Trinity of Magic

For the first time in a week, no delegation awaited transport, no spatial resonance disturbed the morning air. Zeke stood at his study window, watching servants clear the last traces of the continental gathering from Tradespire's streets. Banners came down. Temporary lodgings emptied. The city exhaled, returning to its natural rhythm of commerce and calculated neutrality.

Yet beneath that calm, Zeke sensed the tremors.

His fingers drummed against the windowsill as he reviewed the intelligence Akasha had compiled over the past few days. The elven forests remained sealed, their borders more heavily warded than they'd been in decades. No official proclamations emerged from the Matriarchy, no messengers departed their territory.

Just… silence, the kind that preceded a drastic change.

The dwarven response proved equally opaque. Their mountain gates had closed to all but essential trade, and even those merchants who gained entry reported an unusual tension in the halls of stone. Forges that should have rung with creation fell quiet. Council chambers that should have echoed with debate stood empty.

Both races nursed their wounds in private, and that worried him more than open hostility would have.

[Notice]

…No significant movements detected from either faction. Pattern analysis suggests internal deliberation rather than external action.

"They're deciding," Zeke murmured. "The question is what."

He turned from the window, moving to the continental map that dominated his study's far wall. Red pins marked Imperial positions, blue for the Alliance, green and grey for elves and dwarves respectively. The board hadn't changed in three days, an eternity in wartime.

That, too, felt wrong.

Augustus Geistreich had shattered continental precedent, deployed an Exarch, and essentially spat in the face of the non-human powers. Such provocations demanded a response, yet none came. The Emperor wouldn't have made such moves without anticipating consequences.

"What are you planning?" Zeke asked the empty room. Naturally, there was no response.

His gaze drifted to a new pin on the map—silver, placed directly over Tradespire. Azra von Hohenheim. Ambassador. The word tasted bitter even in thought.

The pretender had wasted no time establishing himself, purchasing an estate in the Third Circle within hours of his appointment. Close enough to conduct diplomatic business, far enough to avoid seeming provocative. The man understood the game's subtleties, Zeke had to admit.

Which made him dangerous.

As a Merchant Lord, Zeke's hands were tied by Tradespire's sacred neutrality. He couldn't challenge a diplomatic representative, couldn't make aggressive moves without risking his position. The protection that kept him safe from Imperial retaliation also caged him, forcing a reactive stance he despised.

All he could do was watch. Wait. See what move the Empire would make through their newest piece.

[Notice.]

Appointment scheduled with the Engineering Academy's admissions board in two hours. Lue's enrollment documentation prepared.

The reminder pulled him from darker thoughts. Whatever games the powers played, he had responsibilities closer to home. Twenty-five newly awakened Mages under his protection needed guidance, structure, and most importantly, education that wouldn't waste their potential.

Lue's placement had been straightforward. The Engineering Academy of Tradespire ranked among the finest technical institutions outside dwarven lands. Her High Metal and Mind affinities would flourish there, surrounded by the continent's brightest innovators. He'd already arranged for additional tutoring in magical theory; the Academy excelled at practical application but sometimes neglected the deeper mysteries.

The twins presented a different challenge.

Zeke moved to his desk, reviewing the dossiers Akasha had compiled on potential tutors. Kieran's perfect Space affinity was a treasure that needed to be hidden, at least until the boy could defend himself. Public enrollment anywhere would draw attention they couldn't afford. Kallen's Low Time affinity, while less spectacular, still fell far outside normal educational frameworks.

Private instruction was the only solution, but finding trustworthy tutors for such rare affinities...

His finger paused over one name. Master Chen, a reclusive Space Mage who'd retired from public life after losing his left arm in a teleportation accident. The man's reputation for brilliance was matched only by his paranoia, perfect for keeping secrets.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

For Kallen, the options were even more limited. Time Mages of any caliber rarely advertised their services. He'd need to leverage his new status as Merchant Lord, perhaps reach out through the council's networks. If only he could convince one of the Seers, but he knew that was unlikely. Seraven was even more reclusive than the elven Matriarchy. Still, there were options.

But Maya...

Zeke's jaw tightened as he stared at the blank parchment where her educational plan should have been. Greater Life and Nature affinities, a combination that should have had academies fighting for her enrollment. If she had awakened just one, any institution would have welcomed her with open arms.

Instead, she faced the same prejudice that had nearly destroyed his own potential. Mixed affinities were seen as diluted, weakened, a waste of what could have been pure power. The few programs that accepted such students treated them as curiosities at best, lost causes at worst.

He would not allow that for his sister.

It was not as much of a problem for Lue, thankfully. She had more technical aspirations than magical ones. For an engineer, the level of one's Core was secondary to the agility of their mind and their experience in the field.

For a Mage, however…

Rising from his desk, Zeke began to pace. Three steps to the bookshelf, pivot, three steps back. The familiar rhythm helped organize his thoughts.

Maximilian had saved him by providing a complete framework, a path designed specifically for his three affinities. That foresight had allowed him to engrave his spells during his first advancement with purpose, each one chosen to support an ultimate goal. Without that roadmap, he would have stalled long ago.

Maya needed the same. A plan that accounted for how Life and Nature could synergize, how they could be woven together into something greater than their parts. The first advancement's spell engravings would set the foundation for everything that followed. One wrong choice could limit her potential forever.

"But I'm not Maximilian," he muttered.

[Observation.]

Host possesses resources previous mentor lacked:

Access to a vast amount of historical texts.

Access to a practitioner with the same affinities.

Intimate understanding of advancement mechanics.

Akasha's interjection made him pause for an instant. She was right, of course. He didn't need to create Maya's path alone. Cassius Leafless had combined Life and Nature into his unique Growth magic. If anyone could provide insight...

But the exiled elf remained frustratingly out of reach, holed up in his self-imposed isolation somewhere in Irroch. Zeke had written to him, of course, but he had no idea if his letter was even delivered. 'The middle of the jungle' wasn't exactly a proper address, after all.

"No," he said firmly. "I can't let her education wait on the whims of a recluse."

He'd build her framework himself if necessary. Study every text on mixed affinities, analyze every historical success and failure, chart every possible spell combination. Maya deserved nothing less than perfection, and he'd tear apart libraries to give it to her.

A knock at the door interrupted his planning.

"Enter."

A servant stepped inside, bowing slightly. "My lord, a message has arrived. The courier insisted it be delivered directly into your hands."

Zeke accepted the sealed envelope, noting the expensive paper and precise calligraphy. No sender's mark, but the elegant script felt familiar somehow. He dismissed the secretary with a nod and broke the seal.

The message was brief:

Lord von Hohenheim,

I believe it would be beneficial for us to meet, given our unique circumstances. Perhaps we might find common ground where others see only conflict.

I will be taking tea at the Celestial Garden tomorrow at the third bell. The eastern pavilion offers excellent privacy for sensitive discussions.

Your presence would be appreciated, though not expected.

Azra von Hohenheim, Ambassador of the Empire

Zeke read it twice, then held the parchment over a candle flame. The paper curled and blackened, reduced to ash in seconds.

So. The pretender wanted to talk.

The invitation reeked of a trap, yet also of opportunity. What game was Azra playing? Did he hope to negotiate, to find some peaceful resolution to their competing claims? Or was this merely reconnaissance, a chance to take Zeke's measure before the real conflict began?

[Analysis.]

Meeting occurs in public venue with established neutrality protocols. Risk of direct confrontation: minimal. Probability of intelligence gathering attempt: high.

"He's fishing," Zeke concluded. "Wants to see how I'll react."

The smart move would be to ignore the invitation. Let Azra wonder, let him make assumptions based on silence. But that ran counter to everything Zeke had declared before the council. He'd challenged the pretender's legitimacy openly, promised to defend his birthright with blood if necessary.

To hide now would be seen as weakness.

"Besides," he murmured, a sharp smile tugging at his lips, "I'm curious too."

What kind of man had the empire raised to carry the stolen name? What qualities had the Emperor seen in this former student of Maximilian that made him suitable? The intelligence reports painted Azra as diplomatic, charming, and politically astute—not too different from himself in many ways.

Perhaps that was the point.

However, there were clear differences between them, too. Where Zeke had claimed his name through defiance and strength, Azra represented a softer usurpation. A pleasant face to make the theft palatable, a reasonable voice to argue the Empire's interpretation of events.

"Two paths to the same end," Zeke mused. "I wonder which Maximilian would have preferred."

Though Zeke had become the appointed heir in the end, he had no illusions of being the ideal successor to Maximilian. He was far too different from his mentor, a wily schemer instead of a straight shooter.

But that was a question for philosophers. In the real world, only one of them could carry the von Hohenheim legacy forward. The Empire had made that clear when they murdered his mentor and scattered his household.

Tomorrow, he'd look the pretender in the eye and take his measure.

But today, he had students to place and plans to make.

[Notice.]

Transportation prepared for Engineering Academy visit. Lue awaits in the entrance hall.

Zeke straightened his robes and headed for the door. Whatever storms gathered on the horizon, his immediate responsibilities remained clear. Guide the awakened. Strengthen his position. Prepare for the conflicts ahead.

The great powers might move in silence, but he would use that quiet to forge his own advantages.

Starting with ensuring his sister and wards received the education they deserved.