Trinity of Magic

Zeke allowed the silence to stretch. The three Archmages shifted uneasily, the wooden floor creaking beneath their weight. Only Lyriel remained still, though her quickened pulse betrayed her composure.

“Your offer has merit,” he said at last. “But… do you really understand my position?”

“I do.” Lyriel’s voice carried a newfound confidence, as if weathering his earlier provocations had tempered her resolve.

“Then you understand why I cannot accept your offer as it stands.”

The lead Archmage drew breath to object, but Lyriel lifted her hand. The gesture was subtle yet carried authority, and the others fell silent at once. Perhaps the girl wielded more influence than her role suggested.

“What would ease your concerns?” she asked.

Zeke rose from his chair and walked to the window. Beyond lay the eastern gardens where Maya often practiced her breathing. The thought of sending her away gnawed at him, yet keeping her close would stunt her growth. The elves offered resources and knowledge he could never hope to match, accumulated over millennia.

“There is a saying among humans,” he said, watching a sparrow land lightly on the garden wall. “‘Trust is a luxury the wise cannot afford.’”

“We have no such saying.”

“You should.” He turned back to face them. “Because you’re asking me to place my greatest weakness in your hands with nothing but words as assurance.”

Lyriel’s brow furrowed. “Lady Goldleaf’s word carries the weight of—”

“…Of all the things that meant something before your armies fled from a single man.” The words cut deep, judging by the way the Archmages stiffened. “What value does honor hold when survival is at stake?”

“You doubt our integrity?”

Zeke shrugged. “I doubt everyone’s integrity. It’s why I’m still alive.”

Lyriel fell silent. Behind her, one of the Archmages whispered something that made her shoulders tense.

“What assurances would satisfy you?” ℯℯ𝑙.

“Two conditions.” Zeke held up his fingers. “First, I meet this teacher. I need to judge for myself if they’re worthy of my sister’s time.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Second, and this is non-negotiable, Lady Goldleaf swears an Oath. Not a promise, not a vow. An Oath, witnessed and bound by Yggdrasil itself.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Oaths were no small matter for the elves. They carried weight, real consequences. Most avoided them, preferring contracts that could be argued over rather than bonds that the world itself would enforce.

“What terms?” Lyriel’s voice had gone flat.

“Simple ones. Maya’s safety will never be used as a bargaining chip. No harm will come to her while she resides among your people. Should she commit an offense, though I doubt she would, exile is the harshest punishment allowed. No exceptions.”

“You ask Lady Goldleaf to bind herself?”

“I ask her to prove she negotiates in good faith. If Maya is truly to be treated as one of your own, as you claim, then this Oath changes nothing. But if she’s meant to be leverage…” He let the words trail off.

The Archmages exchanged uneasy glances. One leaned forward to whisper in Lyriel’s ear, but the younger elf waved her away.

“I accept your terms.”

The speed of her reply caught him off guard. Either Lady Goldleaf had given her extraordinary freedom to negotiate, or—

“You expected this.”

A ghost of a smile touched Lyriel’s lips. “Lady Goldleaf said you were… cautious. She prepared me for various possibilities.”

“And she’s willing to swear such an Oath?”

“She is.”

The ease of it made his instincts prickle. When negotiations went too smoothly, it meant the other side wanted something badly. Badly enough to pay almost any price.

“…Which brings us to the next question,” Zeke said, settling back into his seat. “What could the Matriarchy possibly need from me that would warrant such generosity?”

Lyriel straightened, and for the first time since entering his home, she looked genuinely at ease. This was the moment she’d been waiting for—the true reason for her visit.

“Lady Goldleaf has chosen you.”

“Chosen me for what?”

“To be her agent in Rukia.”

Zeke’s brow furrowed, though he couldn’t claim surprise. Rukia was the contested land where the Empire pressed its advantage, where half-elven settlements burned while the world stood idle. The elves couldn’t act directly; any military intervention would give the Empire grounds to unleash its Exarchs again.

But a proxy…

“You want me to fight in your stead,” he said.

“We want you to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“With what army? What resources? I’m one man with limited reach.”

“One man with a remarkable gift for strategy, with economic influence and political connections. One man who has already shown a willingness to stand against the Empire’s excesses.”

He studied Lyriel’s face, searching for deceit. Finding none didn’t comfort him—the best lies were always those the speaker believed.

“And yet… still only one man.”

Lyriel didn’t continue to extol his virtues. She simply inclined her head in acknowledgment. “That you are. Naturally, we would not ask you to drive out the empire’s forces on your own. Hence my words: Lady Goldleaf has chosen you—not the elves in general.”

“The other Matriarchs will choose their own agents.”

“That is so.”

Zeke leaned back, letting the weight of this new revelation settle. Over a dozen Matriarchs, each selecting their own agent to push back the Empire’s invasion. The question was—would it be enough?

That was hard to judge without knowing which houses would be chosen. Still, it was a safe guess that most would outrank him in both might and prestige. Likely, the only reason Lady Goldleaf had chosen him at all was her impression of his foresight during her hearing.

Even if the combined strength of these agents couldn’t match the Empire, they would at least be able to contest its power. This created a breeding ground of possibilities for someone clever enough to take advantage…

It was still a risk, but a much more manageable one.

Normally, Zeke would never accept such an uncertain arrangement, not even for his sister’s sake. But this time, what they asked of him already aligned perfectly with his own goals. Truthfully, he would have sought a way to act against the Empire regardless. He might even have paid for the chance. But why pay, when someone else was willing to cover the cost?

His decision was already made the moment he learned the elves would mobilize other human forces. Now, the only question left was how much more he could demand.

”…Not a bad plan,” he said slowly. ”The treaty protects human forces. That means the Empire couldn’t retaliate with Exarchs.”

”Precisely.”

”But they could send conventional armies. Assassins. Economic pressure.”

”Challenges you’re already facing, are you not?”

She had a point. His relationship with the Empire had been deteriorating for years. Adding Rukia to their grievances would only escalate matters—but perhaps that was inevitable anyway.

”What support would the elves provide?”

”Intelligence. Resources. Diplomatic backing where possible.” Lyriel paused. ”And the gratitude of a Matriarch, which has its own value.”

”Gratitude is a currency that devalues quickly.”

”Then consider it an investment. The seeds planted today will grow into forests tomorrow.”

Pretty words that meant little. But the core proposal had merit. If the elves wanted to act through proxies, they would need those proxies to succeed. That meant real support, not empty promises.

”I’ll need specifics,” he said. ”Troop movements, supply lines, local contacts—everything your people know about the situation in Rukia and how it is expected to change with the arrival of the reinforcements.”

”Provided after you accept.”

”Provided before, or there’s no deal.”

They locked eyes across the space between his chair and where she stood. Neither blinked. The Archmages shifted uneasily, unaccustomed to seeing their junior colleague locked in such a direct confrontation.

”I can provide preliminary intelligence,” Lyriel conceded. ”Enough for you to assess the situation. Full details upon agreement.”

“Acceptable.”

Zeke sensed he had pressed as far as he could without upsetting the balance. And it was enough. Truth be told, he didn’t care in the slightest about whatever intelligence the Matriarchy had on Rukia. Despite their proximity, he doubted they could match his own network.

Akasha was filtering, assessing, and compiling every scrap of available information in real time. The resulting map was likely unmatched by anyone not directly waging the war.

No—intelligence had never been what he was after. What mattered were the names of the other human powers being sent. Only with that knowledge could he begin to plan in earnest.

Allies or hindrances, sacrificial lambs or key players—everything would depend on who stood beside him…

Zeke felt his blood stir. The mere thought of combat awakened instincts that political intrigue never could. He suspected it was his draconic nature, baring its bloody maw after lying dormant for too long.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Heartbeats like war drums.

A touch of Mind Magic steadied his rousing blood. Not yet.

Clarity returned, sweeping away the haze of bloodlust. His gaze shifted to the delegation—Lyriel and her three companions.

He would accept this deal. He knew it, and they likely knew it too.

All the more reason to keep a cool head. This was the final moment before the terms became fixed, his last chance to wring out an additional edge.

What else did he need? What else could he demand?

His eyes met those of the Archmage who had spoken earlier, the one who had first played at leading their party.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“There is one more thing I want before I accept this deal.”

Lyriel gestured for him to continue, though it was clear she hadn’t expected more demands after everything had already been agreed upon.

Zeke pointed at the Archmage. “I want her.”

Lyriel rolled her eyes. “That joke was effective once, but it won’t fluster us a second time.”

“I am not joking.”

Lyriel’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing to sharp slits. “Explain your meaning.”

Zeke inclined his head, his expression utterly serious. “Despite my influence, it has been difficult to secure a competent healer.” He paused, watching Lyriel’s face shift from hostility to contemplation. “You ask me to go to war—to risk the lives of my people, my friends, my family. How could I not ask for at least a safeguard to improve their chances? Especially when my new allies have healers in spades?”

The words were carefully chosen, but not lies. The plea reflected Zeke’s true thoughts.

The Matriarchy would hardly miss a single Archmage with a common affinity, but to him, a Life-attuned Archmage could mean the difference between burying his people—or not.

Lyriel clearly understood this was no longer a casual request. Nor could she easily refuse. After all, these three had been sent as little more than ornaments; she couldn’t now claim the Matriarchy couldn’t spare them.

To deny him would be the same as saying they didn’t care whether his people lived or died.

“Why her?” Lyriel asked at last.

Not a refusal, not yet an acceptance. But it meant he still had a chance.

“Her Mana is the purest,” Zeke said without a moment’s hesitation. And indeed, that was the only reason he had asked for her.

“Is that all?”

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “What else would it be?”

“Raileh is renowned for her beauty, even among my people. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

Zeke studied the elf he had chosen once more.

Her ashen-blonde hair shimmered faintly in the light, cascading in soft waves that framed her features. High cheekbones and a slender jaw gave her an air of refinement, while her pale skin carried the faint glow of Yggdrasil’s chosen.

Her eyes, clear and watchful, held a depth that spoke of centuries, yet her posture was graceful without pretense. Draped in flowing robes that whispered of her heritage, she embodied the effortless beauty for which her people were famed.

Zeke took it all in at a glance, then turned back to Lyriel.

“Fine. I’ll take that one instead.” He pointed at the elf with the second purest Mana.

Both Lyriel and the elf herself froze, their mouths falling open.

“J-just like that?”

Zeke shrugged. “I want a healer, not a concubine. If you manage to teach a pig to use Life Magic, I’ll happily take that instead.”

“P-pig!” The newly chosen elf clearly did not appreciate the comparison.

Zeke winced. His wording had been poor, though unintended. That’s what he got for surpressing his natural thoughts with pure logic.

“How about this?” he said before the outrage could grow. “You decide among yourselves who will stay. All I ask is for a competent healer to keep my people safe. Who that is makes no difference to me.”

He extended his hand, making it clear he was ready to commit on the spot if they conceded this last point.

“Do we have a deal?”