted by the memory of its use as an instrument of slaughter.

Viola pulled her own hood up, hiding her silver hair from the world. She had no answers. Only questions that multiplied with each step away from that killing field.

Behind them, smoke began to rise from the forest's edge: funeral pyres for the fallen. The wind carried the scent of burning sage and sorrow.

Ahead lay only the long road back to the Ehrenlegion, and the certainty that the world had changed in ways none of them yet understood.

B7 - Chapter 15: The Empire’s Diplomacy I

The wind carried the stench of smoke and fear.

Viola descended from the cloudless sky, her boots touching down on scorched earth that had once been farmland. The grass crunched beneath her feet, brittle and dead. Three weeks of this. Three weeks of flying over burning villages and fleeing families, of counting the columns of smoke that rose like accusing fingers toward the heavens. Toward her.

The command tent stood at the center of the latest forward camp, its black canvas unmarked by insignia or decoration. She approached with measured steps, forcing her spine straight despite the exhaustion that pulled at her bones. Sleep had become a stranger these past days. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw faces. Half-elven children with tear-streaked cheeks. Mothers clutching infants as flames consumed their homes.

The tent flap parted before she could announce herself.

Inside, the temperature dropped ten degrees. The masked Mind Mage sat behind a simple field desk, his iron visage reflecting the pale light of a single crystal lamp. No maps adorned the walls. No battle plans cluttered the surface before him. Just empty space and that terrible stillness that followed these creatures wherever they went.

"Report." The word emerged without inflection, neither question nor command.

Viola clasped her hands behind her back. "Scouting sweep of the northeastern corridor complete. No organized resistance encountered. Seven settlements identified, all evacuated or in the process of fleeing." She paused, then added what she knew he already suspected. "No military targets. Only farmers and their families."

The mask turned slightly, catching the light. Behind those eye slits lay nothing: no hint of emotion, no flicker of humanity. Just void… and calculation.

Her report hung in the air between them. Somewhere beyond the tent walls, she heard the distant crack of burning timber, the shouts of soldiers establishing a perimeter. The sounds of occupation.

The Mind Mage's head tilted back, his attention shifting to something beyond physical sight. The network, she knew. Her words were being distributed to command, dissected, and catalogued with all the passion one might reserve for counting sacks of grain.

Minutes stretched. Viola kept her breathing steady, her face neutral. She knew not to fidget in their presence, her upbringing rearing its head. Movement suggested weakness, and weakness invited scrutiny she couldn't afford.

Finally, the mask lowered.

"You are reassigned."

Her jaw tightened imperceptibly. Another scouting mission, no doubt. Another excuse to keep Victor Windtänzer's granddaughter safely away from any real combat, any real decisions. They'd send her to count clouds while the Legion carved its bloody path through Rukia.

"Report to staging area three. Departure in one hour."

She blinked. Staging area three was reserved for priority operations, not milk runs to survey empty countryside. "Sir?"

The mask turned away, dismissal clear. But then, as if remembering something trivial: "Travel light. Extended operation."

Viola saluted and left, her mind already racing. Extended operation meant crossing significant distance. Travel light meant speed over supplies. And staging area three...

The designated zone buzzed with quiet efficiency when she arrived. Not the usual chaos of a major deployment, but the focused preparation of specialists. Three figures stood near a modest supply cache, checking gear with practiced movements.

The first, she recognized immediately: Gottwin Feuerkranz, though he went by Ignis in the field. The Archmage's red hair caught the afternoon light like copper wire, his scarred hands moving over his equipment with casual confidence. She'd seen him in action once, watched him reduce an entire forest to ash with a gesture. The smell had lingered for days.

Beside him knelt a woman Viola didn't know, her hands glowing softly as she sorted through supplies. A Life Mage, judging by the gentleness of her Mana. Grand Mage, if the complexity of her kit was any indication. Dark skin, darker hair twisted into practical braids, movements economical and precise.

The third member made her chest tighten.

Robed in white that seemed to repel the light, hooded and gloved despite the warmth of the afternoon. Not a sliver of skin showed. But it was the absence that made her shoulders tense: no magical signature, no hint of power. Like staring at a hole in the world shaped like a person.

Yet something crawled along her spine when she looked at them. A wrongness her Mana-sense couldn't parse. This was no mere civilian, that much she knew.

"Windtänzer." Ignis didn't look up from his pack. "Thought they'd send someone else."

She approached the group, setting down her minimal gear. "Orders are orders."

The Life Mage glanced up, amber eyes assessing. "Livia," she offered. "I'll be keeping you all breathing."

Viola nodded acknowledgment, then let her gaze drift to the robed figure. They hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged her arrival. Just stood there, facing north.

"Don't bother," Ignis muttered. "Hasn't said a word since joining up. Command vouched for them, that's all I know."

Which told her everything. Special clearance meant special purpose. And the complete absence of information meant this was so far above her clearance level that even asking questions would mark her as a security risk.

"Direction?" she asked instead.

Ignis pulled out a simple compass, its needle pointing steadily north-northwest. "Follow the needle until told otherwise. No maps, no landmarks, no discussion of destination."

Viola's wind stirred unconsciously, responding to her spike of interest. They were being deliberately kept ignorant, guided like hounds on a leash. Whatever their purpose, someone very high up wanted them to stay in the dark.

They set out as the sun began its descent, moving in diamond formation. Ignis took point, the robed figure to his left, Livia right, and Viola bringing up the rear where her aerial reconnaissance would be most useful. No one spoke. Their boots found purchase on the broken ground with practiced silence, only the whisper of displaced air marking their passage.

They traveled quickly, much faster than a normal human could hope to achieve, even on horseback. Yet, the robed figure didn’t seem bothered by the pace. And even after Ignus sped up, the figure followed without missing a beat.

She had been right. This man was no civilian.

The first day took them through the devastation. Blackened fields stretched to the horizon, broken only by the skeletal remains of barns and houses. Viola forced herself to look, to witness what the Legion left in its wake. The others seemed unbothered—Ignis actually hummed under his breath at one point, some tavern song from the capital.

By the second day, the landscape began to change. The burns gave way to untouched grassland, then rolling hills dotted with wildflowers. The air lost its bitter edge, replaced by something cleaner. Sweeter.

She knew where they were going before the trees appeared on the horizon.

The Great Forest. The domain of the elves, where even the Empire's might meant nothing beneath those ancient boughs. Her wind carried whispers of leaves older than human memory, of power that slept in root and branch.

"Diplomatic mission," Livia said quietly on the third evening, the first real words any of them had spoken beyond the necessities of travel. "Has to be. No other reason to send this composition."

Her eyes darted over to the hooded figure for a moment. If she was right, then this man had to be a diplomat, probably with the last name of Geistreich.

Ignis spat. "Diplomacy. After what we've done to their cousins?" He shook his head. "We'll be lucky if they let us close enough to grovel before turning us to fertilizer."

Viola said nothing, but her thoughts aligned with his. The elves were not known for their mercy, especially when their kin were involved. Even the half-blood outcasts of Rukia were still of elven stock. The Matriarchs would not ignore this slight.

Still, if the Emperor sent them alongside one of his kin, there might be hope. He was not a man to be known to make diplomatic blunders.

Despite their speculations, the robed figure never contributed to these sparse conversations, never even acknowledged them. They moved like driftwood on water, present but separate, following some current only they could sense.

On the fourth dawn, they crested a hill and saw it.

The Forest stood like a wall of green, trees so vast their tops vanished into morning mist. It was the first time she had ever witnessed the sight of the great forest, and the stories truly didn’t do it justice. Viola understood, in that moment, how the elves had come to worship nature the way they had.

In any other circumstance, she would have been content to remain airborne, simply basking in the majesty of the view. But it was not meant to be. What emerged from that verdant barrier stole Viola’s breath.

An army poured from between the trunks like water from a broken dam.

No. Army was too crude a word.

This was art given military form. Each warrior moved in perfect harmony with their fellows, their armor catching light in ways that seemed to bend reality. Spears topped with leaves that glowed with inner fire. Bows strung with starlight. Faces of terrible beauty set in expressions of serene purpose.

They flowed down the hillside opposite in complete silence, thousands upon thousands, their footfalls making no more sound than falling snow. At their head rode figures on beasts Viola had no name for—somewhere between deer and dream, their antlers crown-like, their eyes holding depths that made her want to look away.

"Mother of flames," Ignis breathed.

The elven host spread across the valley floor like spilled wine, their formations organic yet precise. No drums beat. No horns sounded. They simply were, a fact of nature as inevitable as the tide.

Viola's wind died completely, cowed into stillness.

They had come too late. Whatever diplomatic overture the Empire had planned, whatever message they carried, it no longer mattered. The elves had made their decision, written in the movement of ten thousand warriors beneath the morning sun.

“We have to run,” Livia whispered, the urgent desperation clear in her voice.

Ignis shook his head, his face set in a grim mask. Yet his expression held no panic or fear. “No point. Their flyers would catch us before we made it past the next hill.” His gaze turned to Viola. “Except for you, Miss Windtänzer. You still might have a chance to make it back.”

Viola’s heart clenched. She knew it too. In the face of this army, there was not a single thing she could do. Fleeing was the only real choice, and yet…

Could she leave her comrades behind to face certain death and only save herself?

Ignis seemed to read her thoughts, lightly punching her shoulder. “Your death would serve us no good, would it? Now go, before it’s too late. Ride the winds like you never have. Show us why your kin have ruled the sky for centuries.”

Viola nodded, her eyes growing misty. Even so, she was preparing to flee with everything she had, the spellform for [Wind Dance] already taking shape.

But before she could, the robed figure stepped forward, hood turning slightly as if taking in the sight. For the first time since their journey began, they spoke.

"There is no need."

The voice was neither male nor female, neither young nor old. It was an absence given sound, and it made Viola's teeth ache.

Before anyone could respond, the figure raised one gloved hand.

And the winds began to stir.

B7 - Chapter 14: A Private Meeting (New title: A Glimpse behind the Curtain)

David found his lord in the underground workshop, exactly where he’d expected. The moment he approached the heavy metal gate, one that would have given even him trouble to break through, it swung open, just as always.

The familiar scent of oil and metal hung in the air, mingling with the faint ozone tang of active enchantments. Zeke sat at his primary workbench, surrounded by floating quills and parchments moving with impossible precision. The young Grandmage commanded them through sheer magical prowess, another testament to his genius.

His crimson-haired lord didn’t look up as David descended the final steps, though the slight pause in the quills’ movement indicated that his presence had been noted.

“I thought you’d be celebrating,” Ezekiel said, his attention still fixed on the parchment before him. “Or at least enjoying the aftermath of Konrad’s outburst.”

David’s lips twitched at the memory. The shadow constructs he had summoned still left a bitter taste, not from the magic itself, but from the necessity of using them against people who had served the house faithfully for years.

“I could ask the same of you.”

David approached the workbench, noting the fresh stack of paperwork and correspondence that had somehow materialized since his last visit the day before. “Your sister just awakened.”

“I would love to, but my presence would make it impossible for everyone to feel at ease. And I don’t want to separate Maya from her friends. They deserve to have this moment.”

David nodded, understanding the point. Though Ezekiel wasn’t a strict or distant lord, it would still be impossible for some to behave freely in his presence. Also, it was almost a given that the moment he showed his face, Konrad and Sybilla would want to have words with him.

"I have questions," he said, getting straight to the reason for his visit.

"Questions." Ezekiel finally looked up, his golden eyes sharp despite the shadows beneath them. "Let me guess: about the pavilion?"

David nodded slowly. In all his decades of service, he had explored every corner of the estate, catalogued every secret passage and hidden chamber Maximilian had built. That floating pavilion existed nowhere within these walls. Which meant...

"You're hiding something," David said. It wasn’t an accusation, merely an observation. "That realm we witnessed; It wasn’t an illusion."

"No." Zeke leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "It wasn’t."

The quills slowed their dance, as if more of Zeke’s focus had shifted to the conversation.

"May I ask how?"

Zeke’s expression turned thoughtful, and David recognized the look of someone choosing their words with great care.

"Let’s say I’ve acquired certain... resources that allow for spatial manipulation beyond normal parameters." The words revealed nothing, yet confirmed everything. "The specifics aren’t something I can share, even with you."

David accepted this with a slight inclination of his head. The trust between them ran deep, but some secrets were too dangerous to know, even for an Archmage. And David suspected his lord carried more than a few. It was the only thing that could explain his meteoric rise.

The answer he had received was already more than expected—or wise. He wouldn’t pry further.

"And the projection? How did we observe what transpired inside the hidden realm?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Zeke's lips. "A combination of scrying and projection. It’s unbelievable what Light Magic can do when paired with the right enchantments. Took most of the night to set up, actually. I barely finished in time."

So that explained the exhaustion. David felt a pang of guilt. His lord had pushed himself to the limit to give the families this gift, this chance to witness their children’s triumph.

"The twins," David said, shifting to his next concern. "You refused Keiran twice. A perfect Space affinity, offering himself freely, and you turned him away. Even if it was the right thing to do, you played a dangerous game."

The smile faded from Ezekiel's face, replaced by something more complex. "Did I?"

"You—" David paused, frowning. "I saw it with my own eyes."

Zeke stood, pacing slowly. "Tell me, David, what would have happened if I'd accepted his first offer?"

David considered this. "…You'd have gained a powerful ally."

"I'd have gained a boy making a deal." Zeke's voice carried no coldness, only a kind of weary precision. "A transaction. Services rendered for services received. He would have served me, yes, but always with that kernel of resentment. Always believing he'd sacrificed himself for his sister's sake."

The pacing stopped. Ezekiel turned to face David directly.

"By refusing him—by forcing him to face the reality that his sister's fate wasn't his to decide—I broke that narrative. When he offered himself the final time, it wasn't for her."

"What if he hadn’t offered again?"

Zeke shook his head with a light chuckle, as if the mere suggestion were absurd. "And leave his sister, who had already sworn an oath? That was never an option."

David felt his eyebrows rise. "You planned it."

"I... anticipated it." Zeke's admission came with a rueful smile. "The twins' devotion to each other isn't exactly a secret. Anyone who's watched them could guess how Keiran would react. All I did was ensure the right framework was in place."

"Framework?"

"The ceremony itself. The setting, the dramatics, the works." Zeke gestured vaguely upward. "Every element was chosen to inspire something greater than mere ambition. I wanted them to feel part of something important. Something worth dedicating themselves to."

David's fingers tightened on the edge of the workbench. "The speech about Maximilian. Your words about his hope for the future—"

"—Were entirely sincere." Zeke's interruption was firm. "Every word I spoke about the old man came from the heart. But sincerity doesn't mean I didn't consider their effect. These children... they deserved the truth about what they were inheriting."

"Twenty-five candidates," David said quietly. "Every single one successful."

"The technique works." Pride crept into Zeke's voice. "The children put in the effort, and they reaped the rewards. All I did today was ensure they understood the significance of what they'd achieved."

David studied his lord's face. "And in doing so, you steered them towards the house more firmly than even an oath could."

"Is that so wrong?" Zeke asked, and for the first time, David heard uncertainty there. "They're good kids. Talented. Dedicated. They deserve protection and guidance. If my words today made them more inclined to accept both from me, where's the harm?"

"No harm," David admitted. "Just... it feels so calculated..."

"Would you prefer I'd been careless with their futures?" Zeke returned to his chair, suddenly looking every bit as young as his years. "I've seen what happens to common-born Mages. The world would devour them. The noble houses would use them and discard them. At least with me, they have a chance at something more."

David couldn't argue with that. He'd seen too many talented youngsters ground down by the world's cruelty.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the mixed feelings that rose within him after learning how calculated his lord’s performance had truly been. It was a glimpse behind the curtain he had never asked for.

Truly, to enjoy a beautiful thing, one should never ask how it was made.

That didn’t mean he could argue with the results. He couldn’t have been happier if every one of those twenty-five chose to serve House von Hohenheim in the future. As it stood, they were severely understaffed, and the lingering threat of the empire still made outsiders wary of coming here.

And if they couldn’t hire fresh talent, then the only choice was to nurture it themselves, David realized. A thought his young lord had likely come to ages ago.

"Your sister," he said, shifting the topic. "Did you know she would achieve Greater affinities?"

For the first time since their conversation began, Zeke's composure cracked. Raw relief washed over his face.

"I hoped," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Oh, how I hoped. But no, I didn’t know. The technique improved everyone’s chances, but to what extent... that was something I couldn’t predict. It’s like watering a field of flowers and trying to guess which one will bloom."

"And if she’d failed?"

"Then she wouldn’t have become a Mage," he said simply. "Until I found a way to change that too," he added more softly.

Until, not if—David noticed.

A quiet settled between them. The floating quills resumed their rhythm, sorting parchment and letters with mechanical grace.

"You’ve done something extraordinary," David said at last. "Twenty-five new Mages, including a perfect affinity, all bound to your house through gratitude and genuine loyalty."

"The foundation of something greater." Ezekiel’s voice turned contemplative. "In ten years, they could be the core of a new kind of magical force. In twenty, they could be leaders. In thirty..."

"In thirty, you'll have built the world Maximilian dreamed of."

"Perhaps." Ezekiel’s expression darkened. "If we survive what's coming."

David straightened, sensing the conversation’s close. His lord had shared more than expected, but there were duties awaiting them both.

"About Undercity," David began.

"...They are likely already expecting you, yes." Ezekiel paused. "Try not to get too attached. I'll need you back within the year."

David nodded and moved toward the stairs. But something made him pause at the first step.

"The ceremony today," he said without turning. "What you did—the emotional orchestration, the careful pressure—some would call it manipulation."

"They’d be right." Ezekiel’s voice was quiet. "My motives were good, my intentions pure, and my methods gentle, but that doesn’t change the facts. I played them like marionettes in my own puppet show. Allies, friends, and family alike."

David waited, sensing there was more.

"But David, a kingdom doesn’t run on kindness alone."

"What does it run on?"

"Results," Ezekiel said without hesitation. "And the men and women who can achieve them."

David hesitated, unsure whether to speak his mind. But in the end, he needed to say it.

"That sounds like it could be a slogan for the Empire."

David climbed the stairs without another word, leaving his lord behind, alone with his endless work and whatever doubts haunted the men who carried the weight of futures on their shoulders.

As he reached the main floor, he encountered several of the newly awakened Mages. They clustered together in small groups, still wearing their ceremonial robes, faces glowing with excitement and possibility. Lue was demonstrating something to the others, as if she were trying to move her pen with the power of her mind. If only Magic were that easy.

The twins stood apart but together, as always, the matching red marks prominent on their pale skin. David should have asked what that was all about when he had the chance, but he had gotten too caught up in everything else.

The entire group looked so young. So proud. So certain that today had been the beginning of something wonderful.

Which, David reflected, it truly had been. Even if the full shape of that beginning was more complex than they knew.

He left through the main entrance, breathing in the warm afternoon air of Tradespire. His packed belongings were already loaded onto the waiting gondola, ready for the journey to Korrovan. As the vessel lifted off, David took one last look at the estate.

Somewhere in that underground workshop, Ezekiel von Hohenheim continued his work, building a future one careful step at a time. The weight of it all—the children’s futures, his family’s expectations, the ghost of Maximilian’s dream—rested on those too-young shoulders.

David settled back into his seat as Tradespire fell away beneath him. He thought of the ceremony, of the careful words that had shaped raw potential into loyal dedication. His lord had done well, perhaps better than even Maximilian could have.

The old man would have disapproved of these methods, David knew. Called them a slippery slope and whatnot. But then again, Maximilian’s stubbornness had led to his premature death and the near extinction of his family. Ezekiel was far more flexible in his morals, but that was exactly what made him such an effective leader.

The gondola turned south, carrying David toward the portal halls and the responsibilities waiting there. Behind him, the lights of the estate grew dim, then vanished entirely into the night.

In the end, David decided, the children would be better for what happened today. They’d been given purpose, protection, and the tools to achieve their dreams. If that gift came wrapped in carefully chosen words and calculated emotional moments...

There were worse foundations on which to build a future.

---

This chapter marks the last part of the ceremony and awakening arc. I hope you guys are strapped in, because the next mini arc is gonna be wild!

B7 - Chapter 13: Parental Pride

A projection shimmered to life, drawing startled gasps from all around.

David leaned forward slightly in his seat, arms resting on the carved armrests of his chair, watching as the image above the long obsidian table took form. Smoke gave way to light, light gave way to clarity. A great floating pavilion emerged within the swirling frame, ringed by clouds and sky, the flicker of distant stars glimmering just above the horizon. It was beautiful, unnaturally so. A scene drawn not from the world below, but from myth.

Yet, after the novelty of the display faded, David began to wonder. Why were they shown this fantastical sight? What was the purpose of bringing them here?

They had left the children and gathered here by the word of their lord, but he hadn’t explained anything else. Hadn’t even told them what they were going to find once they arrived.

They were in one of the northern meeting halls, its windows shuttered, the interior lit only by a few enchanted lanterns that flickered dimly in the corners. Here, amidst velvet drapes and quiet anticipation, the families of the Awakeners sat in neat rows before the conjured image. Voices that might have filled the room with idle gossip and tension now fell silent, the projection demanding reverence the way a cathedral demanded prayer.

As if in response to his doubts, the view began to narrow, revealing the interior of the mysterious pavilion in greater detail. And there, stepping through a door that looked as out of place as a dwarf at a knitting competition, came a girl with dirty blonde hair and curious blue eyes.

“Maya!” the woman beside him cried out, recognizing her daughter. She gripped her husband’s hand tightly and pointed at the projection, as if there was any chance he had missed the sight of his own child. “It is Maya, dear!”

David’s eyes narrowed.

For all his years and all his experience, seeing Maya appear in that place was something he hadn’t predicted. Until now, he had assumed the scene before them was conjured from fantasy, not a real location; certainly not one that could be reached by a girl he had left only minutes earlier.

How had his young lord made this possible?

Behind Maya came the others: Lue, Thomen, the twins, and the rest. Over two dozen curious faces stepped into this strange realm. With every new arrival, the families around him burst into cheers for their child, grandchild, sibling, or friend.

It didn’t take the children long to discover that they were not alone in this strange place.

A figure emerged from the shadows, his dark robes a stark contrast to their matching ivory robes. His crimson hair seemed to almost glow in the sparse lighting. Its color, as always, was as if it had been dipped in blood.

Who else could it be but Ezekiel von Hohenheim, the man they all served?

David’s chest rose at the sight. He had almost expected his lord had forgotten about the ceremony, unprepared to give the children the experience they deserved. However, the sight before him now was so much more than he could have ever expected.

For a moment, he even fantasized about what it would have been if his own awakening had held half this splendor, half his grandeur.

What sort of a man would he have become?

Then Ezekiel opened his mouth.

His words were biting, even harsh.

Yet they served a purpose. He was exposing the naivety that every commoner child carried into the ceremony, unaware of the reality of the world they were entering.

Their young lord didn’t spare himself, either. He spoke openly of his own ignorance during those early days.

Long-forgotten memories surfaced as the speech continued.

David had never told anybody, but he had been by the boy’s side long before Maximilian arrived. He had witnessed everything he described, had seen him endure trials no child should ever face, struggling to find a place in a world that was never meant for someone like him.

These days had been every bit as brutal as Ezekiel’s words suggested—perhaps even more so.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the tone of the speech shifted, and a once-hidden statue of Maximilian was revealed in the distance.

Not only the children in the projection, but even the parents in the viewing hall were moved by the sight. Many had served him for most of their lives, growing so close to the man that they had entrusted their children to his care.

More than one couple rose to their feet, heads bowed in respect for their departed patron—a man who had shaped all their lives for the better.

David was among them.

His body had risen from the chair before he even realized it. The old instincts of a butler, nearly forgotten, returned like a specter from the past. His posture was perfectly rigid, his head bowed at a familiar, reverent angle.

The sight of his former master and longtime mentor nearly brought the newly minted Archmage to tears.

David remained in that position for the rest of the speech, listening to every word his new lord spoke.

Words full of respect. Full of praise. Full of reverence.

Though Ezekiel was a very different man from Maximilian, often at odds with his mentor in both method and principle, there was no doubt in David’s mind that he had deeply loved the old man, as a son loves a father.

It was one of the reasons he had supported him from the beginning, even before anyone knew what kind of man Ezekiel would become.

The speech ended to a muted, yet reverent, applause from the parents.

It had been masterfully done.

Not only had their young lord conveyed the harsh truths of the world in a way the children could grasp and internalize, but he had also left them with hope. He honored their efforts, underscored Maximilian’s vision, and inspired belief in the path ahead.

Not for the first time, David thought that his young lord would have made an excellent orator. The way he struck the perfect tone, the way the words flowed with weight and purpose—few could match it.

As the atmosphere settled, the first child stepped up. A boy named Thomen.

David glanced to the side.

Thomen’s parents sat near the front. The father, a wiry man with the shoulders of a laborer, gripped his hat so tightly that the brim had turned white. His wife’s hands fidgeted in her lap, fingers twitching as if searching for something to anchor her. Neither spoke. Neither breathed.

David knew them well. During his years as head butler, he had butted heads more than once with that pigheaded couple.

But they were honest people. Good people. Not a lick of Magic between them, though.

The boy approached the crystal.

The projection shifted smoothly, zooming in without a sound. Thomen looked so small beneath the towering crystal, his dark curls tousled, his new robe already stained for some reason. But his posture was straight. Proud.

David smiled.

The image of the child pressing his hands to the crystal filled the center of the table. A pause. An awkward laugh as he was reminded to loosen up. A flicker.

And then, the light came.

"Intermediate Fire Affinity.”

Brilliant orange and flickering gold surged upward, dancing across the screen in spiraling arcs. Even the stains on Thomen’s robe seemed cleaner now, the grime falling away as if it didn’t have a place anymore. Gasps echoed in the viewing hall. But Thomen’s parents were beyond gasping.

They collapsed to their knees.

Not with drama, but with awe. Like pilgrims before a feast.

“Thank you,” the mother whispered, her voice cracking. “Thank you, Maximilian… thank you, Lord Ezekiel…”

Her husband nodded, forehead pressed to the carpet. “May your names be spoken in every generation…”

David looked away to give them privacy. A knot had formed in his chest, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps something deeper.

It had taken decades to reach this point.

Maximilian’s dream, once considered sacrilege, was now breathing life into those who had once been cast aside.

The children continued.

One by one, they stepped forward. Some timid, some bold. Some with trembling fingers, others with a confidence set to their jaws. And with each new light that surged into the air, each affinity revealed, a wave of emotion swept the room. Gasps. Cries. Laughter. Silent weeping.

David had no child of his own and shouldn’t have felt overly attached to the ceremony. But he did. That same quiet thrill. That same swelling warmth beneath his ribs.

He had seen war. Had fought for bloodlines, gold, vengeance. And yet none of it stirred him like this.

Not like what he was experiencing right now. He had been a fool to doubt his lords.

This was the future.

When the twins appeared, the mood shifted.

Even to someone who had never met these children before, it would have been immediately clear that these two were special. Tall, graceful, elegant. They were destined for greatness.

Though all the children wore identical robes, the garments looked somehow finer on them. As if they had been made for the twins, and everyone else wore mere imitations.

The girl stepped up first.

Her result came quickly: Low Time affinity.

Most families would have celebrated such a result, but the twins’ parents clearly didn’t share that sentiment. The father remained still, unmoved. The mother let out a long sigh and slowly shook her head.

Then the boy stepped forward.

The moment his perfect affinity was announced, the room erupted in noise as everyone tried to speak at once. The father clapped, loud and sharp. His wife jumped to her feet, leaning in to whisper excitedly into his ear. Their eyes gleamed, though David sensed it wasn’t only joy that lit them.

“Congratulations!” someone nearby called out. “You must be very proud.”

The father beamed. “I’ve always known my son was meant for greatness.”

The neighbor nodded eagerly. “I couldn’t agree more. Keiran is going to bring great honor to the von Hohenheim name. Two perfect affinities, now.”

The father’s smile faltered. “…That’s a possibility. Though nothing is set in stone yet.”

“What do you—” the neighbor began, but his words were cut off by the projection.

“I offer my service to House von Hohenheim and to you, Lord Ezekiel.”

The boy swore his fealty.

Gasps filled the hall again. This time, not from joy, but from shock.

The parents stood frozen. The woman’s hands dropped to her sides. The man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, stunned.

David leaned back, just slightly. Watching.

Ezekiel rejected the boy.

The shock was even greater than when the offer of fealty had been made.

And yet Keiran persisted.

Three times he tried. Each time, turned away with that same maddening calm. Until, finally, when his sister offered herself, Ezekiel accepted her.

The mother clutched her chest in relief. The father sat down heavily, nodding. Somehow, that was acceptable.

Until Keiran tried again.

And this time, was accepted.

The room tensed like a drawn bow. All gazes turned to the couple, who now looked as though their souls had left their bodies. It didn’t take long for them to return to their senses.

“…Coercion!” the father bellowed, his face red with fury. “He must have used magic to force them into obedience! I will not stand for this!”

David’s brow furrowed. Enough was enough. He raised a single finger, and the darkness stirred.

A moment later, a presence loomed behind the couple: two figures formed from shadow, their expressions blank and unyielding.

“Watch your words, Konrad,” David said, his voice thunderous in the silence that gripped the room. “That is our lord you are speaking of. YOUR LORD. You would do well to remember that.”

The couple stiffened. They said nothing.

But their eyes... their eyes smoldered.

David held their gaze a moment longer.

Then turned back to the projection.

Inwardly, he praised Ezekiel’s decision to separate the parents from the children during the ceremony. Such an ugly scene could have ruined the entire atmosphere.

More children were stepping forward.

And the magic of the ceremony continued.

Then it was Lue’s turn. Out of the corner of his eyes, David watched her Grandfather. A small part of him was worried for the old man. A negative result, or even an excessively good one, might be more than his heart could take.

It was no secret that he didn’t have long to go.

However, David’s worries were unfounded.

“High Metal and high Mind affinity.”

There was no shock, no words, no excessive jubilation on the old man’s face. Only a quiet, doting smile joined by a single tear streaming down his face. And with it, a heavy weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders.

Then it was Maya’s turn, the last one.

As she stepped up, it felt as though everyone was holding their breath.

Maya was well-liked, her cheerful and caring nature making her a favorite among the parents. But that wasn’t the reason for the dramatic shift in atmosphere.

Her awakening carried a different kind of weight. Though others, like Keiran, might have shown more raw potential, Maya was the younger sister of their lord—and as such, a possible heir to House von Hohenheim. In many ways, her results would affect them more than any of the children who had gone before. Perhaps even more than their own.

The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Maya stood before the crystal, her expression unreadable in the wavering light. Her hands rose slowly, hesitantly, brushing the surface with the tips of her fingers. And for a long moment, nothing happened.

David felt the breath catch in his lungs.

Then the air changed. A low thrum pulsed through the projection, like the deep heartbeat of the earth itself. And then came the light.

Green and gold, twisting together in arcs like ivy climbing toward the sun, surged upward in twin streams. They weren’t showy, not like Keiran’s, but there was a gentleness to them. A dignity. A quiet power that spoke not of conquest, but of strength rooted deep.

"Greater Life and Nature Affinity," Ezekiel's voice rang out, rich with pride.

The viewing hall erupted.

Mia wept openly, her sobs muffled by the hand over her mouth. Geralt clutched her hand in both of his, tears glistening in his eyes but not falling. Around them, others began to applaud, some even rising to their feet.

David let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He watched as Maya stumbled forward and fell into her brother's arms. Ezekiel held her like something precious, his hand resting on the back of her head as if sheltering a flame from the wind.

David knew better than most what that embrace meant.

There was no need for fealty. No oaths. She belonged already.

The scene in the projection dimmed as the children began to leave the platform, the magic slowly fading.

No words were spoken in the hall. Only the soft creak of chairs, the occasional cough, and the rustle of fabric as families sat, stunned or satisfied. The ceremony was over, but the echo of what had just occurred lingered.

David rose. He had planned to leave the mansion right after the ceremony, but now he felt he couldn’t. Not right away, at least.

First, he would find his lord and have words with them one more time.

B7 - Chapter 12: Double Duo

Lue’s legs trembled as she stepped forward.

Maya watched from just a few steps behind, her heart pounding. She could feel the tension radiating from Lue’s small frame. The girl looked as if a single breath might break her. Yet somehow, she moved. One step. Then another. Until she stood before the crystal.

It loomed above her like a sentinel, vast and still, glowing faintly with a pulse like a quiet heartbeat.

Lue hesitated.

Maya knew why.

They had all wondered, deep down, what would happen if one of them failed. What it would feel like to stand there and find nothing. No light. No spark. Just silence. Lue had always been the one to joke the loudest, laugh the brightest—but Maya had seen her steal glances at the others when they weren’t looking.

Now, Maya couldn’t even breathe.

Lue’s hands lifted. Hovered. Touched the crystal.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then... light.

Twin beams shot upward, one gray and the other azure. They spiraled together, forming a twisting helix above her.

Gasps rippled through the group.

Maya’s mouth fell open.

She recognized these colors.

Lue’s shoulders jerked, as if she were being struck by something unseen, but she didn’t pull back. Her eyes widened instead, filled with a kind of distant wonder. Maya had no idea what she was seeing, but it must have been beautiful.

Ezekiel stepped forward, and Maya’s breath caught.

“High Metal Affinity,” he declared. “And High Mind Affinity.”

Lue didn’t say anything.

For a moment, she didn’t even seem to move. Then, a sound slipped from her: a hiccupped sob that somehow turned into a laugh. She pressed both hands to her mouth, shaking with disbelief.

Maya felt her own grin stretch wide.

That was perfect. Exactly what Lue had always hoped for. She remembered the way Lue would prattle on about inventions and runes, sitting cross-legged in the workshop with soot on her cheeks and excitement in her voice. She wanted to build, like her grandfather. Wanted to craft things that made people’s lives better.

And now… she could.

Ezekiel’s voice softened. “Lue.”

The girl lowered her hands, blinking rapidly.

“You do not need to swear anything to me,” he said. “You already have a place here.”

Lue’s lip wobbled.

“I promised,” Ezekiel continued, “that no matter your result, I would support you. That promise remains unchanged.”

Maya watched Lue drop to her knees, hand over heart. Her voice wavered. “I swear to—”

“Not yet,” Ezekiel interrupted gently. “Speak with your Grandpa first. Then decide.”

Lue froze, mouth half open. Then nodded, fiercely, as if worried the chance might vanish.

“O-okay!”

She sprang to her feet and half-ran back to the group, eyes glistening. She didn’t care how ridiculous she looked. Maya doubted she even noticed. Joy radiated from her like heat.

And now, everyone was looking at Maya.

Her turn.

The crystal stood waiting.

She took a breath and stepped forward.

It felt like a hundred steps, even though it was only ten. Her bare feet brushed the smooth stone, the soft robe fluttering around her legs.

The moment she reached the crystal, the hush returned. Complete and expectant.

Maya lifted her hands.

She tried to still them, but they were trembling.

Zeke was watching her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. He was nervous, too, but he believed in her. Unconditionally.

Her fingers pressed against the crystal.

And the world changed.

Warmth flowed through her. Not the intensity of fire or the cold clarity of water, but something older. Slower. Steady. Like roots stretching through soil.

A memory rose.

The old oak outside Feldstadt. The one she and Zeke used to play around. She could see it in perfect detail—every knot, every groove in the bark. Its branches stretched wide, sheltering birds, squirrels, and even the occasional wanderer who once rested in its shade.

Its presence filled her. She felt the pulse of life beneath its roots, the breath of wind rustling its leaves. Her heartbeat slowed, matching its rhythm.

She sank into that place.

It wasn’t just memory. It was truth.

The tree had always been her sanctuary. And now, she could feel that sanctuary within her.

Zeke’s voice brought her back.

“Greater Life and Nature Affinities.”

Her eyes flew open.

He stood right in front of her, his smile brilliant.

She didn’t think. She launched forward and crashed into his arms.

The crowd vanished. The world fell away.

Only her brother remained.

He caught her easily, his cloak wrapping around her like a second home. His hand stroked the back of her head, just like he used to when she was younger. His voice was low, almost lost in her hair.

“Well done,” he whispered. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

She clung tighter, breath catching. She hadn’t known how badly she needed those words until now.

Finally, the truth set in: Greater affinities, two of them. It was an exceptional result, the best aside from Kieran, and nearly the highest one achievable below a perfect affinity. It was a testament to her effort, a badge of honor.

She didn’t have the inborn talent that Kieran or her brother had, but she had persevered nonetheless.

Two Greater affinities. Just like Maximilian. Just like Leo…

Eventually, she pulled away, cheeks blazing.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled.

Zeke chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Never be sorry for celebrating your achievements.”

Still, Maya couldn’t face him just yet. She stepped back into the group, flushed and dizzy.

Ezekiel let her go and then raised his voice, addressing the entire pavilion.

“It is done.”

The words rang out like a bell across the platform, clear and final. The children stilled. The laughter died. The joy of celebration faded into a hush that swept over them like mist across the stones.

“You have done it.”

He took a step forward, the dark coat rustling behind him, his crimson strands catching the ethereal light.

“You have proven Maximilian right.”

The air stilled. Even the clouds below seemed to freeze in place, as if the very sky held its breath.

Maya’s heart thudded once in her chest. Hard.

“He believed that a new world was possible. One where magic could be earned, not inherited. Where discipline mattered more than blood. Where the lowborn could stand shoulder to shoulder with the sons of kings.”

His gaze swept across the group, not just seeing them, but taking them in fully. Thomen with his soot-stained hands. Marzell, still hugging himself in disbelief. Lue, flushed with joy, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The twins, standing tall beneath the weight of impossible expectations.

And her.

Maya bit her lip. The words of his earlier speech echoed in her ears like a drumbeat from the past.

Ezekiel extended both hands, as if offering them something unseen. His voice was softer now, more intimate, and yet somehow more powerful than ever.

“…You have done that. Every one of you. You’ve taken his final gift and proved that it was not a fantasy. You’ve shown the world that Maximilian Bombastus von Hohenheim was not a fool, but a visionary.”

He paused.

And then, with slow, deliberate grace, he stepped forward. Past the crystal, past the pillar, past his own name, and lowered himself to one knee.

Then the other.

He bowed.

Not just his head. His spine curved forward, his shoulders lowered, his arms rested at his sides.

Ezekiel von Hohenheim, the Blood Dragon, bane of the Empire, knelt with reverence before a gathering of children.

“For that,” he said, “I thank you.”

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t the only one.

Gasps echoed around her. Several of the younger children simply stared, mouths agape, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

Even Kallen, who had seemed impervious to shock since her acceptance, took a half step forward as if to stop him, then froze, understanding dawning across her features.

Maya wanted to cry and cheer all at once. Her brother, this impossibly powerful figure who had stood unshaken through courtrooms, councils, and bloodshed, had bowed for one reason alone.

Because his mentor’s dream had not died in vain.

Because they had made it real.

And in that moment, Maya saw the love and reverence her brother still carried for his mentor, even today, years after his passing. She saw a boy who had once stood alone, broken and desperate, and been lifted by the hand of another.

She saw a man who now gave that hand in turn.

When he rose, there were tears glistening in more than a few eyes.

But Ezekiel only smiled faintly and brushed the fabric of his coat straight once more.

“Let no one say,” he said quietly, “that you were given your place.”

He looked at each of them in turn.

“You earned it.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of pride, full of meaning, full of a hundred hopes finally given form.

Then, slowly at first, the children began to move again.

They didn’t erupt into cheers.

They didn’t dance or shout.

Instead, they turned inward. Reached for one another. A hand on a shoulder. A quiet hug. A look exchanged.

It wasn’t just triumph they felt.

It was belonging.

And Maya, Maya just stood there, blinking fast, trying to memorize the moment.

Because she knew, with a certainty deeper than magic, that this would be one of the moments she carried for the rest of her life.

This was the day they awakened.

Not just their magic.

But something far greater.

Their exit through the portal-like door was like a dream. There had been no calls to leave, no shouts to depart. Yet somehow, they had all felt that it was time. Soon, they found themselves back in that same, unassuming corridor from which they had come.

Still marching on, as if caught in a trance.

But Maya lingered.

Something tugged at her.

She glanced back. Back at that mystical door that led to the impossible realm they had just left behind. Driven by a flight of fancy, she once again opened the door, drawing the eyes of some of the others.

However, what awaited her was not the same space they had just left behind. Instead, it was a storage room. Dim and dusty, with crooked shelves and rusted hinges. No gleaming pavilion. No storm-lit clouds. No towering crystal pulsing with hidden truths.

Just cracked stone, old boxes, and cobwebs swaying in the draft.

Maya stared.

The air inside smelled of dry wood and mold. The sound of her heartbeat was louder than the silence beyond the threshold.

For a brief second, she half-expected it to change, expected the illusion to fall away and the splendor to return, as if she had caught the world mid-blink.

But it didn’t.

And slowly, the truth set in.

That place, whatever it had been, was gone.

She closed the door without a sound.

No one said anything. They didn’t need to. A few of the others looked at her as she turned back to them, eyes wide, unsure. Kallen gave her a small nod, as if to say, You saw it too. Thomen looked away, lips pressed tight in disbelief or wonder, maybe both.

They walked the rest of the corridor in silence, like a procession departing a temple.

When they finally emerged into the estate halls again, the air felt heavier somehow. The walls more solid. The light less golden. Like the real world had remembered itself and resumed its weight.

But something had changed.

In Maya. In all of them.

She could feel it in the way they moved: more upright, more assured. No longer children waiting to be measured. They had already been judged. Already been chosen.

She reached up and touched her chest, just over her heart.

That strange warmth still lingered there, like a seed planted deep inside her soul.

She thought of the tree again, the one outside Feldstadt. Its roots had run deep. Its shade had been a sanctuary. But more than anything, it had stood through storm and sun alike.

She had never once seen it waver.

As they passed through the last archway back into the waking world, someone murmured behind her, “Was it all real?”

Maya didn’t answer.

Whether it had been illusion or magic or something stranger still, it didn’t matter.

In the depths of her heart, in that quiet, breathless space where magic had first touched her, she made a silent promise:

To grow.

To stand.

To shelter.

And to never forget.

B7 - Chapter 11: Ceremony V

The silence that followed struck like a thunderclap, sudden and absolute. Kieran remained kneeling, the folds of his white robe pooling around him, unmoving except for the faint twitch of a muscle in his jaw. For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn’t heard. Or perhaps he simply didn’t believe it.

Maya stared at her brother, stunned.

He had said no.

To a Perfect Affinity.

To a boy who had just offered himself in service, whose only request was to help his sister.

Even the other aspirants didn’t know how to react. A few shifted uneasily, whispering in confusion. Kallen, still kneeling at the back, had buried her face in her hands, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.

But Ezekiel remained unmoved.

Finally, Kieran looked up. His voice, when it came, was careful. Controlled. But Maya heard the tremor beneath it.

"May I ask why?"

Ezekiel studied him for a moment before answering.

"Because it's not your decision to make."

Kieran blinked.

"Nor is it mine, for that matter."

Ezekiel took a step forward, his dark coat catching the wind, flaring behind him like the wings of a great bird in flight.

"You would bargain away your future to grant your sister one she may not even want. That is not love speaking, Kieran. That is fear."

Kieran opened his mouth to respond, but Ezekiel stopped him with a raised hand.

"I do not question your intentions. In fact, I respect them. But understand this: your sister’s fate is not yours to decide. Her path must be her own."

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze softening as it settled on Kallen. "If she truly desires strength, then I will guide her."

A wave of gasps swept through the group. Even Maya was taken aback.

"But she must ask for it herself."

Ezekiel turned back to Kieran, his voice quieter now.

"You tried to bind her to a future she never chose, even if the chains were made of gold. That is why I refuse. Not because I lack the ability to help her. Not because she is beyond saving. But because I will not take this choice from her."

He walked past Kieran, past the silent line of waiting aspirants, and came to a stop before the girl still kneeling at the back of the group.

Kallen looked up, her face streaked with tears and flushed with emotion.

Their eyes met.

Ezekiel didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

If Kallen wanted his help, she knew what to do.

Maya held her breath, waiting. Even in her wildest imaginings, she had never expected the awakening ceremony to unfold like this. Her own moment had yet to come, but already the weight of the day’s highs and lows felt almost too much to bear.

Kallen’s eyes were still moist, but Maya saw something shift within them. Perhaps it was new determination—or maybe just the return of her usual resolve, restored after being shaken by something beyond her control.

With a swift motion, the girl wiped her sleeve across her face, brushing away the last traces of tears.

“I offer my service to House von Hohenheim and to you, Lord Ezekiel.”

The words were the same as her brother’s, yet the response was very different.

“I accept,” Ezekiel said without hesitation. “From this moment forth, you may call yourself Kallen von Hohenheim. In my service and under my protection.”

He placed a hand lightly against her forehead. When he withdrew it, a red mark—no larger than a fingerprint—remained on her skin.

“Rise.”

She obeyed without pause, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs wavered for a heartbeat, the weight of the day still heavy on her, but then she steadied. Her usual poise returned, graceful and composed.

Ezekiel had already turned and begun walking back toward the central pillar. After a moment’s hesitation, Kallen followed, quickening her steps to match his pace.

He returned to his previous position, now with a new assistant stepping awkwardly behind him on his left.

Maya smiled at the sight.

Leave it to her brother to claim the prized rose of their group, break a dozen hearts in the process, and remain completely unaware of what he had done.

“Next,” he said, his voice as calm as if none of the previous events had occurred.

The word seemed to jolt Kieran, who was still kneeling awkwardly at the front. He looked toward his sister, as if struggling to believe what had just unfolded.

“Wait!” he called out as the next in line tried to step past, torn between rising and remaining where he was. “What about my pledge?”

Ezekiel gave him a measured look.

“There is no need,” he said, not unkindly. “Your sister has already secured my help. Your request has been fulfilled.”

Kieran clenched his jaw. “Then I would ask for a different request.”

Ezekiel raised a single brow. “In exchange for what?”

“My service, once more,” Kieran replied.

Ezekiel looked at him for a long, drawn-out moment before nodding.

“Name it.”

“I would ask that neither my sister nor I be forced into a marriage against our will,” Kieran said. But before he even finished speaking, Ezekiel was already shaking his head.

“Rejected.”

Kieran’s eyes widened, his imagination clearly running wild.

Ezekiel sighed. “Once again, you ask for something unreasonable. No man or woman under my protection will ever be forced to marry against their will.”

Kieran bit his lip. “Then—”

“Enough.”

The word was spoken softly, yet it carried a weight that silenced the room. Even Maya, who hadn’t been about to speak, felt her mouth snap shut. It seemed the others were just as affected, their faces frozen, their voices caught in their throats.

The only one seemingly untouched by it was Kallen, who glanced around at their stunned expressions with a trace of curiosity. In fact, ever since the moment she had been accepted, she seemed more at ease, as if the pressure crushing the rest of them had lifted from her shoulders.

Was that how relieved she truly was?

“Keiran,” Ezekiel said, his voice firm. “If you wish to serve me, then say it outright. There is no point in dressing up basic decency as conditions. If you believe I would only act with honor under obligation, then I am not the person you should serve in the first place.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“It is time for you to make a choice...”

After that, Ezekiel fell silent. He didn’t rush, didn’t pressure, didn’t attempt to persuade. He simply waited.

Maya glanced between them, her mind racing.

How could her brother act like this?

How could he stay so calm, so completely unfazed in the presence of a potential follower with a perfect affinity?

Even she knew how rare and valuable that was. If nurtured properly, their house would have two Mages with perfect affinities: an honor that few noble families on the continent could claim.

It was enough to secure their future, so long as neither of them died early.

And yet, her brother remained as composed as if he were bargaining for a pair of socks in the bazaar. He had rejected Kieran’s offer twice already, without hesitation. It was baffling.

Once again, Maya saw a side of him she had never known.

She had once thought the title of Merchant Lord ill-suited for him, but if this was how he conducted negotiations, it was no wonder he had become the youngest ever to join their ranks.

Her gaze shifted as she looked at the towering presence in their midst. She had always been proud of her older brother, having grown up hearing his many accolades: genius Mage, genius inventor, genius fighter, genius strategist. Yet it was only today that she truly understood how extraordinary he was.

What had once been mere words now stood before her as undeniable truth.

For the first time, she saw the monstrous prodigy everyone always spoke of.

It felt as though she were meeting him for the first time.

So, this was him: Ezekiel von Hohenheim.

The man who defied the Empire and built a pyramid of their heads.

The man who had left with nothing, but returned bathed in gold.

The man who bartered with Merchant Lords and walked away with a title in hand.

Her musings were interrupted when Keiran’s voice rang out again—hesitant at first, but gaining strength with each familiar word.

“…I offer my service to House von Hohenheim and to you, Lord Ezekiel.”

This time, her brother did not refuse. As he had done with Kallen, he pressed his index finger gently to the boy’s forehead, just between the eyebrows, leaving a red imprint behind.

“Rise, Keiran von Hohenheim.”

Keiran accepted the outstretched hand and got up, his legs clearly stiff after kneeling for so long.

Even after he stood, Ezekiel didn’t release his grip, prompting the boy to meet his gaze.

“This is my promise to both of you,” he said, his voice brimming with sincerity. “On the day of your twentieth birthday, you will both ascend to the level of Grandmage simultaneously.”

He turned his head slightly, giving Kallen his trademark smile—the one Maya was fairly certain he didn’t realize could be so devastating to a young girl. “Not fast enough to break my record, but still young enough to earn a place in the rankings. What do you say?”

The twins stood frozen, the shock of his proclamation leaving them momentarily speechless.

It was no wonder.

Even Maya felt lightheaded. The rankings were a competition among the finest young Mages on the continent, a clash of prodigies vying for prestige. And yet, her brother spoke of them so casually, promising a spot to even a recruit with a low affinity without a hint of doubt.

That confirmed one of her long-held suspicions. Her brother definitely had a secret. Something that had allowed him to ascend through the early ranks of Magehood at impossible speed. He had left Tradespire as a newly advanced True Mage and returned as a Grandmage in under two years.

Now she knew it wasn’t luck. There was something else behind it.

The realization brought a wave of relief she hadn’t expected. Though she felt confident in her own chances, knowing her brother would support her even if her affinity proved weak gave her peace of mind.

After all, she couldn’t be of any use to him in the future if she remained weak. And that was simply unacceptable.

With a soft thud, two bodies dropped to their knees in perfect unison.

“Thank you, Lord.”

Even their voices blended flawlessly.

Ezekiel smiled and raised his hands, and with that gesture, the two kneeling teenagers were lifted smoothly back to their feet. The casual display of control made several eyes widen, but he paid no attention to their stares, focusing solely on the twins.

“Your words are enough. No kneeling required.”

The two exchanged a glance, nodded, and stepped behind him. Kallen returned to her spot at his left, and Kieran took the open place at his right.

Maya clicked her tongue. Now her brother had broken not only the hearts of the boys, but of the girls as well. He could be such a greedy guy.

“Next.”

His voice was calm, returning to business without the slightest shift in tone.

One by one, the remaining aspirants stepped forward, and even after nearly two dozen awakenings, the astounding success rate of one hundred percent held.

Not a single child walked away empty-handed, though more than a few ended up with only lesser affinities.

Aurel, poor guy, walked away with three lesser ones.

For a moment, it looked like he might kneel and beg her brother for help, but in the end, he just sighed and stepped aside.

That was probably for the best.

It would have been an unreasonable request. His affinities were even lower than Kallen’s, and having three of them would only slow his progress to a crawl. Even Aurel, known for being the most shameless among their group, wasn’t bold enough to ask for something that far out of reach.

Maya flinched at the sudden touch. She looked down to find someone gripping her hand like a vice. It was a small hand, soft and clammy—smaller even than hers.

She followed the arm upward and met a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at her.

“We’re the last ones, sister Maya,” Lue said quietly, though her voice trembled.

Only then did Maya realize it was true. Of everyone, only they had yet to be tested.

Suddenly, her own hand began to shake. Not as violently as Lue’s, but a faint tremor all the same.

Slowly, she looked up and saw her brother watching them.

His gaze had softened, resembling the doting brother she remembered.

He gave Maya a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning his attention to the girl standing just behind her.

“It is time, Lue.”

B7 - Chapter 10: Ceremony IV

Thomen stood frozen before the crystal, bathed in its flickering light. The glow had shifted from soft orange to a deep, vibrant red—a color that danced like embers across his awestruck face. For a moment, no one spoke. Even the windless void surrounding the pavilion seemed to hush, as if straining to witness the outcome.

Then, with a final surge of brilliance, the crystal pulsed.

A wave of heat rushed outward.

Maya gasped. It didn’t burn, not truly, but it tingled against her skin like the first breath of summer after a long winter.

A single rune hovered above the dragon’s skull, glowing crimson and unmistakable in shape. Fire.

Gasps rippled through the group, and Thomen staggered back, blinking in disbelief. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he looked down at them, flexing his fingers as if unsure they were still his.

"Intermediate Fire Affinity," Ezekiel announced.

There was a pause, not of disappointment, but of disbelief.

Then, cheers erupted.

Lue clapped excitedly. Kallen and Keiren, even with their usually stoic expressions, gave a small nod. Maya blinked, equally stunned by the result.

Thomen turned to face them, eyes wide. "I... I actually did it."

The words came out like a question, as if he needed someone else to confirm it for him.

"You did," Maya whispered, smiling.

For all his complaining and sarcasm, the boy had worked hard. She remembered the early days of their training, when he could barely sit still, when he said meditation was "just sitting around pretending to think." But he had stuck with it. Showed up. Tried. And now—

He had awakened.

Her brother stepped forward, placing a hand on Thomen’s shoulder. “You have done well. And more than that, you have proven something important today.”

Thomen looked up.

“You are the first in your family,” Ezekiel said. “A line with no recorded Mages. No resources. No noble blood. And you began late, with only one year left before your fourteenth birthday.”

He gestured toward the crystal.

“And yet... You awakened,” Ezekiel said, sweeping his arms to indicate the ephemeral fire rune still glowing atop the Dragon’s skull. “If we were still in the Empire, you would be attending the Elementium again. This time, not as a servant, but as a student. Take pride in that.”

A hush fell again. But this time, it was reverent.

Maya felt her heart clench. This was what it was all for. The long days, the doubts, the endless stillness of sitting with eyes closed, searching for something you weren’t sure was even there. This was proof that it hadn’t all been for nothing.

“Next,” Ezekiel called.

The line began to form.

One by one, the others stepped forward.

Marzell went next. His results were not as dazzling: Lesser Water and Wind affinities. But even he, who had always looked uncertain during practice, now stood a little taller.

Then came Gisel, awakening an Intermediate Mind affinity. The result didn’t surprise Maya in the slightest. She had always been among the brightest of them, her head usually buried in a book. Even today, she clutched a hefty tome under one arm, likely intending to read if the ceremony dragged on too long.

Each time a child placed their hands on the horns, the crystal responded. Sometimes the light was weak, barely more than a spark. Other times it flared brilliantly, flooding the pavilion with its radiance.

Maya watched them, one by one.

Watched and thought.

The results weren’t random. She could see the pattern now, clear as day. The more someone had truly immersed themselves in the technique, the stronger their affinity appeared to be.

Yet there were exceptions.

Two of the girls she had spoken to—both of whom had spent just as much time meditating as anyone else—received only the faintest flicker of magic. Barely enough to register.

She remembered what they had said during quiet evening conversations.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“It just… doesn’t work for me.”

Maya frowned.

It hadn’t been laziness that had held them back. It wasn’t a lack of effort. It was something else. Something deeper.

Not everyone could sense it. Not everyone could connect to the same degree.

But those who did…

She turned her gaze back to the crystal.

It pulsed, dimmed, then pulsed again. Another affinity revealed. Another smile. Another quiet triumph.

Eventually, the younger of the twins, Kallen, stepped forward to approach the crystal, drawing many curious gazes. Her long black hair flowed behind her, and she moved with the quiet grace of a fairy.

The eyes of every boy followed her, as they always did.

Maya wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that every single one of them had a crush on her. Kallen’s presence was simply that captivating. Her usual stoic expression only made her rare smiles more dazzling. When she smiled, she could light up an entire room.

As with everyone before her, her brother offered a few words of encouragement.

Maya had no idea how he remembered every child, especially some he hadn’t spoken to in years. Yet he recalled their names, their families, even small personal details. She wasn’t the only one impressed—she saw the way each face lit up when he greeted them with such familiarity.

She envied that. But perhaps that was why he had received a Mind affinity. Knowledge had always come easily to him.

“Kallen, daughter of Konrad and Sybilla,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Are you prepared to face your destiny?”

“I am, Lord Ezekiel.”

Her voice was steadier than Maya imagined her own would have been in the same situation.

With a nod, he stepped aside, granting her access to the crystal. Without hesitation, she placed her hands on the horns—not in a death grip like Thomen’s, but with calm, measured confidence.

The light began to glow almost immediately.

However, it wasn’t the brilliant radiance many had expected. It wasn’t even middling. Instead, a pale gray shimmer pulsed gently, low in intensity, before flickering out. The sensation it left on the skin was strange, like a brush of static or a shift in the air.

“Low Time affinity,” Ezekiel announced after a moment of silence.

Kallen’s face remained composed, but Maya knew her well enough to spot the subtle signs of disappointment. The corners of her mouth twitched downward for a moment, the light in her eyes dimmed, and a faint redness gathered around their edges.

Poor girl.

Though a Time affinity sounded impressive, a low-grade one clearly wasn’t what she had hoped for. It was an awkward result—one where most reputable schools would discourage her from pursuing the path of magic.

The investment in time and resources simply wasn’t worth it.

With swift, quiet steps, Kallen turned and walked to the back of the line, not waiting for Ezekiel to speak. He didn’t stop her. As she passed by, Maya caught a glimpse of the first shimmering traces of tears forming in her eyes.

The room fell silent. Though not a single aspirant had failed to awaken an affinity, Kallen’s outcome had soured the jubilant atmosphere.

It was a testament to how much influence she held over the group.

But Ezekiel paid it no mind. He simply pointed toward the next in line, Kieran, who stood watching his sister with a forlorn expression.

“Are you going after her,” he asked, “or are you coming?”

Kieran stepped forward, and the entire group fell silent. Even those who had just received their results and were still basking in celebration quieted at his approach.

Maya leaned in slightly, eager to witness the outcome.

Out of everyone present, she considered Kieran the most promising.

Countless times, he had lost himself in meditation, remaining in a trance for days. Not even she could match that level of focus.

“Kieran, son of Konrad and Sybilla,” Ezekiel said again. “Are you prepared to face your destiny?”

“I am, Lord Ezekiel.”

Same question, same answer. The twins were alike in more ways than one.

Maya only hoped Kieran wouldn’t follow in his sister’s footsteps when it came to the outcome, leaving the ceremony with quiet disappointment.

Once again, the crystal began to glow the moment he placed his hands upon it.

This time, the light took on a color they had not yet seen: a rich, regal purple.

The hue radiated dignity, but even that was overshadowed by the brilliance of the glow. After only a few seconds, Maya had to squint—unable to look at the crystal directly anymore.

Then, with a final pulse, it released a strange aura that made her feel as though her entire body had become weightless. The sensation lingered for a few breaths before gently fading away.

All eyes turned to Ezekiel, who stood silent, his gaze locked on Kieran with an unreadable expression.

The boy stared back calmly, with neither impatience nor fear.

It was a bearing unique to the twins, who had always seemed a step ahead of their peers.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, Ezekiel spoke.

“Perfect Space affinity. Congratulations.”

Maya’s jaw dropped.

Around her, the entire group broke into excited chatter.

A perfect affinity.

This wasn’t just a good result—it was monumental. Wars had been fought to secure talents like this, houses extinguished, bloodlines ended.

Her brother, even after establishing a strong foothold for himself, was still being approached by powerful families offering alliances if he agreed to join them.

And that was with mixed affinities.

A pure, perfect Space affinity was among the rarest results imaginable. After today, Kieran’s name would spread through Tradespire, spoken alongside her brother’s and the other prodigies of their generation.

And yet, there wasn’t even a flicker of excitement on Kieran’s face. Instead, his brow was furrowed, his expression one of deep focus, as if he were in the midst of making an important decision.

Then, without warning or prompting, he sank down… into a kneel.

A posture of submission. Of servitude. Directed at her brother.

Maya couldn’t stop herself from exhaling sharply, alongside most of the others.

What was the meaning of this?

Ezekiel studied Kieran with his sharp, golden eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t question the gesture. He simply observed, a flicker of intrigue passing through his gaze.

“I offer my service to House von Hohenheim and to you, Lord Ezekiel,” Kieran said without pause or hesitation.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Every gaze turned to Ezekiel, waiting for his response. Naturally, no one expected him to decline. After all, with Kieran’s talents revealed, it should have been Ezekiel pleading for him to stay, not the other way around.

Yet the lord of Hohenheim did not answer right away.

Instead, he smiled.

It was the kind of smile one wears upon hearing an inside joke no one else is privy to—a quiet, smug expression of satisfaction, as though he held a secret the rest of the world had yet to uncover.

“…I would hear your conditions first,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Kieran stiffened, a rare reaction from the usually composed, taciturn boy. It was clear the exchange had not unfolded as he had anticipated. Still, the surprise did not rattle him for long.

“I ask only a single boon,” Kieran said, his calm already returning.

Ezekiel gave a nod, signaling him to name it.

“I want you to ensure my sister reaches the rank of Grandmage before her twentieth year.”

Before Ezekiel could respond, a sharp cry rang out from behind them. “Brother! No!”

But both Ezekiel and Kieran ignored Kallen’s outburst. Their gazes remained locked, an unspoken battle of will stretching between them for nearly a full minute before Ezekiel finally broke the silence.

“Two questions,” he said. “First, why would you make such a request, knowing it goes against what your sister wants?”

Kieran didn’t hesitate. “I’ve heard how Mana slows the deterioration of the body. Sir David, despite being in his late nineties, looks younger than my own father.”

Ezekiel gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

“…How could I bear to see my sister fade in decades while I remain young for centuries? How could I let her face, so like mine, wither with lines and wrinkles while I continue to enjoy the blessings of youth?”

His voice began calm but grew more impassioned with each word.

“We were one from the moment we were born. I refuse to bury her with the body of a young man still standing.”

That final line came quietly, but the conviction behind it was unmistakable.

Maya heard a quiet sob behind her, followed by the rustle of fabric as someone collapsed to their knees.

But she couldn’t bring herself to turn and look. Her entire focus was consumed by the scene unfolding before her.

Ezekiel gave no indication of his thoughts, his expression as still as the surface of a lake.

“Second question,” he said calmly. “Why bring your request to me? With your affinity, you could have your pick of houses and titles, eager to welcome you with open arms. I assure you, many of them possess far more resources than I could hope to command.”

This time, Kieran took a bit longer to answer.

“They…” he said at last, lifting his gaze to meet Ezekiel’s directly, “are not the youngest Mages to reach the level of Grandmage. You are. Whatever resources they may possess are clearly inferior to what you wield, Lord Ezekiel. If anyone can help my sister improve, it is you.”

Ezekiel’s stoic expression slowly gave way to a smile as he let his true thoughts surface.

“Impressive. Truly impressive,” her brother said, and Maya, knowing him well, could tell he meant every word.

“From your temperament, to your character, to your reasoning, I find myself liking everything you’ve shown me.”

Kieran’s face brightened, clearly expecting his wish to be granted. Until—

“…Unfortunately, I cannot accept your offer.”

B7 - Chapter 9: Ceremony III

The red-haired man began to pace, his steps measured, each one ringing faintly against the white stone beneath their feet. The pavilion remained eerily still, the swirling clouds below and the distant thunder the only signs that time was moving at all.

“I see the excitement in your eyes,” he said after a moment, “the hope, the wishes, the longing. You all want to become Mages today—to awaken a powerful core and become the next hero of the continent, isn't that right?”

A few nodded, but even those who remained silent had a spark ignite behind their eyes.

“…All of you are fools,” the man said.

The words landed like a hammer blow. Several of the children stiffened. Others exchanged uncertain glances, unsure if they had heard him correctly. Maya felt her breath catch. It was the first time she had heard her brother speak in such a way.

“However, that much is to be expected,” he continued. “When I was your age, I was exactly the same.”

He stopped, tilting his head back to watch the dark, endless sky for a moment.

“Just like all of you, I was born without name or purpose,” he said, his voice calm but unshakable.

“Raised in a rural village, far from the games of influence and power. I was not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to exist in this world of nobles and magic, of power passed through blood and privilege.”

He stopped. Slowly, he turned his golden gaze back to them.

“But I was foolish,” he repeated. “Foolish enough to think that I could rise to the top on my own merits. Foolish enough to believe that hard work and perseverance would allow me to compete with my peers from distinguished families.”

“It did not,” he said flatly.

“No amount of sleepless nights, added practice, or sheer willpower would ever have been enough to contend with the sons and daughters of the powerful, literally bred for Magic. With every resource at their command—rows upon rows of private tutors and every other advantage imaginable—the game was rigged from the start.”

“I barely survived those days.”

That single sentence sent a shiver down her spine. There was so much pain packed into those few words—pain she had never known her brother carried. Though she had known he had struggled early on at the academy, she had been too young to truly understand. And Zeke had never spoken of it.

Until now.

"I dreamed of Magic and power, blind to the world I was walking into. I wasn’t destined for greatness or glory. I was meant to die nameless, forgotten—a fool who never knew his place."

Absolute silence followed.

Maya didn’t even dare to breathe. The atmosphere felt so volatile that even the slightest sound might shatter it.

“But someone changed that.”

He raised his hand, and the air itself seemed to shift. A pulse rippled through the clouds below, and a shaft of brilliant light burst upward—so sharp, so sudden, it felt like the sky itself had been pierced. The beam lanced into the heavens and fell upon something vast in the distance.

The children gasped.

A mountain loomed across the void—no, not a mountain. A monument. Enormous beyond comprehension, carved as if from the bones of the world itself. A bearded man stood tall, etched into the peak with one arm resting on a stone tablet, the other raised high as if delivering a final decree to the heavens.

Maximilian Bombastus von Hohenheim.

Maya’s breath caught.

Even in stone, the old man’s face was unmistakable: those deep-set eyes, the proud arch of his brow, the solemn gentleness in his mouth. It was the same expression he had worn the last time she saw him, sitting beside her brother in the quiet of their garden, a cup of steaming tea in hand.

She hadn’t expected to cry.

Yet her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes before she could stop them.

“He gave me everything,” the man in red said quietly. “A name. A path. A future. He saw what this world could become, not what it was. He dreamed of a realm where magic did not belong solely to the nobleborn or the blessed. Where even the lowliest child could stand equal to the proudest lord.”

He looked at them again.

“That dream came at a cost. His life.”

No one moved. No one dared breathe.

“He defied the Empire to give us one thing—this,” the man said, sweeping his arm wide as he drew a deep breath. The very air seemed to shift with him, as if he and the world moved as one. “The Meditation Technique.”

His voice rang out, steady as a drumbeat.

“It is not a shortcut. It is not easy. But it is yours. The gift Maximilian left behind—not for prodigies or lords, but for you. Children of farmers. Orphans. Merchants. Servants. This was his answer to a world ruled by bloodlines and fate.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone softened.

“And today, you will show whether his vision was right.”

The statue behind him now stood fully bathed in light, its stone eyes solemn, its raised hand frozen in judgment.

“You are the proof,” the man said, voice hardening. “The proof that his dream was not in vain. That what he died for meant something. So before you begin this journey, I want you to understand the weight upon your shoulders.”

He walked forward, past Maya and Lue, past Thomen and the twins, until he reached the edge of the pavilion. There, with the clouds churning below and lightning flickering in the depths, he turned to face them once more.

“That is why you are here today.”

“You are not here to awaken your magic,” he said.

“You are here to awaken hope.”

The silence that followed felt different—charged, sacred. Even the thunder had quieted, as if the sky itself held its breath in reverence.

Maya stared at the towering statue, her heart pounding. The lump in her throat hadn’t faded.

She thought of Zeke—of how he worked himself to the bone, day after day, driven by the fear that he might not be strong enough to protect those he loved. She thought of Maximilian, the man who had given his life so that the next generation might live in a slightly better world.

Here and now, she would prove them both right.

They all would.

She looked at Lue and the others, and in their wide eyes, she saw it: a shift. Resolve. Reverence. Belief.

The man—no, not just a man, but Ezekiel von Hohenheim—turned once more toward the pedestal at the heart of the pavilion. Atop it, a massive carved crystal pulsed softly, as though it, too, was waiting.

And when he spoke again, it was not a command.

It was an invitation.

"Come."

As one, the aspirants stepped forward, their white, billowing robes fluttering in unison with each stride. Maya felt her heart swell at the sight. Never before had their group moved so closely in sync, bound by a single purpose.

No words were needed.

She knew exactly what every last one of them was thinking.

They would prove Maximilian right. They would prove that even they, lowborn as they were, could rise to the top.

Maya’s eyes gleamed as she stared at the crystalline artwork resting atop the ornate pedestal. It was carved into the shape of a skull—a long, sinuous neck ending in a reptilian face adorned with curved horns.

She recognized the creature immediately. Everyone would.

It was a Dragon.

Whether the carving held any deeper meaning or was merely decorative, Maya couldn’t say. But somehow, it felt right. What better symbol for the power they would awaken here today than the king of beasts?

When they were only a few steps away from the crystal, the group came to a halt, forming a half-circle.

Ezekiel looked around, his gaze resting on each face for a moment before moving on. By the end, his lips had curved into a faint smile. It softened his aura slightly, allowing the tense mood to ease, if only a little.

“Those are good eyes,” he said after a moment. “Who has the courage to go first?”

Maya immediately wanted to volunteer.

She had been the first to adopt the meditation technique, the first to master the different levels. It would be only fitting for her to be first here as well.

But just as she was about to step forward, she met her brothers gaze.

No words were spoken, not even telepathically. And yet, she understood his meaning as clearly as if he had said it aloud.

Not yet.

“I’ll go,” Thomen said, stepping out of the circle.

Ezekiel remained motionless, watching him approach with steady, determined steps. It was a strange sight. Maya had always thought of Thomen as unusually large for his age, by far the tallest among their group. Yet now, as he walked toward her brother, his back looked unnaturally small, his frame almost scrawny.

It felt like a child standing before a grown man.

What a strange thought.

The two weren’t that far apart in height or build. Yet as she compared them—two young men, not so distant in age—the difference felt monumental.

The gravitas and aura her brother projected were overwhelming. He felt like someone who had seen the world, who had walked through fire and shadow, danced along the edge of a blade, and emerged untouched.

When had he changed that much? When had her carefree brother become the man who stood before her now? Had he always had this side to him, dulling his edge only toward her?

Thomen arrived before her brother. Though he had started out brash and full of confidence, he now seemed to be somewhat at a loss for what to do.

Thankfully, he wasn’t left long to flaunder aimlessly.

“Thomen, son of Manuel and Betina,” the voice was solemn as if part of a ceremony. “Are you prepared to face your destiny?”

Maya saw the boy stiffen for an instant, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. Still, he managed a nod after only the briefest pause.

“Then I, Ezekiel von Hohenheim, head of the von Hohenheim family and Merchant Lord of Tradespire, wish you the best of luck. Let your years of hard work reveal their worth in this very moment.”

With those words, Ezekiel stepped aside, granting the boy access to the crystal.

“When you are ready, place your hands on its horns and let your mind relax.”

Thomen took a deep breath, then carefully reached out toward the horns of the crystalline dragon skull.

His fingers trembled as they made contact, but he tightened his grip, forcing them steady. In fact, he held on so tightly that his knuckles turned white. For a moment, Maya feared he might crack the crystal, but the object appeared to be made of sturdier stuff.

Then they waited.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened.

Maya’s excitement gave way to worry.

Though Thomen was far from her favorite person, not even he deserved such a fate. While not as devoted as she was, the boy had been diligent in his meditation, never missing a single day.

But more troubling than his individual outcome was what it might mean for the technique itself. Could Maximilian have been wrong? Could Zeke have been wrong? What if it didn’t work at all?

Her frantic gaze searched her brother’s face, desperate for some sign of reassurance. She hoped he would have an answer—something that would dispel the dread beginning to curl in her gut.

What she did not expect was to find him watching the scene with a wry smile, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Thomen,” he said, trying to keep his voice flat, though clearly struggling against his exasperation. “With how tense you are, not even a Monarch could force an ounce of Mana into your body.”

There was a beat of silence, then a chorus of snickers rippled through the group. Even Maya couldn’t hold back, a soft giggle escaping her lips as the tension broke like a popped bubble.

Thomen looked embarrassed, his ears turning visibly red. But after a deep breath, his posture eased, the stiffness draining from his frame.

It couldn’t have been more than a second later when the change began.

The Dragon skull, once cloudy like milky glass, began to glow with a soft light, flickering like a flame. The luminance grew quickly, casting its warm radiance outward and painting the faces of the aspirants in fiery hues, their white robes now tinged with the color of dawn.

Maya didn’t know what this meant, her eyes locked solely on her brother, trying to gauge his reaction.

The sight stole her breath away.

Ezekiel von Hohenheim was looking at the crystal with misty eyes, seemingly caught in a trance. His lips moved, but the words that came out were barely more than a whisper. To anyone else, they would have been inaudible, but Maya stood just close enough to catch them.

“…Are you watching, Mentor?”

B7 - Chapter 8: Ceremony II

Maya walked at the head of the group, her hands clenched tightly around the folds of her robe.

Behind her came the others. Lue, the twins Kallen and Kieran, Thomen—all the children who had followed Zeke’s teachings and joined his meditation experiment. Trailing them in a solemn, hesitant procession were their parents and families, whispering quietly among themselves.

At the front of it all moved the guide.

The silver-haired woman strode ahead with soundless grace, her long steps gliding across the smooth floor as if the air itself parted for her. She hadn’t spoken since their journey began. She didn’t need to.

Even in silence, she radiated authority. Purpose.

But questions churned in Maya’s mind.

Where were they going?

Why hadn’t her brother explained any of this?

She slowed for a moment, letting her senses stretch outward as she’d learned in her meditation sessions. The atmosphere felt… wrong. The air was heavy, the silence too complete. An unnatural stillness clung to the walls, brushing against her skin like static.

“Where are we even going?” a voice muttered behind her.

Maya turned slightly and saw Thomen frowning. The tall boy had his arms crossed, skepticism plain on his face. “This doesn’t look like some amazing ceremony. Aren’t we just headed for the cellars?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kallen said without looking up. The dark-haired girl was as unreadable as ever. Her voice was calm, almost bored. “Lord Ezekiel has something in mind.”

Her brother Kieran nodded beside her, as if that much was obvious.

Thomen snorted. “Great. So we get a secret ritual in a damp basement instead of the real ceremony?”

A few of the others chuckled nervously.

Maya’s hands curled into fists.

“He wouldn’t bring us here for nothing,” she said, her voice cutting through the hush of the corridor. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

Thomen didn’t reply.

Neither did anyone else.

But after that, their footsteps grew quieter.

They continued on in silence.

The corridor twisted once more, and as they rounded the bend, someone let out a sharp gasp.

Maya turned and immediately saw the cause of the commotion. The adults were gone.

She blinked.

Just moments ago, their families had been walking right behind them. Now, the corridor was empty. Silent.

“What?” Lue said, spinning in place. “Where did everyone go?”

One of the boys, Aldon, rushed back. But after only a few steps, he halted.

“I—I can’t…” he said, pressing his hands against something invisible. “There’s… something here. I can’t get through!”

He pushed harder, but the unseen barrier wouldn’t budge.

More hands joined his. They shoved, scratched, and even struck the air. Nothing worked. The path behind them was gone, cut off, though the corridor looked exactly the same.

A wave of unease rippled through the group.

Maya turned to the guide. “What’s happening? Why can’t we go back?”

The woman gave no answer.

She simply continued walking.

And again, they followed.

The group moved forward in strained silence. No one dared to speak. The air around them felt heavier now, thick with expectation.

Eventually, the corridor ended—not with a wall, but with a single, unassuming iron door.

It looked completely ordinary. Dusty, a little crooked on its hinges, and utterly unremarkable.

Maya recognized it.

The door led to one of the unused storage rooms in the estate’s lower levels. She remembered it clearly. Years ago, she and Lue had dared each other to sneak inside. They’d found nothing but cobwebs and broken shelves.

The guide came to a halt.

Maya stepped forward. “What’s beyond this?”

The guide looked at her, expression unreadable.

“Destiny,” she said.

And with that, she vanished.

One moment she was there, and the next—gone. No flash, no sound. Just absence.

The group stood frozen.

Nobody moved.

Not even Maya.

Her hands trembled, and for the first time, she wondered if they had all made a terrible mistake.

They were alone, separated from their parents, and the usually ordinary corridors of the basement complex now felt to her like a hungry beast waiting to devour her.

Even this plain iron door seemed dangerous, like a threshold she shouldn’t cross lightly.

Maya didn’t know why she felt that way, but her instincts were screaming. The air itself felt charged with an unseen power, raising goosebumps along her skin.

She looked at the door again.

And took a step forward.

“Wait—Maya,” Lue said, her voice small. “What if it’s dangerous?”

Maya turned to her, offering a faint smile.

“Then we go together.”

She reached out, placed her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned it.

The door creaked open.

And the world beyond was nothing like the storage room she remembered.

A breath of cool air rushed past her, carrying the scent of ozone. Light spilled from within, cool, blueish light with no visible source.

The space was vast. Too vast. It couldn’t possibly fit inside the mansion.

For a moment, no one spoke.

The silence was absolute, almost reverent—as though the space itself was holding its breath.

Then Maya looked around, taking in her surroundings fully.

Her breath caught.

A vast pavilion stretched beneath their feet, carved entirely from a gleaming white stone that shimmered like polished moonlight. Intricate patterns wound around the base of each towering pillar, rising in sweeping arcs to support a vaulted roof. The structure felt ancient, eternal, as though it had stood there since the beginning of time. But it wasn’t the architecture that held Maya’s gaze.

It was what lay beyond. Or rather, the absence of it.

Beyond the pavilion’s open edges, there was nothing.

They were standing atop a mountain.

Or… something like it.

No earth, no horizon, only open air and a sheer, impossible drop.

Far below, clouds churned like a restless sea, casting shadows that never reached anything solid. Flashes of lightning danced silently within them, pale tendrils of silver arcing and fading. Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and slow, as if echoing up from the depths of the world.

Maya took a hesitant step toward the edge, drawn by awe and terror alike.

There was no wind. The air was perfectly still, cool against her skin. It smelled of stone and storms, of things ancient and unknowable.

“This can’t be…” someone whispered behind her.

The others had spread out slowly across the pavilion. Some stood at the very edge, gazing into the endless drop. Others stayed closer to the columns, as if needing something solid to cling to. All of them wore the same expression: wonder, tinged with fear.

“This isn’t part of the mansion,” Lue murmured beside her. “Is it?”

Maya shook her head.

She had never been here before. No one had. A place like this couldn’t exist. Not beneath the manor. Not anywhere.

And yet… it did.

The thought sent a shiver through her.

Somewhere deep in her chest, something stirred. Not fear exactly, but a sharp awareness of how small she truly was in the face of something vast and watching.

Was this her brother’s doing?

She had always known Zeke was powerful. Everyone did. But this… this was something else entirely. To create a space like this, one that bent reality and defied the natural order—how had he managed it?

The others began to whisper in hushed voices.

Some wondered if it was a dream, or an illusion.

Others suggested it was a test, a conjured place of trial meant for the ceremony.

No one dared raise their voice.

Even Thomen, who usually had a sarcastic remark ready, remained silent. His gaze shifted from the edge of the pavilion to the open sky above, as if waiting for the world to collapse inward.

Then Maya saw it: a presence deeper within the pavilion. It was the silhouette of a person, half hidden in the shadow of a pillar.

“…We aren’t alone,” she whispered, though in the reverent silence, it felt like a shout.

Everyone followed her gaze, their eyes settling on the same spot.

Maya squinted, trying to make out more.

The person was tall, with broad shoulders—likely a man. He stood with his back to them, facing outward toward the void.

A flash of lightning flared in the clouds beneath, briefly illuminating the silhouette.

It was enough for her to see one more crucial detail.

His crimson hair.

“Approach.” The word was spoken lightly, yet it reverberated like a thunderclap in Maya’s ears. This was not a request. It was a command.

With hesitant steps, the group of twenty-five moved toward the figure, who still stood with his back to them.

Maya led the procession once again.

She was nearly certain the figure was her brother. The crimson hair had been a dead giveaway. But a sliver of doubt lingered. The presence before them didn’t feel like the warm, doting sibling she remembered.

“Stop.”

Her feet froze before she had even processed the word. The others halted as well, obeying the voice on instinct alone, before their minds could catch up.

The figure began to move, slowly turning to face them. A shaft of light fell across his face, revealing pale skin, sharp features, and hair the color of blood. Two golden eyes, bright as twin suns, locked onto them—onto her—with a piercing intensity that defied description.

When their eyes met, Maya’s legs nearly gave out.

There was power in that gaze, a weight to his presence that pressed down on her chest like stone. For a long moment, no one spoke. Maya stood frozen, caught between awe and terror.

She had heard people describe her brother in strange ways before.

Scary.

Dangerous.

Unfathomable.

She had laughed it off. How could Zeke be any of those things? He was the same older brother she had known her entire life.

Caring.

Doting.

Kind.

Now, though, she finally understood what they meant. The person standing before them was not the Zeke she remembered. He felt more like an ancient beast wrapped in human flesh, his very presence making her teeth itch.

His aura was as frightening as it was imposing.

It made her feel like a mouse being stared at by a cat, nothing but a plaything before a vastly superior being. Was this what it meant to face a Mage?

No. That couldn’t be.

She had met enough Mages to know this was something else. Something unique. This regal presence was unlike anything she had ever felt.

“Does anyone know,” the man who looked like her brother asked, “why you are here?”

A moment of silence followed, not due to lack of guesses, but because it was difficult to even breathe beneath the weight of his presence.

Even Maya, who had led the group up to this point, found herself unable to speak.

“For… our… awakening… ceremony,” Thomen managed to say from beside her, each word forced out over several seconds.

Maya felt a flicker of admiration for the older boy's resolve. She had never particularly liked Thomen; his flippant attitude often grated on her, but even she had to respect his grit.

Then she saw the smug little smirk tug at the corner of his lips, and her admiration quickly faded again.

The red-haired man turned his eyes on the boy, fixing him with a gaze as sharp as a blade.

Thomen tried to meet his gaze, attempting to show he wasn’t intimidated, but his resolve crumbled in less than a second. His eyes dropped, his knees weakened, and his head bowed.

The red-haired man’s expression didn’t change. He stared at Thomen for a moment longer before shifting his gaze elsewhere.

His answer came in a single word.

“No.”

Silence settled once more, and the red-haired man seemed content to let it stretch, waiting for someone to answer his question.

Maya wanted to speak, but the truth was she had no idea what to say. Her answer would have mirrored Thomen’s. That was why they were here, wasn’t it? What else could it possibly be?

Eventually, when no one spoke, the red-haired man released a long sigh. The sound carried farther than it should have, echoing through the space as if the world itself shared his disappointment.

"Since none of you seem to know, allow me to enlighten you."

B7 - Chapter 7: Ceremony I

Maya’s eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, she didn’t move. The blanket clung to her skin, her breath held still in her chest—like the world might shift if she exhaled too early. Her heart thudded, soft but quick, as though it too knew what day it was.

Awakening Day.

She blinked once, then sat up.

The morning light seeped gently through the high windowpanes of her room, filtered through curtains embroidered with thin threads of gossamer silk. The familiar hum of the mansion’s core enchantments filled the air, faint and constant, like the purring of some great slumbering beast. Outside, the city would already be stirring—bakers opening shops, airships launching from rooftop docks, spell-lights flickering awake.

But Maya heard none of it.

All her focus was on the robe laid carefully at the foot of her bed.

It wasn’t there last night.

She hadn’t heard anyone come in. But now, folded with impossible precision, lay a garment unlike anything she had ever seen. Pale ivory fabric shimmered with shifting golden threads, like dawn woven into cloth. A belt of dark blue silk, patterned in faint geometries, lay coiled beside it.

And on the nightstand: a note.

Maya reached for it with both hands, careful not to wrinkle the paper. Her thumb ran over the ink: dark, clean lines in her brother’s unmistakable handwriting.

Entrance hall. One hour after sunrise.
—Ezekiel von Hohenheim.

Her breath caught.

Zeke hadn’t forgotten.

The thought nearly made her giddy. She’d told herself she didn’t mind his distraction lately. He was important now: a Merchant Lord, a Grand Mage, a thousand things more. Everyone in the city seemed to want something from him.

But deep down, a part of her had worried. What if today came and went with only a rushed blessing? What if her ceremony was just another obligation, squeezed between trade meetings and spellcraft?

She stood, heart light, and touched the robe with reverence.

The fabric felt unreal beneath her fingers. Lighter than silk. Cooler than cotton. There was something… else to it. Some lingering whisper of something more woven through the threads. She smiled, barely able to contain the thrill building in her chest.

He had remembered. And not just remembered—prepared.

Maya slipped into the robe, tying the sash with clumsy excitement. The cloth settled around her frame as though it had been sewn to fit her alone. For a moment, she turned in front of her mirror, watching the strange fabric catch the light. The glow outlined the edges of her small frame, casting her shadow tall and regal against the far wall.

She looked… like someone becoming.

After brushing her hair and tucking it into a simple braid, Maya took one last breath, then stepped out of her room.

The mansion hallways were unusually quiet.

No scurrying staff. No creaking of distant doors. Even the usual clatter of breakfast being prepared had faded. A hush seemed to have settled over the estate like a blanket, heavy with purpose.

Her delicate footsteps barely made a sound against the polished stone floors as she descended the grand stairwell. Sunlight poured in through the great windows on the eastern wall, casting pools of warmth across the floor.

As she reached the final step, her eyes fell on the figures already present in the entry hall.

Her gaze first settled on the brown-haired girl with glittering eyes, dressed in a robe similar to her own.

Lue.

Next to her stood her grandfather, Jettero, deep in conversation with her own parents, who had evidently arrived before her.

Then she took in the rest. Aside from Lue and herself, about a dozen others wore the same style of robe. She recognized all of them, of course. They had all joined the meditation group and often trained together.

Seeing them all in matching robes stirred a pang of disappointment. It was irrational, she knew, but part of her had hoped the gift was meant for her alone. She pushed the feeling aside. Petty jealousy was beneath her.

Lue spotted her and waved animatedly.

Maya approached, drawing the attention of many around her.

“Do you know?” Lue asked before she had even reached them.

To her surprise, even Jettero and her parents seemed interested in her response. A second glance revealed that the other aspirants and their families had also paused their conversations to listen.

“…Know what?” Maya asked, suddenly aware of the weight of so many expectant eyes.

“What your brother has planned,” Lue clarified. “None of us have heard anything, but apparently, he hasn’t ordered the guards to prepare any transport.”

That was… odd.

Zeke clearly hadn’t forgotten about the ceremony. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he arranged transportation? It didn’t make sense. Zeke was meticulous, always thinking several steps ahead. Oversight simply wasn’t in his nature.

“You know something, don’t you?” Lue pressed. “There’s no way you don’t. Everyone knows he dotes on you the most.”

Maya’s smile grew stiff. Though part of her was pleased by her friend’s words, the fact that Zeke hadn’t told her anything made them feel hollow.

Damn that guy. Why couldn’t he have just informed her? Now she would look like—

“Tell them it’s a surprise,” a voice said in her mind.

She recognized it instantly. It was her brother. Her eyes darted around, searching for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t even here. How was he doing that?

“Someone will come to pick you up at the appointed time. That’s all they need to know,” the voice added before falling silent.

Maya steadied herself, her eyes regaining focus.

“I might know something,” she said slowly.

Lue’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I knew it! Tell me! Tell me! Are we really going to ride to the ceremony on the back of a giant dragon, like some of the others have said?”

Maya’s expression twitched. A giant dragon? Who was spreading such ridiculous tales? There was no way that could be true. If such a beast actually appeared, the entire city would likely come to a standstill.

…Then again, this was her brother they were talking about. There was no telling what he might be capable of. More importantly, she didn’t actually know.

Better to play it safe.

“It’s a surprise,” she said, repeating Zeke’s words exactly. “All you need to know is that someone will come to pick us up at the appointed time.”

Rather than being disappointed, Lue and most of the others seemed to find the mystery even more intriguing. With half an ear, Maya heard as they began spinning even more outrageous tales about what awaited them.

She almost felt bad for Zeke.

There was no way that whatever he had planned would live up to what they were expecting.

Time passed quickly as the remaining aspirants arrived, each accompanied by their families. Just before the appointed time, an unexpected guest made an appearance.

David.

The former butler of the estate and the family’s only Archmage.

The gazes that turned to him were even more respectful than they had been in the past. It just went to show what a monumental achievement reaching that level truly was.

Her mother waved, and David immediately made his way over.

Her mother had taken David’s position after he stepped down, and the two had become somewhat familiar during their time training together.

“Good morning, teacher,” her mother greeted.

David waved her off with a smile. “No need to be so formal, my lady.”

He nodded toward her father, who, despite towering over everyone in the room, looked more nervous than anyone else. He was visibly more tense than even Maya felt.

“It is almost time,” her mother said, glancing at the large clock above the entrance. “Are you the one meant to pick us up, Sir David?”

Maya's eyes followed hers to the clock. Only seconds remained until the appointed time. She turned to David as well, hopeful. An Archmage escort wouldn’t be a bad surprise at all.

“No,” David replied. “I’m as in the dark about today’s events as everyone else here.”

Maya frowned. It wasn’t him? Then who?

Her eyes were glued to the face of the clock.

Fifteen seconds remaining.

Ten seconds.

Five.

Still, nobody was coming. The corridors were utterly silent, with no footfalls coming from anywhere. Where they late? Had they overslept?

Two seconds. One.

The soft chime of a bell marked the turning of the hour.

It seemed like the entire hall exhaled at the same time, as the tension drained from them.

Nobody had come.

“Greetings, aspirant Maya von Hohenheim,” a feminine voice said.

Maya spun around. The voice had come from right beside her, yet she hadn’t heard anyone approach.

Her breath caught.

Behind her stood a woman with pale silver hair, tall and striking, with gleaming blue eyes and an imposing, graceful figure that made Maya’s insecurities flare painfully. She hadn’t noticed her approach at all.

Who was this?

“I am your guide,” the woman said, as if reading her thoughts.

Her expression remained unreadable, distant, as though nothing in the world truly held her interest. The word aloof barely did her justice.

Since when had someone like this been working for her brother? Maya was certain they had never met. And judging by how easily she had gone unnoticed, this woman was clearly no ordinary person.

Maya’s gaze shifted toward the former butler, curious to see how he reacted to this stranger’s presence.

But what she saw stopped her cold.

David wasn’t reacting at all. His eyes were still on the clock, his brow only faintly furrowed.

“They cannot see me,” the stranger said flatly.

Maya looked around and quickly realized it was true. Everyone wearing robes was staring into space, clearly engaged in one-sided conversations. Meanwhile, the others, including powerful mages like David, were completely ignoring the stranger’s presence.

Maya glanced down at her attire. Was it the robes? Had they granted them the ability to perceive this mysterious woman?

“Who are you, miss?”

The silver-haired woman met her gaze and held it. “I am the guide,” she repeated, making it clear she would say no more.

Maya nodded. If this woman wished to keep her identity hidden, she likely had a good reason. Pressing her further felt wrong.

“Guide me where?” she asked instead.

“Awakening ceremony,” the woman said, a slight glint lighting her eyes. “Are you ready?”

Maya nodded without hesitation. “Can they come?” she asked, gesturing toward her mother and father, who were giving her confused looks. No wonder—she must have seemed like a lunatic talking to thin air.

“…Whoever wants to follow can follow,” the guide replied, already turning to walk away.

Maya spun toward her parents, eyes alight. “Mom! Dad! Quickly,” she called, then darted after the mysterious woman.

Her parents exchanged a glance, shrugged, and followed.

Several other families began to move at the same time, but Maya reached the door first. It swung open on its own.

Her steps halted.

This... couldn’t be right.

The door ahead didn’t lead outside but deeper into the basement—a space usually reserved for storage and housing her brother’s more delicate experiments.

As far as she knew, there was no exit down there.

Could it be? Was Zeke really planning to hold the ceremony in a storage room? That would be... underwhelming, if she were honest.

Still, she only hesitated for a heartbeat before continuing forward, her trust in her brother urging her on. If Zeke had sent this woman to guide them, then wherever she led had to be the right place.

Even so, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered its doubts.

She had worked hard for this day. Countless hours, days, weeks, and months spent in meditation.

All because he had told her to.

All because she trusted him.

She prayed, with all her heart, that the ceremony would not end in disappointment.

B7 - Chapter 6: A Restless Night

The machines hummed on, undisturbed by his silence.

Zeke remained seated at the edge of the worktable, his sisters’ old drawing still clutched in one hand, the flicker of warm lamp lights catching on the charcoal lines. A flower—unevenly drawn, hastily shaded, a dozen petals too many.

He let the paper fall.

Across the chamber, Akasha’s illusory form turned to watch him.

He turned toward her.

“You could have warned me,” he said flatly.

The silver-haired illusion beside him blinked once, her expression unreadable. “Specify.”

“The ceremony.”

“The ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow morning,” she said calmly. “Technically, you are not late.”

Zeke stared at her.

Akasha tilted her head, as if awaiting praise for her scheduling accuracy.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s… not the point.”

Silence stretched between them.

Akasha’s gaze did not waver.

Zeke rubbed his temple. “I’m not planning on just attending, Akasha. I’m hosting it.”

The Spirit’s brow furrowed slightly. “That is illogical. There is a central event held for all qualifying youths. It is being organized by the Council.”

He shook his head. “She can’t attend. None of them can.”

“Why?”

“Why else?” Zeke sighed and walked to the nearest workbench, clearing a small patch among the clutter of enchanted glass and copper coils. “All the kids awakening tomorrow have been part of my meditation research group. Maya. Lue. The rest. We’ve been experimenting on their mana absorption habits for years now.”

Akasha nodded once. “I am aware.”

“And I have no idea what’s going to happen when they awaken.” He looked over his shoulder. “But what I can say with utmost certainty is that it will not be a regular awakening. Tell me, do you think it would be a good idea to have that happen in front of a crowd?”

Akasha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Point acknowledged.”

Zeke continued tidying without speaking, movements sharp but measured. After a moment, Akasha walked to his side, materializing a list in midair—a projection of all registered participants within the mansion’s records.

“Do you wish me to cancel the public attendance officially?” she asked.

“No,” Zeke said. “Our station is high enough that we don’t have to explain ourselves anymore. If anything, it would likely draw more attention if we did. Let them think of me as an eccentric instead.”

Akasha folded her hands behind her back. “There is no need for concern, Host. We still have more than enough time to prepare.”

She took a step closer. “The procedure of awakening is mechanically simple. A steady infusion of unaligned Mana until the aspirant’s Core activates. There is little variance. The use of a tool such as an awakening crystal is optional.”

Zeke looked up from the workbench, brows raised.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “But if I just shove mana into them in a dark room like some cultist, they’ll never forgive me.”

Akasha blinked again.

“You forget,” he added, “these are kids. Important ones. Lue is Jett’s granddaughter. Maya is my sister. The rest? Children of people who’ve worked for the estate longer than I’ve been alive. Subjects of Maximilian who volunteered their kids for our experiments out of sheer faith and loyalty. Trust me, they’ll be watching closely. I can’t afford to half-ass this.”

The Spirit paused. “You believe it will affect morale?”

“I believe,” Zeke said slowly, “that they deserve better than a basement ritual and a pat on the back.”

He leaned on the table and stared down at the bare surface. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to his own awakening. The vast circular room of the Elementium. The crystal. The pressure. The awe. The way the crowd had gasped when his Core flared to life. It had meant something. It still meant something.

For a moment, the memory swelled. How small he'd felt beneath the crystal’s radiance, how proud he’d been when the verdict came. A perfect affinity. It was the first time he’d believed the future could belong to him.

“I want them to have that,” he murmured. “Maybe not the crowd. But the feeling. That this is a moment that matters.”

Akasha was quiet for a moment longer. Then she said, “Understood. What do you need, Host?”

Zeke straightened.

“…A plan.”

Akasha’s gaze met his, her full attention locked on him, ready to be his hands and feet. The sight gave him back a measure of confidence.

For anyone else, organizing a proper ceremony with so little time left would be impossible. For him and Akasha? There might actually be hope.

“How many are attending?”

The Spirit responded without pause. “Twenty-five. About half are turning fourteen this year, the rest are older but delayed the ceremony to prolong exposure.”

Zeke nodded, vaguely recalling that he had given such an order.

“We need a crystal,” he said after a moment. “Even if it’s not strictly necessary for the awakening itself. The visual impact is worth it.”

Akasha nodded, the earlier dismissiveness gone. Though she likely still didn’t fully grasp the human obsession with ritual, she trusted his judgment enough to now consider it essential.

“I have never seen an awakening crystal in person, but I am confident I can create something that serves the same function. It will not be cheap. Do I have permission to proceed?”

“Do it,” he ordered, without hesitation. If Akasha claimed confidence, it meant she was certain of success.

As soon as the words left his mouth, one of the workbenches whirred to life. From the corner of his eye, he saw enchantments begin to carve themselves into a large affinity crystal. It had likely cost several hundred gold, if not more, but Zeke didn’t mourn the loss.

He would have paid ten times that amount to slightly increase his chances of making the ceremony a memorable experience for the kids and his sister.

“Next: We need to think about clothing. At my ceremony, the older students wore official Elementium robes, and I remember how jealous and eager I was when I saw them. I want something similar.”

Akasha remained still while he considered what exactly he needed.

“…There was that magic weave we bought during the auction,” he mused aloud. “Would it be possible to use that technique?”

“Yes, Host. Depending on the quantity and quality of your requirements, something like that would be possible.”

Zeke thought it over for a moment. He wanted something that would make an impression on a fourteen-year-old. He tried to recall what would have thrilled him at that age.

“…Can you weave an enchantment that adds a self-cleaning function to the robes? While still keeping them durable enough for combat?”

Zeke had assumed the request might be too ambitious, but to his surprise, Akasha nodded without hesitation.

“Simple enough. Shall I begin?”

Zeke nodded, tempted to dive into the specifics of how she planned to meet his request, but he knew now wasn’t the time.

A moment later, he felt a significant draw on his Core. This time, the Spirit was using a substantial amount of Mana to complete the task. A quick glance over his shoulder gave him a glimpse of her progress.

The robes were being woven from elven silkweave, ensuring both comfort and durability. As for the enchantment, from what he could discern, it involved a Water-based effect.

Dehumidification?

That was... rather clever.

Without moisture, nothing would cling, especially not to silkweave, a material already resistant to stains. If the enchantment worked as he suspected, the robes would be nearly impossible to soil while worn by a Mage.

That reminded him of something important.

“I’ll need an outfit,” he said, eyes drifting to the rapidly moving needles that spun golden thread into the forming robe. “Something that commands presence.”

“Specify.”

“During my awakening, the host, Victor Windtänzer—curse him—carried a staff that looked more expensive than the village I grew up in. I didn’t fully understand its value at the time, but I remember being awed by its appearance. I want something like that.”

This time, Akasha remained silent, not answering immediately.

“I... am not confident in my fashion sense, Host.”

Zeke shook his head, suppressing a wry smile. He hadn’t expected her to design it on her own. His thoughts flicked through a few designs he had been considering, fully aware she would pick up on them.

“What do you think?”

“…Ambitious,” the Spirit said. “I could likely manage it. However, only if there are no further requests. The rest would be up to Host.”

Zeke nodded slowly. There was one thing left on his list, the most important one. But even if Akasha were free, it was unlikely she could help him.

“Do it.”

At his command, Akasha flickered out of existence, the work around him intensifying. She had likely decided she couldn’t spare the extra Mana to maintain her illusory form.

That was fine with him.

He needed time to think anyway.

The last thing missing was a location to hold the ceremony.

The Elementium had used a grand banquet hall, with the cardinal directions divided by the four elements. It had been a breathtaking sight. Unfortunately, Zeke couldn’t leave his estate without risking being watched. Here, within these walls, he could guarantee some level of privacy. Anything beyond them was a gamble he wasn’t willing to take.

The problem was, no room in the entire mansion could even come close to the majesty of that banquet hall. No matter how he looked at it, the ceremony would suffer because of it.

If only he had a chamber for such occasions. A place for important rituals and...

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse. “There has to be something.”
His eyes flicked across the chamber walls, ceiling, and the mess of half-finished projects.
And then...

He froze.

Sitting on the floor was a cube, its presence a constant hum in the back of his mind. A few steps away, a doorway hovered, a seamless portal leading to a vast plane.

Could he? Should he?

The idea was preposterous. And yet, infinitely intriguing. Naturally, he could never reveal the existence or nature of the World Anchor, not even to his closest allies. But was there a way to use it without exposing its secrets?

With a flick of his thought, Zeke connected to the cube, reshaping the location and structure of the portal entrance.

The oval shimmer warped, resisted briefly, then stretched into a rectangular doorway. A moment later, after a bit more mental coaxing, it aligned perfectly with the frame of his chamber door.

Zeke blinked, then a slow smile crept across his face.

From the outside, the door looked unchanged—just another entryway. But now, it opened into a verdant paradise, the stone floor of his room giving way to a lush green field with one step. The transition was as seamless as it was surreal, a scene that didn’t seem to belong.

And yet, despite the jarring shift, his mind struggled to pinpoint what felt wrong. The world beyond the door seemed just as real as the one he stood in.

This... could actually work.

Zeke took a step toward the portal, then another. A moment later, he crossed the threshold. The world inside the cube began to transform even before his foot touched down. When it finally did, it landed not on soft grass but on a floor of polished marble.

Zeke looked around, his smile widening at the sight.

Oh, this was going to be awesome.

With a racing heart, Zeke began to reshape the world inside the cube. Marble columns rose from the floor, opulent tapestries wove themselves into existence, and an altar emerged from the intangible stone.

A chamber of unparalleled splendor was beginning to take form. In this world, there were no boundaries to what he could create. The only limit was his imagination.

B7 - Chapter 5: A New Power Rises

The droplet hung in the air like a captured ruby.

Zeke sat cross-legged in the heart of his underground workshop, the faint scent of oil and cold metal lingering in the air. The space was vast, carved directly into the bedrock beneath his mansion.

Shelves packed with enchantment components, crystal-threaded instruments, and intricate mechanical sketches lined the walls. Several half-finished blueprints rested on raised platforms, their sleek hulls catching the glow of suspended light fixtures.

But Zeke’s attention was fixed elsewhere.

The drop of blood hovered a finger’s breadth above his outstretched palm. It pulsed softly—alive, yet perfectly still.

He wasn’t moving it with a spell.

At least, not in the usual way.

“Return,” he whispered, almost pleadingly.

The droplet shimmered. For a moment, nothing happened. Then it began to move, drifting downward in a slow arc before touching his skin. Zeke watched with anticipation, only for it to slide down his forearm, failing once again to fulfill its purpose.

He exhaled.

Still too slow. Still inefficient. But progress.

“Again,” he murmured.

Akasha remained silent beside him, her silver-haired illusion standing motionless. She seemed intent on providing at least the appearance of company, though he wouldn't forget that she was watching even without her projected form being present.

Another drop lifted from the shallow wound on his forearm. This one resisted, wobbling in the air like a child unsure of its footing.

He narrowed his eyes.

Blood Magic had always demanded sacrifice, a cost in limited resources. With this, he aimed to rewrite that rule. A drop sent forth, fulfilling its task, and then returning.

A servant, not an offering.

The blood stilled.

His eyes focused on the crimson dot.

The air quivered.

Then the droplet darted back into his skin like a startled fish vanishing into water.

Zeke allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

It wasn’t mastery. Far from it. But the foundation was solid.

He rubbed at his temples, noting the crust of dried blood under his nails. When had he last slept? A full night felt like a memory from another life. The days bled together in the underground stillness of his workshop—timeless, unchanging.

Akasha had mentioned it, once. Something about disorientation in environments without sun or moon. He’d waved her off then, brushing past it with a joke. But now, even the hours slipped through his fingers.

“David is approaching,” Akasha’s voice spoke in his mind.

Zeke didn’t look up. “Let him in.”

A faint shimmer passed through the barrier at the chamber’s edge. A moment later, the steady click of boots on stone echoed across the workshop.

David stepped into view, dressed in his usual contradiction of formal elegance and practical disregard: a tailored jacket, reinforced boots, and the faint scent of dust and parchment. He carried a leather satchel under one arm.

His eyes flicked briefly to the healing wound on Zeke’s arm but made no comment.

“Am I interrupting?”

Zeke rose to his feet, brushing dry flakes from his palms. “…Just teaching my blood new tricks.”

“Ahh,” David said, his tone thoughtful. “Practicing the concept of Will, I assume?”

Zeke nodded. He wasn’t surprised by David’s precise guess. There were only so many things a newly minted Grand Mage would focus on, and mastering Will was at the top of that list for nearly everyone.

“I remember my first attempts quite clearly,” David said, raising his hands to cast a large shadow across part of the chamber. He flexed his fingers, and the shadow shifted into the shape of a man on the wall.

Zeke’s eyes widened. David was incredibly skilled at this peculiar form of magic.

“I wanted to infuse my spells with true sentience,” he said, clearly amused by the memory. As he spoke, the shadow puppet began to move—no longer bound to the motion of David’s hand, which had already dropped. It glided across the wall, swaying like a seasoned dancer.

“I figured I should aim high,” he continued. “Choose a concept that I could grow into.”

Zeke understood that impulse well. It was tempting to chase something grand. Each aspect of Will took years to refine, and investing that time into a concept that turned out to be useless was a bitter fate, especially for someone fresh from a breakthrough.

“How did that work out?”

David grinned. “I gave up, after years of bitter struggle. True sentience is still beyond me, even now as an Archmage. It was a fool’s dream from the start.”

Zeke grimaced. Even if David spoke lightly of it now, abandoning such a lofty goal must have been a brutal disappointment.

“…What concept did you ultimately settle on?” he asked after the silence had stretched a little too long.

David silently pointed at the wall, where the shadow puppet still moved with eerie grace.

“Dancing?”

David shook his head. “It’s mimicking human behaviour. That was the closest I could get to my original idea.”

Zeke nodded, understanding dawning. “That could have a lot of uses.” His mind was already spinning with tactical applications of such a skill.

David smiled, and with a wave of his hand, the shadow on the wall vanished. “I’m glad.”

The abrupt shift in tone pulled Zeke from his thoughts. “Glad about what?”

“I was worried you’d fall into the same trap: trying to master some grand, impossible concept that would overturn the entire world of magic if it worked.”

Zeke grimaced. “It’s not like I didn’t think about it...” His thoughts drifted to the wilder ideas he’d entertained before choosing his current path. One of them had even been the same: true sentience, applied to his Mind affinity.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, reason had won out.

“I would have loved to chase one of those ideas,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “But the truth is, I can’t afford to waste time like that.”

David gave him a look Zeke couldn’t quite interpret, somewhere between pride and pity. “It means you’ve grown up. For better or worse.”

The strange shift in tone made Zeke a bit uneasy. In truth, he didn’t feel like he’d made some great sacrifice. Setting more realistic goals didn’t seem all that tragic, even if it lacked the dramatic flair his accomplishments usually carried.

“Want to see?” he asked.

“…Are you sure?” David replied. “This is a personal matter. Something most would guard carefully—especially before full mastery.”

Zeke shot him a flat look. “You’re hardly a stranger,.”

“…But—”

“Do you want to see it, or not?”

“I do,” David said at last, abandoning his objection.

Zeke gave a nod, satisfied. The entire exchange felt unnecessary. If he couldn’t trust David with something like this, then who could he? Besides, it wasn’t as if the concept he was working on was some closely guarded secret. Even if it got out, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

Zeke focused his mind, attempting to replicate his earlier success.

Once more, a droplet of blood rose into the air, hovering unsteadily for a heartbeat. Then it began to sink, touched his arm, and vanished beneath the skin.

“Preservation of blood?” David asked after a moment.

Zeke nodded. “My goal is to master the concept to the point where all my blood spells return to me before their energy runs dry.”

“Interesting,” David murmured, eyes fixed on the spot where the droplet had disappeared. “But wouldn’t it be easier to simply master a spell to replenish blood? That sort of spell is rather basic, from what I understand.”

Zeke paused.

Not because he lacked an answer, but because the truth touched on one of his deeper secrets. The main reason he guarded every drop of blood so fiercely was the Draconic essence produced by his heart.

It nourished his blood and strengthened both body and spellwork. That essence couldn’t be replicated by conjuring fresh blood; it built up slowly, over time. That fact wasn’t something he intended to share, however.

Still, he wouldn’t lie outright.

“My blood is somewhat special,” he said. “To a degree that wasting it would be… well, a waste.”

David nodded slowly. He no doubt recognized how much had been left unsaid, but he was wise enough not to press further.

“…Then your concept is an excellent choice. And it seems you’re making good progress. I’m impressed.”

Zeke nodded. “Blood comes easily to me, as usual. Just don’t ask to see my Mind Magic attempts. Not exactly a pretty sight.”

David grinned. “I truly don’t envy you for having multiple affinities. The thought of repeating my struggles twice over would be enough to keep me up at night.”

Zeke chuckled. “I like the challenge.”

They sat in a moment of easy silence. Then Zeke remembered that David surely hadn’t come just to talk. His eyes flicked to the pouch still tucked under the other man’s arm.

“A present?” he asked with a smirk, pointing at it.

“In a sense, yes,” David replied, gripping the pouch. “News from Undercity.”

He pulled out a detailed map, followed by a thick stack of blueprints bound together.

For a moment, Zeke struggled to place what he was looking at. The layout didn’t match any city he recognized—until his eyes landed on a building marked at the center of the map: ‘Black Tower’.

“This is Undercity?”

David nodded, clearly proud. “Not bad, right? Those dwarves really know how to build, let me tell you.”

He tapped a section in the east. “Third forge-pit is complete. Two weeks ahead of schedule.”

Zeke folded his arms, listening closely to the report. This was his biggest investment, the foundation of his future, and hearing that things were not only progressing but exceeding expectations filled him with quiet satisfaction.

“They say they’ll beat that again next month. There might be only a few Dwarfs in Undercity right now. But give them endless labor and they become force multipliers.”

Zeke studied the map illustrating the new force rising beneath the sands of Korrovan. His force. “…And the Chimeroi?”

“Trained. Mostly. The dwarves didn’t just teach them how to use the tools, they gave them something far more important: pride. The city’s not just rebuilding. It’s reawakening.”

Zeke said nothing.

He didn’t need to. The fire behind his eyes said enough.

“The Verma contract?” he asked at last.

David gave a crisp nod. “Signed, sealed, and inspected. Cloth production begins next week. They’re calling it the cornerstone deal.”

Zeke let that sink in. The cornerstone.

The first in a series of contracts that would cement Undercity’s place as more than a grave for the discarded.

“Good,” he said softly.

David, ever the realist, added, “The war is helping. Everyone is stockpiling. Demand’s surging across the continent. Many eyes are on Undercity now, their greed making them cast caution to the wind.”

Zeke’s gaze drifted toward a continental map on the wall, something Akasha kept up to date for him. The map showed active distribution lanes. He could already see the patterns forming—where goods bottlenecked, where prices spiked, where merchants pressed for new routes.

“….We ride the wave,” Zeke said. “Secure resources from the dwarves and elves and fill our stores.”

David smiled faintly. “You’re starting to sound like them.”

“I am one of them,” Zeke replied dryly. “Merchant Lord, remember?”

David shrugged. “Far as I can tell, you’ve always been a schemer, young lord, long before the title.”

Zeke smiled but remained quiet.

His fingers brushed across the detailed plans of the new city. A new Undercity. A new economic powerhouse, firmly under his control. If he played his cards right, it could become a source of strength—one of many he would need to stand on equal footing with the likes of King Midas or the Emperor.

Zeke looked up from the map and met David’s eyes. He finally understood the true purpose of this visit. It wasn’t just to deliver an update. It was a farewell.

“You’re going?”

David nodded. “There’s much to be done over there. I’ll be far more useful on-site. Also... I’m ashamed to admit it, but the kids have grown on me.”

Zeke knew exactly what he meant. The Chimeroi, despite their strength and outward maturity, often seemed like little more than lost children, trapped in the bodies of adults.

If even he felt that way, then for someone as composed and seasoned as David, leaving them must have felt like abandoning a house full of toddlers.

“When?”

“I’ll be leaving right after the ceremony tomorrow,” David said. “Feels like it came out of nowhere, doesn’t it?”

“…Does it?” Zeke replied distantly, already scanning the distribution map again. “Time’s been strange lately.”

Zeke’s body stiffened a moment later, realising what David had just said.

Ceremony. Tomorrow.

A cold wave slid down his spine.

When had so much time passed?

“You didn’t forget, did you?” David asked, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

Zeke forced a chuckle. “Of course not. It’s all she’s been talking about since my return.”

David held his gaze a moment longer than necessary, then nodded. “That’s all, young lord. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Zeke nodded, but David had already turned, his footsteps fading into the background hum of the workshop.

The silence returned, heavy and mechanical, metal ticking, runes humming.

Zeke stood unmoving in the center of it all.

Then, slowly, his eyes drifted to a small desk in the corner. Unused. Dust gathered in the creases of the parchment she’d left behind. A sketch. A flower. Something Maya had drawn during one of her visits down here.

The same color as her hair. Dirty blonde, just like their Mother’s.

He sank into his chair, breathing out through his nose, steady and shallow.

Fourteen already.

The time where every child would attempt to awaken their Core.

He wasn’t ready.

Not for this. Not for the possibility that she’d awaken. Or wouldn’t. That she’d rise as something brilliant, or remain behind, staring at him from across a gap he could never close.

His hand reached out, brushing the edge of the page. It was absurd, he’d fought monsters, buried enemies, struck deals with dragons and worse. And yet…

His fingers trembled.

Maya.

She was supposed to be safe. She wasn’t supposed to change.

He let the drawing fall, returning to the flickering blueprints without seeing them.

The quiet hum of the machines filled the void, uncaring.

Tomorrow.

B7 - Chapter 4: Creativity

Hey everyone,

I battled a brutal case of writer’s block all week and couldn't finish a single chapter to save my life, but this morning the words finally started flowing again (hurray!).

I’m still behind, so while this burst of inspiration lasts, I’ll post a new chapter every day until I’m caught up (or until the muse slows down again).

Thanks so much for your patience. I hope you Enjoy the chapter.

Zeke woke from his deep slumber and found himself… at peace.

He felt as though he could lie there forever and everything would remain fine. The world would turn as it always had, untouched and undisturbed.

The sensation was so foreign to him that it instantly raised alarms. Since when had the world ever felt so calm?

That thought snapped him fully awake, breaking through the lingering haze of sleep.

He found himself staring up at a dome of glass panels, so close he could reach out and touch them without rising. The unfamiliar view triggered a spike of panic at first, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through his veins. But then, recognition dawned.

He was inside the Mana Purifying Device.

He had fallen asleep the moment he’d lain down.

The realization of where he was sent a second jolt of warning through his system. The hatch was already open, which could only mean one thing—he was no longer breathing the purified gas. Instinctively, he searched within himself for the familiar craving, that all-consuming need he had once felt while clawing his way toward the rank of Grand Mage.

To his utter astonishment, there was nothing.

No hunger. No desperation. No ache.

In fact, he felt… invigorated. As though he’d just woken from the most restful sleep of his life.

It was the complete opposite of what he had braced himself for.

“Akasha?” he called softly.

[Answer]

Good morning, Host.

The reply was instant. And, if Zeke wasn’t imagining things, even a bit smugger than usual.

“Did you turn it on?”

[Answer]

The device was used as we discussed. I opted for a lower exposure, primarily to ease Host’s concerns in case of a miscalculation. The total duration of purification last night was approximately three hours.

“I… feel so good.”

[Answer]

I am glad to hear that.

Zeke leaned back into the mattress, letting his body relax—but something tugged at the edges of his thoughts.

Akasha’s tone had been too casual, more conversational than precise. That alone was enough to put him on edge.

“You did something, didn’t you?”

No answer.

“Spit it out already.”

[Answer]

I indeed did something to help Host cope with the side effects of the device...

The spirit sounded almost like a child caught doing something mischievous, clearly bracing for a scolding.

But nothing could be further from Zeke’s actual feelings. Whatever Akasha had done to make him feel this good, he had no complaints—at least not unless it came with some catastrophic side effects, which he trusted her not to allow.

“Just tell me.”

[Answer]

In order to ensure Host slept through the procedure entirely, I induced a state of full senselessness. It is a level beyond ordinary sleep, nearing complete separation of body and mind.

That was… unexpected.

For one, he had no idea how such a state was even possible. It sounded eerily similar to the condition he entered when ejecting his soul.

"How?"

Sensing his curiosity rather than anger, the Spirit materialized above him, gazing down from beyond the hatch of the device.

"It is something I also attempted for the first time," Akasha said directly into his mind. "A form of Mind Magic designed to induce a meditative trance. Combined with Host already being asleep, the effect was amplified. It enabled not only smoother absorption of the purified mana, but also accelerated recovery."

Now that she was sure he wasn’t upset, the words spilled from her in a steady, eager stream. It was the first time he’d seen her this animated over one of her discoveries. The sight warmed something in his chest.

Still, one question lingered.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

Akasha smiled—a real, unguarded smile he hadn’t known she could make.

"I invented it."

"You?"

"Me."

Zeke stared at her in stunned silence.

This was... monumental.

While Akasha could think faster than an entire legion of human scholars, that didn’t make her superior in every way. Creativity, in particular, had always been her weakness. Where humans had an innate urge to experiment, to push boundaries and innovate, Akasha had never shared that impulse.

She had always been content to work within the framework of what she already understood.

Yes, she was eager to expand her knowledge through observation, experimentation, and meticulous data collection—but innovation? That had never been her domain.

Until now.

To create an entirely new spell of her own accord and then implement it into one of their most critical projects was something Zeke had never imagined she could do.

It wasn’t just unexpected.

It was almost like...

Zeke shook his head, never finishing that thought.

Whatever changes Akasha was undergoing could only benefit him in the long run.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Akasha nodded eagerly and launched into a detailed explanation—how the spell functioned, how the idea had come to her, how she’d run simulations thousands of times before attempting it.

He couldn’t follow all of it. Her intuitive grasp of Mind Magic was far beyond his own. Still, the explanation was enlightening. For one, it gave him insight into how Akasha’s thought processes worked. As expected, they were methodical and clinical for the most part. But here and there, he caught glimpses of genuine creativity woven through the logic.

A strange pride stirred in his chest, an emotion he didn’t fully understand. It felt as if her small step forward was somehow his own.

Was this what it felt like to see your child speak their first words? Take their first steps?

What surprised him even more was the origin of much of the theory behind the spell. It had come, unexpectedly, from the insights he’d gained while exploring the memories of the Soul Devourer.

More precisely: from Augustus Geistreich.

Zeke had known Akasha would consume those memories with fervor, but he hadn’t expected the first tangible result to emerge so quickly.

The revelation left him with mixed feelings.

Even he had to admit that the Emperor was a master of his craft. A single stray thought glimpsed in those memories had offered more insight than a year's worth of lessons at the Elementium, especially for Akasha.

Still, the idea of allowing that man’s knowledge to seep into his mind, to influence his path with methods born of cruelty and control, made Zeke uneasy. Yet it was a bitter pill he had no choice but to swallow.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

And in terms of strength, Zeke was very much a beggar compared to the true giants of the world.

Men like Augustus, Midas, and Sheol.

They had transcended the ordinary. Empires bent around them. Entire professions existed to study their every move, to react, to prepare, to survive.

These men were less like people and more like forces of nature, kept in check only by others of their kind.

...And he couldn’t wait for the day he would join their ranks.

With that thought, Zeke finally turned his attention to what truly mattered: inspecting his gains.

Though the night in the device had been far more pleasant than he’d feared, comfort hadn’t been the point of the experiment.

The true purpose of the device was, of course, to grow his Core.

Even though Zeke had reached the level of Grandmage, it was by no means the end of his journey. While it was said that one could not sprint to the rank of Archmage, pushing himself to the peak of his current level was still very much within reach, at least for him.

Until the day his Soul growth became the bottleneck, he would press on.

His focus turned inward, descending into himself to examine the state of the three seedlings sprouting from his Core.

The red one, tightly wound around his draconic heart, symbolized his Blood affinity.

The blue one, cocooned around his brain in a lattice of serene complexity, represented his Mind affinity.

And the purple one, spreading wildly and without regard for distance or continuity, embodied his Space affinity.

These seedlings sprouting from his Core were extensions of his abilities—the primary focus of any Grandmage. With their aid, it was theoretically possible to add a new component to one's spells, something that fundamentally separated Grandmages from all lesser beings.

Will.

A concept that was simple to explain, yet incredibly difficult to master.

In theory, Will allowed a spell to act with a mind of its own.

A basic example might be a spell that could track an opponent, following their movements until its energy was depleted. But a true master could elevate that idea to unimaginable heights.

The clearest example of this had been the Progenitor of the Frostscale tribe, whose poison had behaved like a living thing: autonomously adapting, shifting, and reacting.

It had seemed to possess a mind of its own.

Zeke was far from mastering the concept, having achieved only rudimentary success with it so far.

But that was more a shortcoming on his part than a limitation of the seedlings themselves. The way they had sprouted, spreading through most of his body, was unlike anything he had ever read or heard about.

His second advancement had, once again, unfolded in a way that completely defied the accepted literature. Zeke was beginning to suspect that much of the common knowledge surrounding magical advancement was intentionally limited.

It simply wasn't plausible that all the great families, with their legions of scholars, had failed to uncover what he had discovered on his very first attempt. Though luck had certainly played a role in his progress, luck was always part of discovery. And it was unthinkable to him that, across all the centuries gone by, no one else had ever been lucky.

A small smile spread across his face as he examined the night’s results.

Though not as extreme as his prolonged sessions beneath Winter’s mountain, the experience had been undeniably fruitful.

Far more than it had any right to be, given the brief exposure.

Zeke studied the tendrils winding through his body. The one connected to his heart had grown thicker, more robust and intricately formed. The others had changed as well, each evolving in their unique ways.

"Do you have an explanation for this?" he asked the empty air, trusting Akasha was both listening and already aware of what he meant.

The silver-haired woman, who had stood motionless until now, blinked once. Her voice entered his mind as smoothly as if their conversation had never paused.

"The special nature of Host’s advancement has led to an overdeveloped Core."

"What do you mean?"

Akasha responded without hesitation, as though quoting from a textbook. "The anomaly is twofold. First, these seedlings are capable of absorbing vast amounts of purified Mana. Based on my calculations, a single hour in the chamber now provides more benefit than an entire day did prior to your advancement."

She tilted her gaze toward the top of the device, where the chemical reaction occurred.

"This conclusion is supported by the increased rate of fuel consumption."

Zeke nodded. That matched his observations. But he could feel a caveat coming.

"...However, the downside of these overdeveloped seedlings is that they will require an enormous quantity of Mana to reach maturity. Likely proportional to their enhanced size, if not greater."

Zeke sighed. There it was.

Fortunately, the diagnosis wasn’t as grim as he had feared. In fact, the news didn’t dishearten him at all. A larger lake naturally required more water—that much was obvious. Yet once filled, it would far surpass the shallow puddles of lesser mages, even those who claimed their Cores were full.

At least, that was how he liked to think of it.

He couldn’t wait to see what he’d be capable of once these seedlings reached full maturity. Perhaps a feat akin to the Frostscale Progenitor’s wouldn’t be entirely out of reach.

Stirred by his anticipation, Zeke suddenly found it unbearable to remain in bed a moment longer.

Daylight was burning, and progress awaited.

The road to greatness was long, but every step mattered.

B7 - Chapter 3: Apprehension

The storm of flying objects had become a constant companion over the past few weeks.

With the expanded range of his Sphere of Awareness, Akasha’s influence had grown in kind. Zeke no longer saw her as just the dainty woman across from him, but as a formless entity with a thousand hands and a thousand minds—always working, always creating. She effortlessly completed the workload of dozens without pause.

At that very moment, as Zeke sat in his workshop, lost in idle thought, Akasha was simultaneously finishing a batch of enchantments, replying to lesser correspondence, operating the smelter, and carving a delicate gear at the workbench.

In truth, it almost felt as though she had benefited more from his recent advancement than he had. Though Zeke himself had grown incomparably stronger upon reaching the rank of Grandmage, Akasha could make even greater use of the new resources at their disposal.

That didn’t mean her spells had grown stronger than his—Zeke still held the edge in sheer power—but Akasha had one distinct advantage. She could cast a dozen spells at once, dividing her mind into smaller, yet still fully capable, units.

Zeke had heard of spells that allowed Mind Mages to achieve similar feats, but he doubted any human could ever match Akasha’s proficiency. Their species simply wasn’t built for it. Not even Augustus Geistreich, for all his brilliance, would rival her in that regard.

Truthfully, if Akasha weren’t bound to him, he might have been deeply envious. Infinite memory, a mind that could reshape itself at will, capabilities that adapted to any task: the list of her talents seemed endless.

The day he bound her as his familiar might have been the luckiest moment of his life.

It was almost laughable, remembering how hesitant he’d been back then.

The thought brought a quiet smile to his lips. He glanced around his expanded workshop, a space built to house a team of dozens but now operated by a single, unseen legion. If only his past self could see this, see what had become of that pale, fragile Spirit from that day.

And what she would still become.

If there was ever an entity capable of threatening the existence of the human race, it was Akasha. Should he one day reach the level of Exarch—or even Monarch—she would likely possess the ability and reach to observe every single human simultaneously. A silent sentinel, watching and recording, judging every action with tireless precision.

A disturbing thought.

He would need to speak with her about boundaries… someday. Certainly before he reached that level of power.

For now, though, he was content to enjoy the benefits of having an infinitely capable assistant—one who could intuitively act on his thoughts and whims, often executing his plans better than he could have himself.

Speaking of which...

His gaze shifted to the crystalline sphere at the center of the room. It spanned only a few paces in diameter and housed nothing but a raised mattress.

Atop the dome, two containers sat opposite one another. One held a black liquid that seemed to drink in the light; the other, a glowing serum that pulsed with inner radiance. Two opposites which, if treated and combined correctly, could produce the purest and most gentle form of Mana he had ever encountered.

This, of course, was the latest version of the Mana Purifying Device.

Zeke had not used it since his ascent to Grandmage. Partly because he didn’t feel the need to push himself again so soon after putting his body through the strain of such a rushed advancement. There was wisdom in letting the changes settle, in adapting to his new capabilities before striving further.

But the greater reason was one he couldn’t ignore: he still hadn’t found a way to counter the device’s dangerously addictive side effects.

It had nearly killed him the last time he used it. Months spent inside the device had left his body barely functional outside of it. Without Akasha monitoring him and modulating his state, he likely wouldn’t have survived at all. Even with that support, she had been forced to place him in suspended animation just to ease his transition back to normal air.

The memory alone made him shudder.

It wasn’t just unpleasant. It was traumatic, so much so that the thought of returning to the device triggered a visceral reaction, leaving him nauseous and faint.

If he was being honest, it had taken a tremendous amount of willpower just to resume work on the project. His aversion to it was so intense that his subconscious kept feeding him excuses, reasons why the timing wasn’t quite right, why it could wait.

Unfortunately, Akasha hadn’t been fooled. She had dismantled his arguments one by one, pointing out the logical fallacies faster than he could invent them.

In the end, Zeke had run out of excuses. The project had to continue.

That didn’t mean he was eager to use the device again.

The risks he had taken last time, driven by the desperate need to save Winter and his tribe, were not something he could afford to repeat. While the path to Grandmage had been a sprint, the road to Archmage was a marathon. If he approached it the same way, he would burn out long before reaching the finish line.

This time, his progress had to be sustainable. Careful. Measured.

That didn’t mean Zeke was content to go slow, either.

It took the best and brightest nearly a century to reach that level.

A timeframe he simply could not afford.

Even with the most generous estimates, he had only a few decades before a full-scale war for control of the continent would erupt.

And Zeke didn’t like the Alliance’s odds. The Empire always seemed to be a few steps ahead: striking before anyone else even grasped the shape of the board.

He had no doubt the invasion of Rukia wasn’t some ill-conceived tantrum. More likely, the true motive would only become clear once it was too late to stop it.

That was the most infuriating part.

And yet, Zeke found himself helpless to do anything about it.

Augustus Geistreich seemed to possess an endless arsenal of tricks, each one carefully honed through centuries of silence. The mere fact that he was making bold moves now spoke volumes about his confidence. When the smartest man on the continent took action, it was safe to assume he had already accounted for every possible outcome—and had contingencies in place for each one.

The only way to disrupt such a plan was through a variable even he could not predict.

Zeke intended to be that variable.

But to make an impact powerful enough to shake the emperor’s designs, he would need more—more of everything.

More allies. More troops. More influence. More resources.

And above all else, more power.

Zeke’s gaze shifted back to the sphere of panels, suppressing the shudder that rippled through him at the sight. He couldn’t afford to remain squeamish forever—especially not if Akasha’s assurances held any weight.

“My words are always truthful,” her voice echoed in his mind at that exact moment.

He turned his head to find her projected form watching him.

He shook his head, wearing a wry expression. “I’m not accusing you of lying. But there haven’t been any other test subjects. That means all your certainty is based on projections.”

Akasha tilted her head slightly, thoughtful.

“Correct,” she admitted after a pause. “But I still stand by my prediction. The side effects observed in the previous model have less than a 0.05% chance of persisting in the current iteration: assuming daily usage does not exceed a few hours.”

Zeke shrugged, having heard those same assurances more times than he could count. It wasn’t that he doubted her. Rationally, his mind was fully convinced. But when had reason ever silenced the deep, instinctive dread?

It was like being told that cutting into your own flesh wouldn’t hurt. Even if you believed it, overcoming the natural aversion to such an act was another matter entirely.

“How is the progress?” he asked, more to distract himself than out of any real curiosity.

“It will be ready soon.”

That caught him off guard. Until now, the talk had always been about someday. When had someday become soon?

“How soon?” he asked, doing his best to keep the tremor from his voice.

“Tonight,” Akasha replied, meeting his eyes.

Zeke did his best to hold her gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to let the fear win.

"Okay," he managed.

So this was it. Tonight, he would return to the Mana Purifying Device—testing Akasha’s calculations with his own body.

For a moment, his mind wandered, considering alternatives.

There were options. He could, for instance, use another Grandmage as a test subject. But that would mean exposing the device's existence. And afterward, he would have to ensure their silence.

Was he willing to kill or enslave someone just to avoid this himself?

The answer came without hesitation. No.

Still, his thoughts kept searching, chasing some ethically sound solution that would spare him the ordeal.

It was pointless, and he knew it.

Even if someone else tested the device and declared it safe, the hesitation would remain. Logic and evidence had never been the issue.

The fear lived deeper than that.

While his mind raced, Akasha continued to watch him.

She said nothing, but Zeke knew she was fully aware of his inner turmoil, his spiraling thoughts. It felt shameful to have her bear witness to such raw vulnerability: his hesitation, his dread.

For a being like her, untouched by the concept of fear, his emotions must seem utterly alien.

Akasha shook her head. "That is not how I see it."

Zeke frowned, wishing for once that he could have a sliver of privacy inside his own mind. Still, the subject piqued his curiosity enough to overlook the intrusion.

"How do my thoughts appear to you?" he asked.

"Any living organism possesses a set of instincts designed to ensure its survival," she said. "Humans, in particular, appear to have especially keen and adaptable senses in that regard. Host currently perceives this device as a threat to Host's life."

Zeke gave a silent nod.

"I believe," the Spirit continued, her tone as flat and analytical as ever, "that overcoming one's instincts through sheer force of will is among the most difficult challenges a living being can face..."

She tilted her head, as if rapidly sorting through an internal ledger of trials and ranking them by severity. After a moment, she met his gaze again, evidently satisfied with the conclusion she had reached.

"I would not make light of such a feat."

Zeke held her gaze, then drew a long, shuddering breath. For once, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. His body trembled at the thought of using the device again. And yet, ironically, embracing that weakness gave him strength.

He had grown so accustomed to wearing a mask, always composed, always controlled, that he had forgotten what it felt like to simply be. Even within his own thoughts, he maintained discipline, shielding Akasha from the burden of his fears.

But repression came at a cost.

Letting go felt like a release, a quiet blessing, a wave washing over the tension wound tight in his chest.

It was exactly what he needed.

So, for a while, he let himself drift. Let his thoughts unravel, his fears flare, his vulnerability pour out without judgment. He dropped the iron grip on his mind, letting it breathe, letting it speak.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was spent: drained in both body and mind.

But the weight had lessened.

When Akasha silently opened the hatch of the Mana Purifying Device, Zeke only had to summon a bit of will to step forward and lie down on the cushioned mattress within.

He was ready.

B7 - Chapter 2: Neutrality

“Honored Lords, thank you for coming on such short notice,” the Speaker said, his usually immaculate appearance looking slightly disheveled. Clearly, he too had only just received word and dressed in haste.

“I won’t insult your station by pretending otherwise. I’m certain all of you have heard what’s happening in Rukia,” he continued. “The latest reports suggest the situation is only going to deteriorate further.”

A low murmur rippled through the gathered Lords.

“Is that information reliable?” asked Lord Varnes.

"Quite reliable, I'm afraid. The King sent word down that the Empire is going all out this time."

That silenced the room.

Even Zeke, who was likely better informed about the situation in Rukia than anyone else present, hadn’t known that particular detail. It didn’t surprise him, though. From what he had observed in the reported troop movements, the Empire had committed heavily to a swift and overwhelming assault.

Their strategy seemed clear: bring the country to its knees before anyone had the chance to react.

"Is that who called the meeting?" another Lord asked.

"It is indeed," the Speaker replied.

Zeke glanced toward the raised platform where the King had once sat during his own hearing. It stood empty. Though the man had apparently summoned the council, he had not appeared in person. None of the other Lords seemed particularly surprised. Clearly, they had long since grown used to his elusive nature.

"According to his Majesty..." the Speaker continued, once the room had fallen silent again, "we can safely assume that Rukia is already lost."

A heavy, deafening silence followed.

Then—

"Fuck!"

The curse rang out from none other than Lord Varnes. It was hardly a surprise. If the King's words proved true, Varnes and his entire House would soon be in serious trouble.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Another stream of curses followed.

Zeke swept his gaze around the chamber. Some Lords mirrored Varnes’ expression, tight with panic and disbelief. Others wore thin, satisfied smiles, clearly enjoying their colleague’s misfortune. But most appeared thoughtful, calculating.

No doubt they were already considering how best to use this information.

They had been given a rare gift: a glimpse into the future. A warning before the storm struck. For a merchant, there was hardly anything more valuable.

Zeke didn’t need to ask where the information had come from. He had personally witnessed the Time Mage who served the King. Even now, it remained the single most impressive display of Magic he had ever seen. A Mage of that caliber likely had more than a few methods of divining the future.

The realization brought a deep frown to his face.

…Rukia was truly lost.

He had no particular attachment to the country. He had never visited, and Cassius remained the only person he knew from there. Until the recent attack, Rukia had been little more than a name on a map to him.

But that had changed.

The simple fact that the Empire wanted it destroyed was reason enough for Zeke to want it preserved.

Perhaps that was a foolish hope.

His experience with Time Magic was limited, and he couldn’t say for certain whether the knowledge of a prophecy was enough to alter its outcome. Still, he held onto a sliver of hope. The Seers of Serevan had dedicated their lives to warning the continent of impending catastrophes.

If the future were truly unchangeable, there would be no point in that.

However, that also meant only his actions, and those of the other Merchant Lords, could save Rukia. With all other variables accounted for, they were the only ones left outside the foretold path.

Zeke swept his gaze across the chamber, studying the potential allies around him. His frown deepened. What he saw was not reassuring. Plotting, scheming, and profiteering—that was all that occupied these minds.

No, if Rukia were to be saved, it would not be by this council. It would be by him, and him alone.

“I advise all of you to divest your assets as soon as possible,” the speaker said. “Preferably before the rest of the continent realizes they are essentially worthless.”

“…Anyone interested in a vast number of estates? Prime location!” Lord Varnes called out mockingly.

A few chuckles echoed around the chamber, but no one took him up on the offer. If the Varnes family wanted to dump their holdings, they would have to find a buyer outside the Merchant Lords. No one here would touch that poisoned fruit.

Varnes knew it, of course. He rose abruptly. “As always, my thanks to the speaker—and the King, bless him. But as you gentlemen can doubtlessly guess, I have urgent business to attend to.”

Several other Lords stood with him, eager to begin liquidating their assets before the market was flooded. They all but raced him to the door, no one willing to be the last.

However, most of the Lords remained.

While Rukia was the continent’s largest food producer, it had never been a particularly lucrative opportunity for merchants. Most nations negotiated direct agreements, unwilling to entrust something as vital as food supply to middlemen. Doing so would be inviting extortion.

What little trade remained had been monopolized by a few merchant houses like the Varnes family. But these were mere scraps compared to the truly profitable sectors. As a result, only a handful of Lords held significant interests in Rukia, and most of them had just left.

Zeke was preparing to leave as well.

He had no assets to sell, but neither did he plan to linger and network. Not out of disdain, but because he simply didn’t have the time. With his ascension still fresh, the list of responsibilities piling up on his desk was already overwhelming.

Unfortunately, the Speaker seemed to have other plans.

The moment Zeke stood, sharp eyes locked onto him.

“Lord von Hohenheim,” he called, halting him mid-step. “A moment of your time, if you would be so kind.”

Zeke sat back down, a bad feeling gnawing at him.

“It has been some time since you officially joined our ranks,” the Speaker said in a neutral tone. “I trust the transition hasn’t been too overwhelming?”

“I’ve managed,” Zeke replied, well aware that the man wasn’t truly interested in his well-being. This was just polite preamble, nothing more than a lead-in to whatever point he was preparing to make.

“That is good to hear,” the Speaker said with a small nod. “However, there is a matter I must bring to your attention regarding your conduct.”

Zeke’s brow furrowed. “My conduct? Has there been an issue?”

The Speaker nodded, his expression turning grave. “Our position in this city grants us privileges that most could never dream of,” he said, gesturing toward the stack of documents on his podium, the same ones tied to the intelligence they’d just received. “But those privileges are not without obligation.”

His gaze sharpened. “There are expectations placed upon us, as representatives of Tradespire.”

By now, the chamber had gone silent. Every remaining Lord was watching the exchange with quiet intensity.

“Neutrality,” the Speaker said, with the gravity of someone uttering the most sacred word in existence.

It was enough of a clue for Zeke to see where this was going.

“You want me to retract the bounties,” he said, cutting the man off before he could speak further.

The Speaker shook his head. “It’s not about what I want. I don’t make decisions, nor do I issue verdicts. But it would be remiss of me not to inform you that you are currently in breach of the neutrality clause—and the Empire has already submitted a formal complaint.”

That caught Zeke off guard.

“So far, we have chosen to look the other way, given how recently you assumed your position,” the Speaker continued. “But if this situation persists, we’ll be forced to give their complaint proper consideration.”

Zeke didn’t need to ask what that meant.

Violating Tradespire’s neutrality clause was no small matter. It was, in fact, one of the few offenses that could lead to a Merchant Lord being stripped of their title. The Speaker hadn’t said it outright, but the message was clear.

Retract your bounties—or forfeit your seat.

Unfortunately, Zeke had no real way around it. He was, after all, entirely in the wrong.

"...Consider them removed," he said, the words coming harder than he expected.

To this day, the bounties on the four great families of the Empire had been the single most effective blow he had struck. What had begun as a youthful act of defiance had turned into a symbol of rebellion—one that had caused the Empire real damage.

Letting it go now felt like surrender.

But there was no other choice. He had clawed his way to his current position, and he knew the moment it seemed vulnerable, the sharks would begin to circle again. The protection the status of Merchant Lord offered was too valuable to lose.

“…A wise choice,” the Speaker said, though it was clear he wasn’t finished. “I suggest you refrain from such behavior in the future. Whatever grievances you have with the Empire: bury them.”

Zeke’s eyes hardened, but he held his tongue.

“I mean it,” the man pressed, clearly sensing his defiance. “As a Merchant Lord of Tradespire, it is unthinkable for you to continue this vendetta. Mark my words, this city will not serve as your shield while you openly antagonize one of our most profitable partners.”

To that, even Zeke had to nod, however reluctantly.

Trying to strike at the Empire from behind Tradespire’s protection was a sure way to end up exiled. Tradespire and Arkanheim shared strong ties, and the Empire was likely the single most valuable trading partner on the continent.

If he kept pushing, he’d soon find himself without allies.

But did that mean he would abandon his revenge?

Zeke’s expression turned blank, every trace of emotion vanishing. “I will conduct myself as expected of a man of my station,” he said, his voice calm and free of falsehood.

The Speaker studied him for a long moment before nodding, evidently satisfied with what he saw in Zeke’s eyes.

“…If you’ll excuse me?” Zeke said. “As mentioned, I have several responsibilities awaiting my return.”

“Of course,” the Speaker replied. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Zeke rose, offered a polite nod, and turned to leave. His pace was measured, neither hurried nor slow, a model of the composed bearing expected from a Merchant Lord. That didn’t change until he was back aboard his gondola, gliding silently toward his estate.

His mind, however, was racing.

His new role had shackled him in ways he hadn’t fully anticipated. He could no longer openly oppose the Empire. But he had no doubt that another opportunity would present itself—one that wouldn’t breach the Council’s precious neutrality.

Until then, he could still focus on the one thing that remained within his control.

Strength.

No matter what, when, or how, only power could threaten the Empire. Zeke had reached the rank of Grandmage faster than anyone before him, but it still wasn’t enough. If he ever hoped to stand against Augustus Geistreich, he would have to become far more powerful.

And with his hands now tied, it was high time he got back to that.

He would bide his time and gather strength for his chance to strike at the empire once more. And this time, it wouldn’t be through borrowed hands.

B7 - Chapter 1: Peace Amidst War

A dozen quills danced.

In perfect silence, they glided across parchment, guided by invisible threads of force. Letters wrote themselves in elegant script, wax seals pressed down by unseen hands, ribbons tied and tagged with flawless coordination. Each piece of correspondence vanished in a flash of light as it was sorted, signed, and sent away.

At the center of the cyclone sat Zeke.

The newly appointed Merchant Lord of Tradespire rested at his desk, one hand holding a steaming cup of black tea, the other flicking through a stack of scrolls marked with sigils he did not recognize. His robes were unfastened, collar loose, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had not left his manor in two days.

Opposite his desk, sitting as still as a masterfully carved statue, was Akasha.

To him, she looked as real as any flesh-and-blood human. But to anyone else entering the study, the seat across would appear empty. Her presence here was nothing more than an illusion, crafted of Mind, just like the Spirit herself.

Yet the absence of a physical form didn’t stop her from interacting with the world. Dozens of letters hovered around them in a slow spiral, each one catching the light like drifting leaves. With every flicker of her attention, another response formed.

"Next," Zeke said, still not looking up.

Akasha's voice flowed into his mind like cool water: "Invitation from House Bloodletter. A private banquet in three days. Ninety percent chance of ulterior motive. Eighty percent chance of political networking. Twelve percent chance of poisoned wine."

Zeke smirked at the last remark. Akasha had come a long way—she could even joke now.

"Decline politely. Reference prior obligations. Suggest interest in future dealings once matters settle."

“Is that true?” she asked, her ocean-like eyes catching the light.

“No.”

"Done."

The scroll vanished.

Zeke reached for the next letter, frowning. The seal was unmarked, the parchment flawless.

"No sender," he muttered.

Akasha tilted her head. "Shall I—"

"No need."

He broke the seal and unrolled the letter in one smooth motion. His eyes scanned the contents, then narrowed.

"Well?" Akasha prompted.

"Marriage proposal," Zeke replied, dropping the letter into the steadily growing pile labeled nonsense. "Claims her beauty is matched only by her dowry."

Akasha was silent for a moment. "I am running out of table space for that category."

"Incinerate the pile."

"As you wish."

A brief flash, and the scrolls were reduced to ash.

Zeke sighed and leaned back, letting the scent of burning parchment fade into the fragrant aroma of his tea.

The manor was quiet.

Outside, Tradespire buzzed with rumors of the boy lord who had claimed the impossible—the one who had risen from obscurity, stood against noble houses and Imperial doctrine alike, and walked away victorious.

But here, in the sanctum of his study, that so-called prodigy was buried in paperwork, with dark circles under his eyes. Far less glamorous than the rumours made him out to be.

He reached for another scroll.

"Next."

“It’s a report from Rukia.”

Zeke’s brow furrowed. “Anything we don’t already know?”

“The 13th battalion advances further toward the heartland, as we predicted. They are only a few days from reaching the first major city.”

Zeke rose and walked past Akasha to the center of the room, where an enormous, slightly translucent map hovered in midair. His eyes scanned the various markings, each one denoting a known formation of the Ehrenlegion, slowly advancing across the landscape.

Just then, the marker labeled 13th shifted, adjusting to match the details from the latest report. This map was the product of hundreds of dispatches and eyewitness accounts, offering perhaps the most accurate depiction of the situation in Rukia available to anyone outside the Empire’s command structure.

Zeke took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the entirety of Rukia. It was not a pleasant sight. The Ehrenlegion advanced with the precision of a well-oiled machine, engineered for swift conquest. Meanwhile, the half-elves’ troops resembled a gang of drunken teenagers who had never so much as seen a real fight.

Unfortunately, that wasn't far from the truth.

The last recorded war Rukia had taken part in had occurred long before any of its current leaders were born. In recent generations, the nation had grown complacent, comfortably nestled beneath the protective shadow of the Elven Matriarchy, content to sell its grain to anyone willing to pay.

They had no need for war. No appetite for conflict. And, truthfully, they weren't even wealthy enough to justify an invasion.

Zeke sighed. "What a mess."

His gaze drifted to the city in the projection that was all but certain to fall, then shifted to a nearby marker labeled "von Hohenheim."

"Send word," Zeke said. "I want Leo out of there before the 13th arrives."

Akasha nodded without a word, and another letter began composing itself, joining the flurry of parchment already suspended in the air around her.

Then, the faintest flicker crossed her expression: a twitch of an eyebrow, so subtle it would go unnoticed on anyone else. But on her, it was the equivalent of a startled gasp.

"What is it?" Zeke asked immediately, not missing the shift.

A letter appeared before him, sealed with a crest he recognized all too well.

"The council? What do they want?"

"It's an invitation to an emergency session. Attendance is mandatory for all Lords currently within the city."

Zeke sighed again. The weight of his new position was beginning to show. Ever since his appointment, his days had been consumed by an endless stream of letters and back-to-back meetings.

Worse still, the irritating correspondence he once ignored had taken on a new tone. Now, the people writing him were just important enough that he couldn’t afford not to respond personally. He was about fifty percent convinced it was a plot by his enemies to quietly drain his will to live. Sadly, even if that were true, he had no choice but to play along.

Still, it wasn’t all bad.

His new rank came with its own advantages. Chief among them: no one could afford to ignore him either. That was how he managed to get his hands on every scrap of intel that entered the city. Keeping tabs on the situation in Rukia and along the main warfront had become far easier because of it.

“When?” he asked, eyeing the floating letter as if it had personally wronged him.

“It has already started.”

His head dropped. But there was no helping it. With Akasha’s assistance, he dressed quickly.

His robes had already been prepared: charcoal-gray silk trimmed in bronze thread, formal enough for the council, yet modest enough not to draw attention. He fastened the final clasp at his throat, the fabric settling around him like a second skin.

Zeke stepped outside and inhaled the cool night air.

The streets were so brightly lit that it might as well have been midday. Tradespire’s artificial illumination didn’t follow the sun: it followed traffic flow, market density, and ambient heat. A city where the hour was dictated by gold.

He boarded the gondola waiting at the manor’s edge.

The servant bowed deeply but said nothing. There was no need; Akasha had taken care of everything the moment the summons arrived. The gondola cast off in silence, lifted by layers of Enchantments. Through the paneled sides, Zeke watched the city pass beneath him—spiraling domes, bridges of glittering stone, and the colorful banners of merchant Houses catching the high-altitude breeze.

The higher he climbed, the cleaner the air became.

The gondola passed the outer line of the Third Circle, gliding through the wards into the Second, where only Merchant Lords and sanctioned diplomats could walk unescorted. The skyline shifted with the boundary: less commerce, more grandeur. The buildings here leaned back from the streets, expansive and serene, as though the chaos of the lower tiers was nothing but a forgotten storm on the horizon.

The chamber of the Merchant Council was carved directly into the trunk of the central pillar, a spire so vast and ancient it could be mistaken for a mountain. The gondola docked with a soft chime. Zeke stepped out, adjusted his robes, and entered.

The sound struck him before anything else.

Voices. Loud, layered, impassioned. A dozen arguments overlapped, crashing like waves against the same jagged shore. The chamber, shaped in a wide half-ring, gleamed with polished wood and brass that caught the golden lamplight above. At the far end stood the Speaker’s dais—currently vacant. The Merchant Lords sat in a sweeping arc, each at their own station, all consumed by their own form of outrage or protest.

Zeke did not announce himself.

He simply followed the curve of the chamber until he reached his assigned seat, still unadorned, still new. A few Lords glanced up as he passed; most did not. He sat without fanfare and remained silent.

He listened.

“…the tariffs will cripple our northern routes!”

“Only if Equinox declares open war. Until then, it’s just posturing.”

“You’re naive if you think they haven’t already committed.”

“The elves won’t act. They never do. And if they do? It’ll be nothing but symbolic.”

“Symbolic or not, fire still burns, and I don’t plan to have my caravans caught in a retaliatory strike.”

“This isn’t about fire. It’s about grain!”

That last voice rang out above the rest: older, rougher. Lord Varnes, whose House had once controlled more food trade across the eastern provinces than all the others combined.

“Had” being the key word. With the attack on Rukia, his entire trade empire was now teetering. If the region fell, so would his routes. So would his House.

Zeke let the names and voices flow around him, quietly committing each to memory. Every complaint revealed a story. Every phrase betrayed a fear. The war had spread to a new region, but the real threat to these merchants wasn’t flame or steel: it was instability.

Broken routes. Shifting borders. Trade collapsing like a punctured lung.

A Lord two seats down slammed his palm on his station. “We must freeze all trade with Imperial territories until this is resolved.”

“And cripple half our contracts in the process?” came the sharp retort.

“Better that than having our ships impounded and our goods seized by some backwater tyrant!”

Zeke’s fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, silent and contemplative.

Until the Speaker arrived, every word exchanged was little more than noise, each declaration a puff of posturing. The room was filled with seasoned schemers, masters of feigned outrage and carefully polished facades.

It was theater.

He leaned back slightly, observing the others with quiet detachment. Each of them commanded legions of coin and contracts, yet none truly believed the war would reach their doorsteps. Their only concern was how to exploit this latest crisis, how to carve profit from the chaos.

Meanwhile, Rukia burned. The Empire advanced with every heartbeat. Hundreds perished with each passing second. But to these Lords, it meant nothing.

They cared not for the color of blood, only for the gleam of gold.

Bam, bam, bam!

The gavel struck three times, marking the arrival of the Speaker and the official start of the council meeting. Here and now, in these late-night hours, amid the shouting and cursing of merchants, the fate of the continent might very well be decided.

B7 - Prologue: Consequences

The wind whispered in high tongues.

Lyriel stood at the edge of the living platform, her gaze drifting beyond the emerald latticework of Yggdrasil’s crown. Far below, the world spread out like a living map: verdant valleys, winding rivers, great mountain spines slicing through the land. And there, to the southeast, faint but unmistakable, a smear of smoke across the horizon.

A scar on the green paradise.

The great platform pulsed faintly beneath her bare feet. A lattice of intertwined branches, smooth as silkwood and warm with the breath of life, stretched in an immense circle, encircling the Heartleaf Dais.

Where lesser races built thrones, the elves simply allowed the tree to grow what was needed, arcing petals of bark forming delicate seats in a perfect ring, each one attuned to its occupant.

Lyriel bowed her head. "It’s been a long time since the Matriarchs gathered in full, hasn’t it?"

"Not since the Treaty of Dusk. And even then, two refused to come," Selvanna replied without even turning her head, her gait steady.

The wind shifted. Not a true wind; this high above the clouds, nothing natural stirred. It was the breath of Yggdrasil, tuning the canopy, keeping the air temperate and sweet. Lyriel closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the subtle currents dance along her arms.

Being allowed here today was the greatest honor of her life, bearing witness to an event that had not occurred in centuries. And she, a nameless nobody, had been chosen to stand witness as one of only three servants each Matriarch was permitted.

Her gaze went to her benefactor.

Her patron, Selvanna—no, Matriarch Goldleaf—had her hair woven with flowering vines and precious ornaments as she took her place at the first of the petaled seats. She wore no crown, only the living sigil of her House coiled above her heart, a blossom of pale gold light.

Silently, Lyriel took her position behind the seat, flanked by the other two girls chosen by her patron.

They did not have to wait long.

From the far end of the platform, shimmering through the lightfall and mist, another figure approached. Each step left blossoms in her wake—real flowers unfurling from the living bark and fading moments after she passed.

Her robes were spun from gossamer threads, long sleeves drifting like smoke. A crown of wind-shaped vines coiled around her brow, spiraling upward like a slow, rising breeze.

Lyriel forgot to breathe for an instant, only catching herself when her lungs began to ache in protest. It was the same sensation she’d felt when meeting her ancestor Selvanna—an unmistakable presence that confirmed the newcomer's identity.

One of the Matriarchs.

She offered Goldleaf a brief nod, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she took her place, three attendants gliding silently behind her.

Next came another figure, tall and silent, her robes a cascade of burnished gold and deep ochre. Tangled strands of hair hung in wild braids, threaded with bone and bark. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace, like a tree bending with ancient wisdom. Her steps stirred fallen leaves from nowhere, and the scent of mist and soil lingered in her wake.

A third, slight of frame but no less formidable. Her garments clung to her like mist, pale and weightless, and her skin held a pearlescent sheen that caught the light strangely, as if reflecting memories rather than sunlight. She walked as though her feet never fully touched the ground.

The fourth arrived without fanfare, descending from above in a spiral of fluttering fabric. Her eyes shone like burnished steel, her stride swift and decisive. A trailing sash unfurled behind her, etched with symbols that shifted whenever no one looked directly at them.

More followed.

One came robed in cascading layers of moss and star-glass, her every movement accompanied by the faint chime of unseen bells. Another wore robes so sharply cut they looked sculpted from crystal, each fold edged in a soft, otherworldly glow.

They arrived in silence—some materializing from the mist, others stepping through hidden folds in the bark itself, paths known only to the oldest bloodlines. Each presence stirred the air, and the dais responded with gentle pulses—acknowledgments of arrival, of power, of ancient pact.

Lyriel’s breath caught as the last figure appeared, her presence vast and quiet, like a tide barely held at bay. No greeting was exchanged. None was needed.

She might not have recognized all the others, having only heard of them in stories and whispers, but this final figure needed no introduction. Even a child would know her.

She was the Treemother, eldest of their race, bonded to the spirit of the World Tree.

With her arrival, the circle was complete.

Behind each seat, silent attendants.

Behind each Matriarch, a legacy older than empires.

And when the final footstep faded, Yggdrasil fell still. The wind held its breath.

The Circle of Matriarchs was complete.

The world at their feet.

"It has been a long time, sisters," the Treemother said, her gaze sweeping across the circle of Matriarchs. Her voice was soft, like that of a young girl, yet behind each word lay the weight of command, as if spoken with the authority of the world.

"We all know why we are here. Let us not burden this gathering with ceremony. Who will speak first?"

One of the later arrivals rose without a word. She lifted her hand, and the air shimmered in response. Mana coalesced, light pooled, and an image unfolded—slow and graceful, like a flower opening to the sun.

Not an illusion, but a memory.

Suspended above the dais for all to see, the vision bloomed: fire and ruin.

Villages burned to their foundations. Trees, ancient and revered, reduced to blackened stumps. The curved rooftops of Rukian farmsteads crushed underfoot. Half-elves with soot-darkened faces, fleeing in panic. Crops scorched to ash. Smoke thick enough to choke the sky.

A child turned, eyes wide with terror, just as the flames swallowed him.

Gasps rippled through the circle—not from the Matriarchs, but from the rows of attendants. Some turned their heads, jaws clenched. Others leaned forward, eyes dark with gathering storm.

Lyriel’s gaze stayed fixed on the projection.

She had read the reports, spoken to scouts, sat beside trembling survivors—but none of it had prepared her for this. The raw, visceral force of the images struck harder than words ever could.

The cruelty of humans truly knew no bounds.

After a long silence, the speaker lowered her hand.

"These images," she said, voice calm and unshaken, "are not hearsay or secondhand record. They come from the memory of the rivers that once nourished this valley."

Lyriel stood in silence as the subtle signals passed from one Matriarch to the next. A faint inclination of the head. A hand resting still atop an armrest. An exhale that wasn’t just breath but consensus. There were no votes here. No declarations. The weight of their shared will was enough.

No one spoke of justice.

No one spoke of revenge.

Only of consequence.

“This cannot go unanswered,” said a voice as sharp as wind slicing through pine. “Or every mongrel nation with a war drum will think us deaf to insult.”

A few Matriarchs gave dry, brittle laughs, like branches cracking in frost. Not one of them mentioned sorrow. Or grief. Even those smoke-wreathed images of fleeing half-elves and burning fields had stirred no outrage, only calculation.

At that moment, Lyriel understood something.

Rukia was not the wound.

The wound was their pride.

They had not been struck.

They had been slighted.

And that could not be borne.

Lyriel’s hands were clasped tightly before her. She did not speak—she would never presume—but her thoughts burned behind her eyes. She had studied the humans more deeply than most court-born daughters who claimed expertise. She had read the old texts, the military accounts, the obscure records of their wars.

And one name had surfaced again and again.

Augustus von Geistreich.

A man many here dismissed as a provincial tyrant with a stolen crown. But Lyriel had seen the patterns. The long games. The way his moves echoed decades ahead made her fear that Rukia had not been a careless mistake.

And yet no one here spoke his name with reverence, only in disdain.

“…He pokes at giants from behind paper walls,” one Matriarch scoffed. “A child king with too many mirrors and not enough sense.”

“…To spend decades tunneling under the earth like a rat,” another added with a sneer. “Is this what human ambition has become?”

“…They dare call themselves a legion?” someone muttered. “An ill-fitting name for those too afraid to show their faces.”

No voices rose in dissent.

Not even Goldleaf’s.

She had been completely quiet so far, a discrepancy that had not gone unnoticed by the others.

When the Treemother turned her head, just slightly, toward Selvanna’s seat, a hush swept the dais. Lyriel also held her breath, waiting for some quiet words of moderation.

But her Matriarch only inclined her head, serene and composed.

“I do not agree with all that has been said,” she said softly. “But I see no sense in opposing their punishment.”

And that was that.

Lyriel’s jaw tightened, though she did not dare move.

So it would be war. Not for vengeance. Not for defense. But for the simple, unyielding need to remind the world that some lines could not be crossed.

A decision had been made. Not with swords. Not with shouts. But with silence that bent the air around it.

“Then let it be done,” the Treemother whispered.

Her voice was quiet.

But the world would hear it.

A silence followed.

Not the hesitant hush of indecision, but a poised, listening stillness. The breath the forest takes before a tree falls. The hush that waits for motion.

No Matriarch stirred.

Until she did.

Lyriel recognized her instantly.

She was the polar opposite of the Treemother. Where the latter was a living legend, a mother to all elvenkind, this volunteer was the youngest among them. Young enough that many still remembered her before her ascension.

Her mortal days remained within living memory.

Her movements were sharp, practiced, almost rehearsed. She stood not with the slow, timeless grace of the ancients, but with the precision of someone who had studied that grace and made it her own.

Her robes shimmered like rain-washed slate, and a single strand of silver-threaded ivy coiled around her wrist, an understated emblem of her House. No crown adorned her brow, only the glint of quiet ambition.

“I will take this burden,” she said. Her voice was clear and calm, lacking the thundering cadence of the older Matriarchs, but what it lacked in depth, it made up for in ambition.

Eyes turned to her. Curious, but not surprised.

Lyriel noticed the glance exchanged between the young Matriarch and the seat beside her—occupied by a far older woman who had not spoken much, whose presence was like deep roots rather than bright leaves.

An older relative, perhaps.

Now, the younger stepped forward. Not in defiance, but in demonstration.

“It is beneath us to move,” she said smoothly, her gaze steady. “But not for our kin. Let the strength of my lineage remind the world what it means to wound us.”

She bowed her head—not in humility, but in ritual.

“My blades will fall by dawn.”

Another silence followed.

But this one was different.

It was acknowledging.

Accepting.

Even the elder sister said nothing, her expression unreadable. Not approval, but perhaps permission.

The Treemother gave a single nod. “Then so shall it be.”

The leaves stirred above.

Not from breeze—but from breath.

As though the great tree itself had heard and released a long, slow exhale.

A pulse traveled through the living platform. Below, the branches would already be shifting, messengers dispatched, gates unlocking. The Will of the Matriarchs was not a thing of parchment or seals.

It was a law of nature.

Lyriel bowed her head, barely able to steady her breath. She had witnessed history take shape. Quiet, elegant, and terrible.

The humans had overreached. And now, they would be corrected.

Far below, in the south, the smoke of Rukia’s burning still curled into the air.

But the wind had changed.

And it was blowing west, towards the lands of humankind.

Hey everyone!

No break this time—I'm diving straight into the next volume!

Book 7 – War of the Elves officially begins today. This one’s going to be packed with action, and the pace will really start picking up (assuming I manage to stick to the plot—toi toi toi).

I wanted to have the full outline wrapped up by today, but a mild fever over the weekend threw off my schedule a bit. Still, the first chapter will be going live today as planned!

Also, for those who’ve been asking about the second story I teased a while back—yes, there’s news! Divine Blessing is very much alive and making progress. I’m trying something new this time: instead of posting as I go (like with Trinity of Magic), I’m writing the entire first book before publishing anything. That way, I can make edits and adjust the plot along the way, which I hope leads to a tighter, more satisfying story, with fewer loose ends or ideas that don’t pay off the way I imagined.

Divine Blessing – Book 1 is currently about 75% done, and will be heading into editing soon. I’m chipping away at it whenever I can steal a bit of time.

Lots of exciting stuff ahead—thanks so much for being here, and I hope you’re as hyped for what’s coming as I am!

—Elara

B6 - Chapter 66: Epilogue: Mournful Winds

The ground trembled again.

Viola crouched atop a slab of rock jutting from the tunnel wall like a broken tooth, her silhouette framed against the ghostly lights of the distant excavation teams. The tunnel never stopped growing. Neither did the silence.

She shifted slightly, letting her eyes drift shut.

The wind changed.

Not real wind. There was none here, not in this hollow place, but currents shaped and refined by her will. A tiny vortex hovered near her fingers, weaving and unraveling itself again and again. Her control had become sharp, razor-fine. It had to. Without that discipline, without the meditation, the rituals, the obsession, the months down here would have broken her.

Her mastery had become her anchor.

A low, unfamiliar tremor vibrated through the stone. Not digging. Not any movement she recognized. This was deeper, more deliberate.

Below, the tunnels buzzed with renewed urgency.

New banners moved through the stone-lit corridors. New uniforms. New insignias. The sluggish trickle of officers had become a flood. Some wore the colors of the Emperor’s personal retinue—iron masks hiding whatever humanity remained within. They didn’t even speak aloud.

Thankfully, these newcomers were not of that breed.

Viola’s focus sharpened. She leaned forward.

A flicker of mana, soft as breath, bent the air just enough to carry voices to her perch. It was a technique she had honed into an art. Another gift of her long solitude.

“…surface tomorrow. Final phase confirmed.”

Her breath caught.

Tomorrow?

The word struck harder than expected. Her heart pounded like a war drum. There had been rumors before—idle chatter among sentries, guesses tossed around during rotations. But this… this wasn’t hearsay.

She could feel it.

The Legion had shifted. The air was taut with purpose. The rhythm of the operation had changed.

She hugged her arms around her knees, breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth. Could it really be ending? The endless night. The stifling air. The years of being buried alive.

A smile—small, uncertain—tugged at the corners of her lips.

She didn’t know if she was ready for what came next.

But she was ready to leave.

She stood, the little wind-vortex at her fingertips unraveling one last time, and turned toward the barracks. Her steps were light, almost springy, a rhythm she hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes.

She was finally getting out of here.

Her quarters were small but private. For someone of her status, it was a concession rather than a reward, just enough space to breathe without feeling the walls close in. Viola sat cross-legged on the cot, her gear laid out before her in neat, methodical rows. Every strap checked, every blade polished, every rune traced. She could have done it blindfolded. By now, the repetition had become ritual.

A knock came.

She didn’t look up.

The door creaked open, and in walked Liora—tall, red-haired, with a face sculpted from noble arrogance and eyes that hadn’t yet learned how to mask fear. A Fire Mage. One of the few other ‘honored guests’ in this forsaken hole.

"You think it’s true?" Liora asked. She sounded casual, but her voice wavered at the end.

Viola tightened the straps on her greaves. "It’s happening."

Liora lingered in the doorway. “I thought I’d be excited. Fresh air. Sunlight. But now that it’s real…”

Viola snorted softly, still not meeting her gaze. “Did you expect a parade?”

“No,” Liora said quietly. “Just… something.”

She hesitated, then stepped back and pulled the door shut behind her.

Viola exhaled through her nose.

Liora’s presence had long since lost its novelty. A noble daughter from some western province, exiled for the scandal of trying to run off with a commoner. A childish mistake. Naïve.

And infuriating.

Because Viola hadn’t broken any rules. Hadn’t caused a scene. Hadn’t made herself a problem.

And yet, she had been buried in this place just the same.

That bitter truth gnawed at her more than she liked to admit. Her grandfather would have to answer for that. Among other things. A very long list was waiting for him.

She rolled her shoulders and let the tension drain from her fingers. Then she closed her eyes and reached inward.

Magic flowed like breath, like memory. Wind stirred faintly in the chamber—an echo of her thoughts, her training, her obsession. It was the only thing down here that made her feel alive. She had honed her control to a razor’s edge. In the hollow dark, it had become her refuge. Her escape.

She conjured the sensation of open skies. High clouds. The roar of storms over the mountains.

She would fly again.

And when she did, nothing would hold her back.

Sleep came eventually, shallow and restless.

She awoke to the sound of marching boots and steel scraping against stone.

The camp pulsed with anticipation.

At the forward edge, Earth Mages worked in concert, arms raised, brows furrowed in concentration. With every synchronized gesture, the final meters of bedrock groaned and fractured. The ramp, shaped over months of effort, now narrowed to its last obstruction—an ancient barrier of stone that separated them from the surface.

Stone splintered with rhythmic cracks. Dust clouds billowed, quickly swept aside by streams of air conjured by Wind Mages moving along the flanks, maintaining circulation and pressure.

Behind the vanguard, Water Mages knelt by the freshly carved walls, coaxing away moisture and binding the crumbling mud into hardened pathways. Their work held the tunnel steady, keeping it from collapsing under its own weight.

Viola stood just behind the front line, armored and ready. Rows of soldiers formed ranks with silent discipline, arrayed like drawn blades. Shields were checked. Weapons drawn. Every movement was deliberate.

The command came.

A final surge of magic pulsed through the front line. With a thunderous crack, the last slab of rock split in two and collapsed inward.

A gasp rippled through the assembled ranks.

Light, real, unfiltered sunlight burst through the breach, flooding the tunnel in radiant gold. Viola raised a hand instinctively to shield her eyes, blinking rapidly as the chamber was drenched in a brilliance it hadn’t known in years.

The first gust of wind swept through.

Clean. Wild. Unconfined.

It caught her hair, tugged at her cloak, slipped between the plates of her armor like a curious ghost.

Around her, a few voices rose in stunned celebration. Others stood silent, reverent.

Viola didn’t move.

Her breath caught as warmth bloomed against her face. The world, her world, had just opened. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the sky waited.

Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t blink them away.

And then, the final order came.

The Legion surged forward.

Not in chaos, not in haste, but in precision. Like water breaking through a dam yet held in place by unseen channels. Line by line, the battalions advanced. Their boots struck stone in perfect rhythm, each squad emerging into the sunlight as if summoned by some ancient rite.

Viola stepped forward with them, eyes narrowing against the glare as she crossed the threshold. The light was softer now, filtered by early morning mist clinging to the treetops beyond. For a heartbeat, she paused just outside the tunnel, letting the world unfold around her.

A rolling valley stretched before them, serene and untouched. Gentle hills swayed with wildflowers and tall golden grass, bending in the breeze like waves on a quiet sea. The air smelled of pine and earth. A winding stream caught the morning light and shimmered like a ribbon of silver cutting through the fields.

Viola rose slowly into the sky, the wind lifting her with ease. Currents embraced her like old friends. She climbed higher, eyes sweeping across the vast horizon.

No fortifications.

No walls.

No battle formations.

Just farmland.

Scattered clusters of wooden homes nestled between fields of barley and wheat. Fruit orchards bloomed in color, dotting the landscape. Narrow roads branched like veins from a distant village to the east, where smoke drifted lazily from chimney tops. Life stirred below, but none of it prepared.

Then she saw them.

They moved like figures in a dream—tall, slender, fair-skinned with slightly pointed ears. Some carried baskets. Others led goats or oxen along the paths. A child laughed as he splashed in the stream.

None bore weapons.

Viola hovered there, suspended between earth and sky, breath caught in her throat.

This… was Rukia, wasn’t it? The land of the half elves, a distant paradise that was said to be protected by the Elven Matriarchy.

Why had they come here? What was the meaning of all of this?

Below, the Legion spread in waves. Earth Mages reinforced the breach, sculpting the hill into defensive ridges. Water Mages secured the flanks, tracing protective lines into the soil. Fire Mages advanced through the center, hands aglow, poised to strike.

At the far back, Mind Mages stood motionless, the Empire’s banners raised behind them like declarations. No commands were spoken, but formations shifted with exacting precision, soldiers moved like pieces on a grand, unseen board.

Still, the valley remained quiet.

Still, the half-elves were unaware.

And then, the Legion pressed forward.

At first, she thought it a drill.

The way the Legion advanced felt too clean, too rehearsed. Fire Mages conjured flame, Wind Mages circled like vultures above, and the forward lines moved as if they already knew there would be no resistance.

The half-elves weren’t armed. No armor. No shields. Just homespun clothes and startled eyes. A young woman dropped a basket of herbs, frozen in place as soldiers stormed toward her. An elderly man stumbled, waving one hand while shielding a child with the other.

They didn’t fight.

They fled.

No signal had been given. No warning shot fired.

Still, the Legion descended.

Viola dove lower, wind slicing past her ears. Her heart hammered, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

This wasn’t a drill.

The flames came first. Long arcs of red and orange hurled from disciplined hands. Homes ignited like tinder. Thatched roofs exploded into fireballs. Smoke billowed, curling skyward in thick black spirals.

Wind Mages guided the smoke, forcing it into the village to flush out anyone hiding. The air grew hot, choking, furious.

Then came the screaming.

Children crying. Mothers pleading. Elders begging.

None of it mattered.

The Ehrenlegion worked like clockwork, and like any other machinery, it was deaf to the pleas of people.

The troops pressed forward. The front line of soldiers moved like reapers through tall grain. Steel flashed in the morning light. Blood followed.

Viola hovered above it all, suspended in the wind like a leaf no longer sure where it belonged.

Her orders had been clear.

Do not interfere.

And yet, her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles white.

She couldn’t look away.

The land stretched out beneath her like a tapestry unraveling, smoke curling from the blackened husks of once-charming cottages, firelines scorched across golden fields now smoldering with ruin. Faint screams still carried on the wind, distant but sharp, like glass breaking in her ears.

The breeze met her face, and it wasn’t the freedom she’d longed for.

It was hot. Bitter. Choked with ash and the copper tang of blood.

Viola’s hands trembled.

She stared down at them, slender fingers that had once danced with the wind, shaped it into flight, into freedom.

What was this? What was this madness?

How had she ended up in this place, so far from home, watching a massacre unfold?

None of it made sense.

A low gust swept across the ridge, pulling at her coat like a plea. She didn’t answer it.

Her mind drifted to a classroom in the Elementium. To a rooftop bathed in morning light. To Zeke’s infuriating calm. To Sophia’s unfiltered joy.

The past felt like fiction.

A dream she’d woken from into a nightmare.

The wind rose again, fierce and erratic, whipping strands of her hair across her face.

It didn’t sing today.

It screamed.

Not in triumph. Not in liberty.

But in mourning.

And Viola stood in its center, hollow and still.

No tears came.

B6 - Chapter 65: Warfront II

The camp had already begun to stir by the time Leo reached his post, the rising din of distant horns setting the air on edge.

Boots pounded against packed dirt as squads hustled into formation with practiced urgency. Across the field, Mages activated pylons of light, establishing stable waypoints for teleportation teams. Crates snapped open, weapons gleamed under rising mana-lanterns, and the sharp tang of enchantment powder hung thick in the air.

Leo didn’t slow.

His squad was already assembled.

Ripper stood at the front, her feline legs braced in a stance that blended ease and bloodlust in equal measure. Her sharp eyes caught his from across the field, and she tilted her head slightly in greeting.

“…What’s going on?” she asked as he approached, unintentionally flashing her fangs. “The entire camp is in an uproar.”

Leo shook his head. “I don’t know, but we’re gonna find out soon.”

He looked over the squad. Twelve pairs of eyes met his—half-human, half-beast, all hardened by a life most wouldn’t survive. Some bore scars where their old masters had broken them. Others had none that were visible, but they wore the same iron resolve in their posture.

Zeke had given them a second chance, and the furnace of war had turned them into something more: soldiers. These twelve were the ones who had survived the horrors of the battlefield, stronger for it, though not without cost.

“Armed and prepped?”

Ripper nodded. “We’re ready. No one here needs a second check.”

He grunted in approval. “Good. We're moving.”

“Moving where?”

Leo glanced at her, then toward the command tents on the horizon. “We’ll find out in a moment. We’re going to see Mordred.”

Ripper stiffened. “The Bloodsword camp?”

Leo understood her hesitation. The Bloodsword Mages could be... intense. They didn’t hold much respect for what they called hobby warriors, a label that fit him and the Chimeroi in the Bloodsword’s eyes.

Even so, there was no better place to learn what was really going on.

“His father’s practically sitting at the top of the Allied Command,” Leo explained. “If anyone knows what’s coming, it’s him.”

He set out at a steady jog, the Chimeroi falling in behind him without a word.

The central camp pulsed with tension. Runners darted between tents, officers barked orders, and communication crystals glowed brighter than usual, pulsing hot with information. Rumors followed them down every path, talk of an attack away from the front lines, whispers about tunnels.

Leo found Mordred near the strategy pavilion, still in his battle leathers, a scowl etched deep across his face as he hovered over a detailed map of the continent.

He glanced up as Leo approached. “I thought you might come.”

“What’s going on?” Leo asked, stepping beside him.

Mordred gave him a measuring look. “I’m not supposed to say, but I guess it’s fine if it’s you.”

Leo said nothing. What sounded like a compliment at first was anything but. Mordred didn’t consider it a risk to speak because Leo held no position of influence, had no faction breathing down his neck. He simply wasn’t important enough to be a threat.

The slight didn’t bother him. The only person worth telling was Zeke, and if Leo knew anything, it was that his brother would already have this information—if he hadn’t orchestrated it in the first place.

Mordred tapped the southern quadrant of the map, far west, well beyond the expected theaters of war.

“…Rukia,” he said.

“They hit the half-elves?” Leo asked, stunned.

His eyes found the country on the map. It bordered the Elven forests but wasn’t actually part of the Matriarchy. Still, their ties were strong, which was one reason Rukia had never bothered much with fortifications. Few would dare provoke the elves so blatantly.

Mordred nodded. “The Empire didn’t just strike. They burrowed. They tunneled under the damned continent. Popped up right under their feet.”

He swept his finger across one of the regions.

“They hit them hard. Caught the half-bloods completely off guard. Crops burning, border towns overrun. They’re calling them the Ehrenlegion. Never seen anything like it. Fast. Silent. Too well-coordinated for a typical surprise unit.”

Leo’s fists clenched. He wasn’t a master strategist, nor did he have much insight into the broader political game, but even he understood the implications. Rukia wasn’t just strategically important—it was the continent’s pantry. If it burned, half the war’s supply lines would dry out.

“What does your father say?” Leo asked.

Mordred grinned. “What else? He’s pushing for full mobilization of the majority of our forces. We can’t allow the Empire to occupy our rear.”

Leo nodded. It was a sound strategy. But his instincts were screaming that it wouldn’t be so simple. This didn’t feel like the kind of move made on impulse. It felt like a plan long in the making, something the Empire had been preparing for a very long time.

The hairs on his neck stood on end. His senses flared, like a beast had fixed its gaze on him, cutting off every path of escape.

Leo steadied his trembling fingers. This... wasn’t good.

Over the years, he had learned to trust his instincts implicitly. More often than not, they were sharper than reason. And right now, those instincts were telling him one thing with absolute clarity:

Tristan Bloodsword’s plan would not go smoothly.

The call of the horn rang out once more, drawing both Mordred and Leo’s attention toward the central tent.

“That was quick,” Mordred said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Seems like the leaders are in agreement…”

Leo’s brow furrowed. This was... too quick. The leadership never decided anything this fast, not even something as trivial as breakfast. Was it really possible that such a major decision had been made in mere minutes?

He kept his doubts to himself, falling in step behind Mordred as they made their way toward the command tent. The Chimeroi followed without a word, moving as a disciplined unit. Mordred’s own two dozen elites did the same, forming a second line beside them.

Soon, they reached the gathering point.

Most of the leadership was already assembled, along with the other young prodigies, each accompanied by a small retinue. Celine Thorsten and Kal Sonnenstrahl were already there, their expressions grim. It didn’t bode well.

At their arrival, the two turned and gave them a brief nod.

“What’s going on?” Mordred asked, noting their expressions.

“The Dawnfort was attacked,” Kal said. “Hard.”

“…Same for the Twins,” Celine added.

Leo exhaled. Here it was.

Mordred’s mouth fell open, eyes widening. “But… Rukia was invaded… How could… They don’t… How?!”

Celine nodded, for once not mocking his loss of composure. “They had more in reserve than anyone imagined. Apparently, they hadn’t even taken us seriously until now.”

Kal scoffed. “I still don’t believe the Alliance can’t push them back.”

Celine shook her head. “Even if we can, it would require everything we’ve got.”

“…Meaning we can’t send anyone to support Rukia,” Mordred said, regaining his composure.

Celine nodded again. “Which is likely exactly what the Empire wanted. We’re gathered at their strongest point, and now our feet are bound.”

That silenced everyone.

Leo tried to envision what this would mean for their future, with little success.

As sharp as his instincts were, his ability to predict the cascade of political and military events was far more limited. He lacked too much information. Still, if his understanding of the current situation was even close to accurate, things were looking grim for the Alliance.

Their string of victories had drawn a significant portion of their forces forward, driven by hunger for glory and achievement. They had pushed the Empire all the way to its borders—and now, they were stuck. Withdrawing would leave their nations vulnerable to a full-scale counterattack.

The Dawnfort and the Twins were Invocatia and Equinox’s most critical strongholds. Losing them was not an option if they wanted to maintain any semblance of future security. Worse, those fortresses were also where the bulk of their troops were currently stationed.

Leo’s eyes drifted toward the command tent.

He couldn’t hear or see what was happening inside, but he could imagine. Chaos. Panic. Quiet fury. The Alliance had been backed into a corner by a deft, unseen strategist and now had to scrape together a plan to escape a trap of their own making.

He didn’t envy them.

Leadership was a burden he was glad didn’t rest on his shoulders. It was already hard enough to bear the weight of the few men and women who followed him. How much harder would it be to carry the weight of an entire nation?

There was a moment of pause where none of them quite knew what to say.

The situation had escalated far beyond anything they were prepared to handle. Prodigies or not, this was outside the scope of their wildest imaginations.

“You seem calm,” Celine said from the side, her eyes fixed on him.

Leo shrugged. “I guess.”

“…Know something we don’t?” Kal asked, almost hopeful.

Leo shook his head.

“Then what’s your secret?” Mordred asked, now watching him closely.

Leo frowned, trying to find the right words. “I know my limits,” he said at last.

His answer earned three confused looks. Feeling he hadn’t quite explained himself, he continued.

“I’m just one man. There’s only so much I can do. I focus on that, not on the parts I can’t control.”

That eased some of the tension. Kal even gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Besides…” Leo added with a faint smile. “It’s not like the continent is resting on my shoulders. When the sky falls, I’ve got someone taller to catch it for me.”

Mordred smiled wryly. “My father is one of the most accomplished warriors and commanders on the continent, but I often feel like he’s barely scraping by himself. I wish I had the kind of faith in him that you have in your brother.”

That drew nods from both Celine and Kal.

“You do realize he’s just a kid our age, right?” Celine asked, not with her usual scorn, but with genuine confusion. “What makes you think he can succeed where even our parents fail?”

Leo had no answer. At least, not one he could put into words. He wasn’t an orator, nor a poet, unable to explain the source of his certainty in a way they’d understand. But still, he believed.

Zeke would find a way, if there was one. And if there wasn’t? Then he would create it.

That much, his instincts told him without doubt.

“You’ll see,” he said instead, effectively ending that line of questioning.

“Where do you think we’ll go from here?” Mordred asked after a moment.

“My people will likely be ordered to help with the defense of Dawnfort,” Kal said, clearly having thought it through. “Celine’s are probably heading to the Twins. As for us? I wouldn’t be surprised if we were called back.”

Celine’s lips pressed into a firm line, showing she didn’t like the idea but clearly agreed.

“…Called back?” Mordred asked, confused. “Now? When they need us the most?”

Celine sighed. “This was meant to be a chance to gain real battlefield experience, but now that the situation has escalated, I’m pretty sure my family won’t want to risk me anymore.”

Mordred frowned. “Are you saying we were just playing at war?”

Celine shrugged. “If that’s how you want to see it, then yes.”

Kal didn’t argue with her, for once, which only seemed to frustrate Mordred further.

“I don’t care what you two do, but I have no intention of slinking back home now, no matter what my father thinks,” he said, then turned to Leo. “What about you? Is your brother calling you back, too?”

Leo shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything. Knowing Zeke, that likely means he’s leaving it up to me.”

“…And?” Mordred prompted.

Leo hesitated, his gaze drifting once more toward the command tent. Still no sign of a decision. But he knew he shouldn’t wait any longer. His gut told him that time was critical now. As a free agent, he wasn’t bound to their command—he could move independently.

“I’m going to Rukia,” he said.

Mordred lit up at that, smacking him on the back hard enough to make his spine crack. “Good man!” he shouted. “I knew you had a spine! We’re going to make our name over there.”

“…We?” Leo asked, eyeing the young Bloodsword.

“Of course,” Mordred said, slamming a fist against his chest. “Or did you think I’d let you take all the glory?”

“Your father will never allow this,” Celine said flatly.

Mordred scoffed. “I’m a man, not a slave. I go where I please,” he declared. Then his gaze swept over the elite soldiers who formed his retinue. “And if my father decides to relieve me of my escort, then that’s his choice.”

Kal cast an envious glance, eyeing his own retinue for a moment as if considering a similar proclamation. But after a brief pause, he sighed and said nothing.

“Then this is where we part ways, gentlemen,” Celine said. She gave them each a nod before leading her small band toward the Invocatia section of the camp.

Kal followed shortly after, heading in the opposite direction toward the forces of Equinox. “It’s been a pleasure, fellas. I look forward to hearing tales of your glorious exploits.”

That left only Mordred and Leo from their original group.

“Shall we?” Mordred asked, more excited than apprehensive.

Leo nodded and began to walk, but his thoughts were already miles away.

The guard rails had just come off, and now he would face the true horror of war. He could only hope that he had made the right choice today.

B6 - Chapter 64: Warfront I

Smoke curled lazily into the dusk sky, carrying the scent of seared boar, pine tar, and a dozen half-mended battlefield cloaks drying on makeshift lines.

Leo sat cross-legged on an overturned supply crate, fingers stained with ash and oil, sleeves rolled past the elbow. His saber rested nearby, propped against a stack of spent affinity crystals that pulsed faintly like dying embers. His armor hung loose at the chest, half-unbuckled, his collar damp with sweat and smoke. Around him, the fire crackled.

It was a rare moment of stillness.

No alarms. No scouts rushing in with breathless reports. Just the pop of firewood and the low murmur of voices—young warriors trading stories beneath the looming shadow of the great border wall.

“We made them retreat ten miles in three days,” Kal Sonnenstrahl said, polishing his spear with slow, circular motions. “That’s more than the rest of you managed in the last four weeks.”

“Spare us the numbers, Kal,” Celine Thorsten drawled, lounging on a boulder with a flask dangling from two fingers. Her silver hair caught the firelight, and her violet eyes shimmered with mischief. “Valor broke their lines at Redwater.”

“…And lost four captains doing it,” Kal retorted, though even he couldn’t quite hide the trace of respect in his tone. That victory had been the spark that got the entire offense rolling in the first place.

“Never saw anything like it,” Mordred Bloodsword grunted, arms crossed, one boot braced against the firepit stones. “Dad’s not subtle, I’ll give him that. No wonder they named him Berserker.”

That drew a chuckle from the others.

Behind them, the nobles and commanders of their respective houses stood at a slight distance, observing the younger generation’s camaraderie with quiet approval. War forged alliances, but firelight, blood, and banter kept them burning.

Leo sipped from his tin mug, eyes half-lidded. He didn’t say much—he didn’t need to. Among these prodigies, his standing was the least in title, but his reputation held up. His name was whispered in tents and trenches alike, usually with awe, sometimes with envy.

But here, there was no tension. Just quiet pride and shared scars.

“I still can’t believe you took down that Sparker from the Arkanheim 3rd,” Kal said, turning to Leo. “Dodged his lance like it was nothing and split him in half in one stroke.”

Leo shrugged, tapping his mug against his knee. “Sloppy.”

Celine let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to duel you hungover.”

That earned a few laughs.

But not from Leo. He knew the truth. It didn’t matter if Celine was hungover, drowsy, or barely conscious—as long as she was breathing, her Thunderclaw could fight at full strength. And Leo knew he wasn’t its match. The beast was a menace. The prospect of fighting it didn’t frighten him, but that didn’t mean he would overestimate his chances either.

In a fair fight, he would lose at least eight out of ten times.

The conversation meandered—talk of enchantments, lucky strikes, and how many enemy squads each had routed solo. Prideful, yes, but not petty. These were the kinds of exchanges that kept morale from rotting during the long nights.

Then, inevitably, the tone shifted.

“Did anyone else hear about that engagement between House Graeven and the Virellian branch?” one of the Finsternis girls asked, eyes gleaming. “Supposedly, they’re trying to create a perfect affinity through that union.”

“That’s nothing,” said a Halla boy. “One of my cousins just got a marriage offer from the elven matriarchy. An actual proposal, sealed with an official contract.”

Someone snorted. “Was that before or after he swore himself to celibacy last year?”

Laughter rippled again.

Leo listened with half an ear. These tales of politics and intrigue held little interest for him. Still, he never skipped their gatherings. Every now and then, between boasts and gossip, something useful emerged.

More often than not, these sons and daughters of kings and queens learned of world-shaking events long before anyone else.

“Speaking of news… anyone hear what’s going on in Tradespire?”

That silenced most of them.

Kal leaned in, smirking. “You mean the whole von Hohenheim challenge?”

Leo blinked. “Wait. What?”

Everyone turned.

Kal raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear? Your brother just got named a Merchant Lord of Tradespire. Claimed the von Hohenheim name in full view of the Council.”

Leo stared, mug halfway to his lips.

“No one told you?” Mordered asked, grinning. “Guess he wanted it to be a surprise. You’re official now. Leo von Hohenheim. Has a nice ring to it.”

Leo lowered the mug slowly, a small, quiet smile blooming across his face.

Merchant Lord. That was... unexpected.

And yet, somehow, not.

If Leo had to name a single person capable of making the impossible look inevitable, it would be Zeke. He wouldn’t even need to think about it. His adopted brother had a mind like forged steel and a will to match. Reclaiming their mentor’s name had never been a matter of if, only when.

Leo looked around and noticed the fire circle had gone quiet. He let out a wry smile. It was always the same. These prodigies, so quick to brag about their exploits, turned as quiet as a graveyard when Ezekiel’s name came up.

He understood why.

What was there to boast about in comparison?

News of Zeke’s achievements shook the continent with the regularity of seasons.

Grandmage at seventeen. Association records shattered. And now, Merchant Lord of the most powerful trade city on the continent.

To make matters worse, Zeke stood on equal footing with many of their parents. Whether it was Kal Sonnenstrahl, Mordred Bloodsword, or Celine Thorsten, Ezekiel had ties to each of their bloodlines. Ties forged not through lineage, but through reputation.

There was only a single exception to that rule.

“…Did you have to bring that guy up?” Celine asked.

Mordred grinned. Out of all the gathered prodigies, he was likely the one on the best terms with Zeke. He had even helped them escape Tradespire all those months ago. That was probably why he wasn’t as rankled by Zeke’s achievements—he saw him as an ally of sorts.

“Aren’t you just grumpy because he wiped the floor with you?” he asked.

Celine’s face went cold. “The fight was a draw.”

Kal snickered. “You can tell the public whatever you want, Cel, but we were there, remember. He threw that fight on purpose. No doubt about it.”

Lightning all but crackled behind Celine’s eyes as she turned on the Sonnenstrahl boy. But he met her glare without flinching. Though most wouldn’t dare antagonize Invocatia’s golden child, Kal was the exception. Whether in standing, ability, or bloodline, he was in no way inferior to her.

Just as it looked like a fight might break out, Leo cut in. He didn’t mind a bit of friendly sparring, but something said earlier had caught his attention.

“What did you mean by ‘Hohenheim challenge’?”

Kal, who had been getting into position, snapped back to the moment at the sound of Leo’s voice.

“Oh, right,” he said, waving vaguely to calm Celine down. “Those Arkanheim cowards already handed your old name to someone else.”

Leo gritted his teeth.

He had never liked Arkanheim, especially not the ruling families. But even he was surprised at how little respect they showed one of their former heroes. Maximilian had fought for them, bled for them, stood for them.

And yet, they treated his legacy like a toy to be tossed aside whenever it suited them.

With a deep breath, he composed himself, his expression turning serious. Most of the young aristocrats mirrored his solemn look, which didn’t bode well for what this meant.

“What does that mean for our House, then?”

Kal shook his head. “Strictly speaking? Not much. You’re no longer the von Hohenheim family of Arkanheim, but the von Hohenheim family of Tradespire. Logically, there shouldn’t be a problem…”

“But…?” Leo prompted. He was certain things wouldn’t be that simple.

Kal rubbed his chin. “With your family’s history, there’s no way this won’t be seen as a provocation.”

Leo nodded. He was almost certain Zeke had intended it that way from the start.

“But even if the Empire were willing to let it go, your brother wouldn’t,” Kal continued.

Leo leaned in, and he noticed many others doing the same.

“According to my aunt,” Kal said, clearly enjoying the attention, “Your brother directly challenged the new von Hohenheim successor to a duel. A life-and-death one. Apparently, he said something like: ‘If the pretender wants my title, he can take it from my dead hands.’”

Silence.

Not even Celine had a snide comment to make.

And then...

"...Cool!"

"...The balls on that guy."

"...Does he not fear anything?"

The floodgates burst open, and a torrent of praise followed. Leo soaked it in as if it were meant for him. If there was one thing he enjoyed above all else, it was hearing these proud aristocrats heap admiration on his brother the way they did now.

There weren’t many things they all agreed on, but if Leo had to name one, it was their shared disdain for Arkanheim. The empire’s setbacks were the only thing everyone here celebrated.

And Ezekiel’s public humiliation of them earned approving nods even from his harshest critics.

"...Not bad," Celine murmured. The faint flush on her face made it clear how impressed she truly was.

Her acknowledgment acted like a signal, granting permission for the other young prodigies of Invocatia to voice their approval as well, prompting a new wave of cheers and admiration.

"...As expected of one of our own," Adrian Bloodletter declared loudly, though most ignored him.

It was public knowledge that Ezekiel’s father had once belonged to the Bloodletter family, but few accepted that they held any claim over him after expelling his father years before Ezekiel's birth.

Leo had noticed Adrian’s attempts to get close to him more than once, but he had turned down every approach. Frankly, he found it distasteful. If they wanted to forge ties with Ezekiel, they should do it openly and with integrity, not by trying to sink their hooks into the people closest to him.

After the cheers died down, one of the lesser aristocrats asked the question that had been on everyone’s mind.

“…Has anyone heard what our next move is?”

It was the same question they’d been asking every day.

Now that Arkanheim had been pushed back to the very edge of its territory, one decision loomed. Would the alliance press the advantage, crossing the ancient border wall that had stood since the days of the Great Western Expansion? Or would they stop here, satisfied with the lesson they had dealt and disband the campaign?

The leadership of the allied nations had been locked in discussion over the matter for days, and from what Leo could tell, no agreement had yet been reached.

If he was being honest, he wanted to keep pushing.

The war had been almost therapeutic. All the anger, the hatred, the years of buried resentment—he had finally found a place to unleash them. And Arkanheim’s legions made for a worthy outlet.

But what he wanted didn’t matter.

This wasn’t about his vengeance or pride. The choice before them would shape the future of the entire continent. Equinox, Invocatia, and Valor had contributed the bulk of the alliance’s forces, and in the end, it would be their decision to make.

Idly, Leo wondered if Ezekiel were here, whether he would be sitting around the campfire with the rest of them or inside the command tent with the higher-ups, helping decide the fate of the world.

A slight grin tugged at his lips as the answer came to him.

Even without being physically present, his brother likely held more sway over the outcome than many of the so-called movers and shakers currently locked in discussion. Of that, he had no doubt.

“They’re still undecided,” Mordred said after a moment. “According to my father, we might as well get comfortable...”

That drew a chorus of groans.

The only thing worse than getting a decision you didn’t want was getting no decision at all. The waiting was its own form of torture—drawn out and mind-numbing.

But just as the various groups began drifting back into their usual chatter and gossip, a sharp sound cut through the night.

A single blast of the warhorn.

Then a second.

Then a third.

“Three calls…” Kal said, his expression turning grim. “Mobilization?”

Celine shook her head. “Impossible. Even if they’d reached a decision, we wouldn’t be moving this fast.”

Mordred rose to his feet, signaling for his retainers to do the same. “That can only mean one thing, then. Something has happened.”

B6 - Chapter 63: The Future

The aroma of fresh ink, roasted nuts, and old paper drifted through the study.

A pot of tea steamed gently between two mismatched cups, one of them chipped, the other pristine. Zeke lounged in the leather-backed chair near the hearth, one leg slung casually over the other, a half-read ledger resting on his knee. His robes lay folded over the armrest, and his boots had been kicked off somewhere near the door.

It was the first moment all day he’d allowed himself to relax.

Across from him, David poured tea with the same calm precision he applied to everything, though he had also made himself comfortable. It was a sight he had never seen before. The butler’s gloves were off, sleeves rolled, and a burning cigar was clenched between his teeth, its scent rich with exotic herbs.

“That went better than expected,” Zeke said, his voice light as he accepted his cup.

David tilted his head. “Which part? The bit where one of the most powerful men in Tradespire dropped dead mid-hearing? Or the one where you claimed one of the most politically inflammatory names on the continent?”

Zeke sipped his tea. “Both.”

David gave a short laugh. “It went well indeed.”

They shared a grin, quiet and easy.

For the first time in days, there was no pressure. No looming questions. Just warmth, lamplight, and the pleasant hum of life beyond the thick study walls.

Zeke set his cup down and stretched, his spine popping. “So. You decided to advance without consulting me first?”

David grinned. “I took the vials of Dreamwalker brew as implied permission, young Lord.”

Zeke nodded. “They were, but I didn’t think you would actually go through with it. You could have ended up crippled.”

David’s grin faded slightly. “Things were tense. I didn’t think I even had the ability to negotiate with those people without at least reaching this level.”

Zeke fell silent. He wasn’t a fool; he understood what that meant. David had taken the risk of failing his advancement because the situation had demanded it. His loyalty to the mission had demanded it.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

David chuckled. “This was the greatest gift I’ve ever received, my Lord. If thanks are needed, they should be coming from me.”

Zeke shook his head but didn’t argue. There was no point in trying to figure out who owed the other more. He liked to believe their relationship had moved past that.

His thoughts turned to Undercity and the contracts David had negotiated.

“How is the situation now?”

David’s expression turned serious. “It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Since the dwarves arrived, new life has been breathed into every corner.”

Zeke’s brows furrowed. That was more than he expected. “In what sense?”

David chuckled, as if the memory itself amused him. “Well, for one, the dwarven instructors took quite a liking to the place.”

Zeke leaned in, curious to hear more.

“They mentioned something about soil quality and rare minerals deep underground. But when they saw the city itself, they were appalled.”

Zeke grinned. He could easily imagine what elite dwarven artisans thought of the ramshackle constructions that made up Undercity. Aside from a few monuments like the Black Tower, the place resembled a slum more than a proper city.

“We had started renovations, but they were all torn down shortly after their arrival,” David explained with a grin. “Not up to standards, apparently. I had them draft new plans for the entire city.”

“…And they agreed to that?” Zeke asked, genuinely surprised. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

David shrugged. “When I told them we had an almost infinite amount of manpower and no building restrictions, the instructors went wild.”

Zeke gave David an impressed nod. The butler clearly hadn’t spent his time idle while living with the dwarves, knowing exactly which buttons to push to keep them motivated.

“How is that going?”

“I cannot say,” the man replied. “You called me back before the actual building process could start.”

Zeke looked a bit sheepish at that. “I apologize, but I didn’t trust a letter to make quite the same impression as having you there in person.”

David nodded, his expression turning serious. “I believe that was wise, young lord. Some of these merchants had quite a few things to say at your hearing.”

“I had expected as much,” Zeke said, his own expression growing weary. “It would have been more surprising if the Empire hadn’t managed to infiltrate the council to some degree, but I was still caught off guard by the extent of their influence.”

“They shouldn’t be able to do much anymore, now that you have been officially recognized as a Merchant Lord.”

“That remains to be seen,” Zeke said, not quite as optimistic. “But at least we have some level of protection.”

They both fell silent after that.

“…That was a nice touch at the end,” David said after a moment.

Zeke looked at him. “Which part?”

“The challenge. Maximilian would have approved of it.”

Zeke studied the butler, remembering the question he had meant to ask for some time. “You know him? Azra?”

David’s expression grew complicated. “I did, a long time ago.”

Zeke remained quiet, giving him space to gather his thoughts.

David sank into the couch, taking a deep drag from his cigar, and then watching the smoke rise above his head.

“He was a talented Mage—much like yourself,” David said after a while. “But his true passion wasn’t magic, as it turned out. No, Azra cared more about climbing the social ladder. And he was good at it.”

A small smile flickered across David’s face.

“The boy was charming and confident, and it didn’t take him long to fit in with almost everyone. Feuerkranz, Windtänzer, Steiner, and Wellenrufer—heck, even some of the Geistreich were in his circle.”

Zeke frowned. “Seems like he was quite the opposite of me in that regard.”

David shot him a look. “You could have done the same, young lord, if you had tried.”

Zeke stayed silent, choosing not to comment. He had been more than a handful during his time at the academy. With Maximilian at his back, he hadn’t feared anyone or anything. Naturally, that kind of attitude hadn’t sat well with the spoiled scions of noble houses.

But there was no changing the past.

“So?” he asked instead. “What happened that would make Maximilian disown him?”

David shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. Maximilian never disowned him.”

“Then?”

David sighed. “Azra rejected his position and renounced his claim to the von Hohenheim name of his own accord.”

“Why would he do that?”

David shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but most likely, he got a better offer from someone. Maybe one of the heads of the great families, or even one of the Geistreichs.”

Zeke filed that piece of information away for later, but there was something far more important he needed to know now.

“How do you think he’ll react to my declaration?”

David grinned. “Poorly. Public perception has always mattered to that boy, and I doubt that’s changed. I can’t say how, but he’ll definitely take you up on that challenge. One way or another.”

Zeke nodded, a grin spreading across his own face. That suited him just fine. Though he didn’t doubt that Azra was a competent mage—and brilliant in other areas as well—Zeke didn’t fear him. And with each passing day, he feared him even less.

Construction on a new Mana Purifying Device was already underway, and now, with the cube in his possession, his progress would only accelerate. With those two tools, the time when he would no longer need to fear anyone below the Archmage level wasn’t far off.

“I’ll be ready,” he said confidently.

David nodded, evidently not questioning his declaration in the slightest.

The man chuckled lightly. “Can you believe it, young lord? Margret actually managed to get a trade contract from those stiff-backed long ears.”

Zeke did a double-take. It was still strange to hear such words coming from David. Not long ago, the man had been the very embodiment of what he had just described—stiff, rigid, inflexible. The elves would have loved him.

It was hard to reconcile that image with the man now slouched casually on a leather couch, blowing clumsy rings of smoke toward the ceiling with a dopey smile on his face.

He wasn’t wrong, though.

Zeke had held out some hope for David's success, given he had had the full backing of Undercity behind him. He’d been in a strong position to negotiate. The same couldn’t be said for Margret. It wouldn’t have been an overstatement to say she’d been sent with nothing.

Even so, she had fulfilled her role beautifully.

“…She implied there were strings attached,” Zeke said after a moment. “And I should only use them if necessary.”

David took another drag from his cigar. “It seemed pretty necessary to me.”

Zeke nodded, a frown forming. “I didn’t think they would actually reject Winter’s contract like that, even after feeling his power firsthand.”

He saw David shudder slightly at the memory. “That was bold indeed. That Lord Fies had more courage than I expected from a merchant.”

Zeke scoffed. “I’m not sure I’d call it courage anymore, not after seeing how it ended...”

David nodded firmly. “To disrespect the King of the Dead so publicly can’t be called bravery. Only foolishness.” He gave Zeke a look, a complicated expression on his face. “The same might be said about you, young lord.”

Zeke furrowed his brow. “Me? In what way?”

David gave him a look. “Lord Fies might have been bold in words, but his reasoning wasn’t hard to follow. Who would believe that a boy your age was rubbing shoulders with not one, but two nation-toppling powerhouses? And the last time I checked, we didn’t have any connections to either of them.”

Zeke offered a helpless smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I just happened to meet them?”

David’s expression was answer enough.

“…It’s the truth, though,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I sought out none of them. Not Winter. Not Sheol. And not Cassius. Somehow, these kinds of people just keep finding me.”

“Cassius?” David repeated, immediately catching the name. “Cassius Leafless?”

Zeke nodded. “You know him?”

“I met him once, when he visited Maximilian here in Tradespire. A brilliant man. Even the master respected him deeply for his insights.”

Zeke nodded along. “He did have some interesting theories about the origin of the Core and advancement. I learned a lot during our talks.”

To his surprise, David looked at him with utter bewilderment. “Talks? He… talked to you about his theories?”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “It was harder to get him to shut up once he started on the principles behind his growth magic. The man’s a chatterbox, let me tell you. I think he gets really lonely in that jungle.”

David stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “Cassius Leafless…?” he asked again. “The elven outcast?”

Zeke looked at him, confused. “Is there a second one?”

David shook his head—not in response to Zeke’s question, but as if he were denying reality itself. He took another drag from his cigar, staring blankly into the distance.

“Cassius Leafless,” he said after a while, “is a deeply arrogant man. So much so that even the elves couldn’t stand him anymore.” He gave Zeke a pointed look. “And that’s saying something. The man wouldn’t give an ordinary person the time of day.”

Zeke thought back to his experiences in Irroch. He hadn’t gotten that impression at all. Cassius had seemed like an open book, even producing the magical seeds needed to feed all of Undercity.

“I’m sure that’s just rumors…”

David shook his head. “I once asked him to give me some pointers. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said the amount of time I’d need to comprehend his words would be longer than my remaining lifespan,” David said with a frown.

Apparently, that comment had truly stuck with him.

“That could explain it though,” David said after a moment of silence.

“Explain what?”

“The sudden interest from the elves,” David said. “Even though Cassius has been exiled, there are many who still hold him in high regard. If he put in a good word, then it’s entirely possible someone took action to help you.”

Zeke considered that. It was possible.

“Let’s hope that’s the case. I don’t trust favors that fall from the sky. At least that would give a face to the debt I owe—and I’d far prefer it was Cassius than some elven bigshot with nebulous intentions.”

David nodded heavily. He evidently shared that sentiment.

“What are your plans now, young lord?”

Zeke leaned back in his chair, letting his thoughts drift toward the future. That was a good question.

For the first time in a long while, he had nothing urgent to address. No immediate fire to put out. No looming crisis on the horizon. He was free to pursue whatever he wished, at least for the foreseeable future.

His mind wandered to the World Anchor, still aboard the Alexandria as it made its way back to Tradespire. To the Mana Purifying Device, he would soon finish in his private workshop beneath the mansion. And finally, to the possibilities that came with his new title as Merchant Lord.

There were many paths to take, many moves to make, but they all served the same goal in the end.

“It is time to gather strength.”