Trinity of Magic

Zeke felt momentarily startled by the Progenitor’s words. What kind of relationship did he have with Snow?

The question was surprisingly hard to answer. During their travels, he had felt responsible for her, and the lively little girl had often reminded him of his own sister, slowly creeping into his heart. However, now that Snow had suddenly grown up, the situation had become somewhat ambivalent.

For that reason, he found that he couldn’t answer easily.

Winter, apparently mistaking his silence, grew more serious. “By now, you should have noticed that Snow is… a special existence, yes?”

Zeke snapped out of his thoughts, focusing on the man before him. Special? What did he mean? Zeke had known that Winter favored Snow more than his other children, but he’d always assumed it was simply a father’s preference. Now, though, it sounded like there was something more to it.

“In what way?” Zeke asked, intrigued.

“She is a Pureblood,” Winter replied, his voice flat.

Zeke tilted his head. Of course, she was a Pureblood. She was the daughter of a Progenitor, just like Frost, Polaris, and the children of Shassra.

Noting Zeke’s confusion, Winter explained. “Humans misunderstand our race. They often call all children of Progenitors Purebloods, but that’s incorrect.”

Zeke leaned in, listening intently. He, too, had believed that to be true, but now it seemed there was more to it.

Winter remained silent for a moment, his gaze staring at the empty air. “…Over my long lifespan, I’ve had many children. However, to this day, only one of them could be called a true Pureblood.”

“And that is Snow?” Zeke asked.

Winter nodded. “Yes, in some sense, it wouldn’t be false to say that she is the only ‘real’ daughter I’ve had.”

Zeke frowned at these words. Was Winter such a man? Somebody who would cast away his children just because of deficiencies in their bloodline? It seemed he needed to reevaluate the person in front of him. Such a choice seemed heartless.

As if reading his thoughts, Winter gave a small, bitter smile. “Do you think me cruel?”

Zeke didn’t say anything. However, he also didn’t deny Winter’s words, showing his tacit agreement.

Winter nodded, as if understanding something. “From your limited point of view, it must seem that way.”

Zeke furrowed his brows. Limited point of view? He had never thought of himself as ignorant and his insight on most topics was well beyond average. Therefore, despite knowing that this might offend the other party Zeke voiced his thoughts. “I think most people would see it that way.”

Winter glanced at him, and though his gaze was devoid of emotion, Zeke felt the pressure on him intensify. But it lasted only a moment before Winter reined in his aura.

“Most people, hmm?” Winter echoed. “Do you often weigh your beliefs against the opinions of the masses? Do you think their collective ignorance grants them greater insight?”

A bead of sweat formed on Zeke’s brow. It seemed he had crossed a line with his last remark. But that wasn’t the only issue—his comment had been both rude and somewhat flawed in logic. Therefore, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t refute the Progenitor’s words. After all, he knew that not all widely held beliefs were grounded in truth. Hadn’t he, as a Blood Mage, been ostracized by the public as a blood-crazed fiend as well?

“Apologies, I spoke without thought,” Zeke decided to bow his head. He would gain nothing by antagonizing Winter. The two of them weren’t on equal ground, neither in terms of power or life experiences. He could benefit far more from this conversation if he reigned in his ego and treated Winter as a teacher instead of an equal.

Winter nodded slowly, and the room gradually returned to its previous state. It seemed that each fluctuation in the Progenitor’s emotion was automatically reflected in his surroundings. “It is fine,” he said. “You are still young, after all.”

Zeke sighed in relief. It was a good sign that Winter didn’t seem to hold his words against him. However, if Winter could be this reasonable, Zeke struggled to understand why he spoke of his children so callously. Carefully, he brought up the earlier topic once more. “Would you be willing to share your perspective?”

Winter’s gaze moved to the journal in his hands for a moment, caressing the cover with his fingers. However, when he opened his mouth again, his next words seemed to be completely unrelated to their conversation. “Do you know the lifespan of my children?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Despite the abrupt shift in topic, Zeke did his best to answer. “I am not quite certain. However, judging by how fast they grow up, it should be less than that of humans.”

Winter shook his head, denying his guess. “The answer is a bit different. In truth, my kind doesn’t have a fixed lifespan. Instead, our life and death are dependent on a single factor. Care to guess what it is?”

“Could it be… bloodline purity?” Zeke guessed.

Winter nodded. “The purer the bloodline, the greater the potential.” He squeezed his hand and the journal he held instantly crumbled. “Frost, despite his strong will, had limited talent. He hadn’t even lived for two decades, yet he had already reached his peak. In a few more decades, he would have become an old man, his body too frail to cling to life.”

Zeke listened silently, trying to understand where Winter was going with this.

“Polaris was the same,” Winter continued. “No, her case was even worse. Despite her intellect, her talent was weaker than Frost’s.” He turned to face Zeke. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Zeke pondered those words. While he understood the logic, he couldn’t quite grasp the bigger picture. What did it matter how talented his children were? They were still far superior to any other members of the tribe. Therefore, he didn’t understand why it mattered so much. So, he openly admitted his ignorance.

Winter glanced at him with a look he couldn’t decipher. It seemed to be a mixture of melancholy and understanding. “You don’t have any children, do you, Dragonling?” he suddenly asked.

Zeke shook his head, his ears turning slightly red. Children? He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife.

“Then you naturally won’t understand…” Winter said solemnly, “What it is like to bury your own flesh and blood.”

These words, spoken as quietly as a whisper, struck Zeke like a bolt of lightning. In that instant, he truly understood what Winter had meant. His view had truly been narrow. He had been thinking from a human standpoint, not from the standpoint of a being like the Progenitor, who had lived for millennia.

From Winter’s perspective, all his children died in their infancy, barely having a chance to live. What father could endure watching all his children die before they could even take their first steps? Not many. Yet Winter had implied he had many children—dozens, maybe even hundreds. What kind of mental toll would it take to experience that pain again and again?

Suddenly, Zeke understood something else—the reason Winter had treated Frost and Polaris so coldly. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to know them, or because he didn’t care. No, it was because he didn’t dare to. He didn’t dare to grow close, knowing they would die in the blink of an eye, leaving an even deeper wound in his heart.

After understanding this point, Zeke felt even more foolish for his earlier words. How stupid must he have looked while running his mouth? He wanted to apologize once more. However, a single look into Winter’s eyes was enough to tell him that it was unnecessary, there was no blame in that gaze.

Instead, Zeke decided to ask about the other thing he was curious about. “Then… what about Snow?”

“Snow…” Winter said, his stoic face turning gentle for the first time since their conversation had started. “She is what I’ve been hoping for for all these years. Her bloodline… is completely pure.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Zeke asked. He could likely already guess. Yet, he still wanted to hear it directly from the Progenitor.

“Her blood is identical to mine,” Winter confirmed. “That means that she will never age beyond her prime and never die from natural causes—a true Pureblood.”

Zeke’s eyes widened. Snow was... that special? Had he been with a future Progenitor all this time? If Winter’s words were true, Snow’s value was far beyond anything he could have imagined. Those slave traders in Korrovan would hunt him to the ends of the earth if they ever found out. This revelation also explained why Winter had searched for her so desperately, even falling into an ambush. She was a companion for eternity, a daughter he could truly cherish.

Reflecting on the earlier fight, Zeke also realized how Snow had been able to progress so quickly. With no ceiling to her potential, and with access to the tribe’s resources and his own Blood Boil technique, her power would only continue to rise rapidly. In a few years, she would likely surpass him, no matter how fast he advanced.

She was truly special.

Seeing his shocked expression, Winter nodded in understanding. “I see that you understand.”

“That is… a lot to take in,” Zeke answered, his mind still trying to come to terms with this revelation.

“It is indeed,” Winter said as he turned away and approached the desk. He leaned against it and waited for Zeke to compose himself.

Zeke appreciated the brief respite as he gathered his thoughts. Now, with a clearer understanding of Snow’s situation, he had to reassess her place in his life. Winter would likely keep her close until she was strong enough to protect herself, which meant Zeke might not see her again—unless he stayed with the tribe.

But staying wasn’t an option. He had only come here to complete his mana-purifying device, and with that goal achieved, he was ready to leave. He missed his family dearly, and his ambitions lay not on this desolate continent but back in his homeland.

It was inevitable—he would have to say goodbye to Snow very soon.

Zeke sighed and turned to face the Progenitor, who waited silently. “Thank you for your patience,” he said.

Winter nodded as if it were a trivial matter.

“So… may I ask why you called for me? I assume it wasn’t just to clarify my misunderstanding about Purebloods.”

“You’re correct,” Winter replied, his expression turning serious. “The reason I called you is both related to and separate from that topic.” His gaze grew solemn. “The truth is, I owe you. Both for aiding in my recovery and for protecting my tribe, you’ve been a tremendous help. It’s not a debt easily repaid…”

Zeke stayed silent, though inwardly he felt Winter’s gratitude was unnecessary. After all, he had never taken a loss from their dealings and had always ensured he could escape if needed. He didn’t feel he truly deserved such deep appreciation.

Winter, however, appeared to see things differently. His tone grew even more solemn. “In light of that debt, I am prepared to offer you something I would grant no other…” A pained expression crossed his face, as though Winter was forcing the words out.

Zeke, despite feeling unworthy of such a reward, couldn’t help but get excited at this point. What would the Progenitor give him? Was there a treasure that even he couldn’t bear to part with?

Winter’s eyes grew as serious as death as he spoke his final words. “I will allow you to marry my daughter.”

Absolute silence greeted that declaration.