Trinity of Magic

The Alexandria moved in unbroken silence, day and night. Unlike conventional airships, she was untouched by the wind, gliding through the void at a constant pace. Weather and terrain alike were irrelevant to her passage.

Because of that, progress was easy to estimate. Just as Zeke had planned, they reached their destination precisely four days later.

Elvengrad lay before them.

The city was the bridge between Rukia and the Great Forest—and, by extension, the World Tree itself. Beyond its walls, the forest opened into a single road leading deeper within. It was the only known land route into the elven heartland.

To mistake that path for a vulnerability, however, was an error born of ignorance.

The journey through the Great Forest was long and treacherous. Even a swift caravan required days to pass through, confined by towering trees on all sides. And these were not the passive trees of an ordinary woodland.

They were the offspring of the World Tree.

At their mother’s call, any one of them could become a lethal threat.

This was Zeke’s first time seeing the city. Ironically, it lay less than a day’s march from the site of his last battle. He had crossed half the country, all the way to the distant south, only to find himself near where he had begun.

That did not mean he regretted the journey.

Traveling through the eastern and southern regions had given him much to reflect on. He had known, from reports alone, the price this war had exacted from Rukia. Seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.

From cities to villages, forests to fields, the land lay broken. And even setting aside the ruin of infrastructure and terrain, the loss of life was overwhelming.

No official counts had reached him yet, but Zeke was certain of one thing.

Less than a tenth of the outer regions’ population had survived.

Though Zeke still could not say with certainty what the Empire truly sought to gain by attacking the peaceful half-elves, one conclusion was already unavoidable.

Rukia would not be able to support the Alliance after this.

Put simply, the country was broken.

Regardless of who ultimately won the war, even if the Empire’s Ehrenlegion were wiped out entirely, the Alliance had already lost an ally. Rukia had once supplied a significant share of the continent’s grain and wheat. Its fields had fed nations. Now, that so-called breadbasket had been reduced to a beggar, unable to sustain even itself for years to come.

By comparison, Elvengrad remained untouched.

Even from a distance, Zeke could see that countless natives had fled there. The city was overflowing, its outskirts swallowed by a sprawling sea of tents. Refugees numbered in the tens of thousands, clustering around the walls in the hope that proximity to elven lands would shield them from the war.

So far, that gamble had paid off. Elvengrad had never been struck by the Legion.

Most likely, this restraint stemmed from the city’s unique status. Elvengrad lay under joint governance between Yggdrasil and Rukia. To attack it would be to openly challenge the elves themselves.

Some might argue that this distinction meant little after the Empire had already unleashed an Exarch to annihilate an elven army. Zeke disagreed. That intervention had been framed as a response to their involvement in an existing conflict between nations—a transgression, perhaps, but one that could be argued away.

An assault on Elvengrad would be something else entirely.

A city half-nestled within the Great Forest itself. A symbol of elven sovereignty.

To strike it would be an unmistakable declaration of war.

Beyond that, Zeke doubted the World Tree would tolerate the intrusion of a foreign power within its domain. Even if the Empire cared nothing for the political consequences, they would still have to pay a price for such an affront—one that likely could not be avoided, even by using another Exarch.

That certainty deepened when a strange power washed over him.

It was gentle, almost soothing, yet at the same time ancient and unyielding. It did not brush against his body, but against something far more fundamental—his soul.

Then it withdrew, satisfied. A probe, nothing more. Having found him acceptable, it did not act further. Even so, Zeke felt a bead of sweat form on his brow. He had not even entered the Great Forest, and yet that presence had already noticed him.

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He knew exactly what it was.

The World Tree. Yggdrasil itself.

When he had once stood upon the Tree’s body, that presence had been so all-encompassing that it was difficult to discern its true nature. It had simply been everywhere, impossible to measure.

Now, sensing it from afar, Zeke could finally grasp the sheer vastness of its reach.

In his entire life, he had felt only one comparable presence. The Deadlands, shaped by Sheol, were an even greater expanse of land—wholly claimed and governed by a single being.

Across the entire continent, Zeke doubted there was anyone who could rival those two ancient entities.

The Deadlands—an embodiment of Death.

The Great Forest—an embodiment of Life.

One dominated the far northwest of the continent, the other the distant southeast. The symmetry was striking. It was difficult to believe their positions were mere coincidence. By claiming opposite ends of the land, each had secured ample space to grow, unchecked by the other.

Idly, Zeke wondered what would happen if those opposing forces ever met in the middle. Would they clash?

He dismissed the thought at once. It was meaningless speculation. For their domains to expand far enough to collide, every other power on the continent would already have been erased—including himself.

Still, a trace of respect stirred within Zeke’s chest. It wasn’t respect for either of these two ancient powers, but for the Emperor of Arkanheim. To dream of unifying the continent, knowing full well that such monstrous powers existed, took either madness or audacity beyond measure.

Or perhaps something else entirely.

Could it be that the Emperor already had a plan to deal with them?

Zeke’s idle thoughts were cut short as the city slowly came into view. The outer defenses resolved beneath him, and for the first time, he could fully see past the walls. Soon, the Alexandria would enter the airspace of the city proper.

He issued a mental command, putting his people on high alert.

He had not come with hostile intent, but a silent approach like this—if detected—would hardly be welcomed. The city’s defenders might strike first and ask questions later. Even so, Zeke chose to take the risk. Anchoring the Alexandria above the city would grant him significant advantages, not least of which was a secure avenue of retreat should matters turn sour.

As the walls slid beneath the ship, Zeke found himself holding his breath. He knew it was pointless, yet some instincts refused to be ignored.

The Alexandria glided over the outer districts without a sound. In the unnatural silence, Zeke looked down at the city spreading out below him.

His gaze moved from the garrison to the watchtowers, then to the barracks. Yet even as they passed fully beyond the outer defenses, there was no response. No alarms. No movement.

Only then did Zeke finally let out the breath he had been holding.

This had been a gamble.

After all, Yggdrasil had detected him the moment he approached. Of that, he was certain.

Even so, Zeke had been confident the World Tree would not betray his position. Though nominally allied with the elves, it did not share its intelligence with them. At best, their relationship resembled that of liege and vassal.

As for the elves detecting him on their own?

That was exceedingly unlikely.

Across the continent, the only faction with meaningful defenses against his light-bending technology was the Empire, if only because it had been the primary target of its use. The Alliance, by extension, had likely developed at least a rudimentary understanding of possible countermeasures, having relied on the technology themselves.

The elves, however, were another matter.

They had neither access to such methods nor experience confronting them. Untouched by human conflicts, they had little reason, and even less opportunity, to encounter such techniques.

More importantly, and ultimately what convinced Zeke to take the risk, was elven arrogance.

With their ingrained sense of superiority, why would they ever bother constructing defenses against some obscure human invention? The notion was laughable.

Even if attitudes among the highest echelons were beginning to shift, it would take years, perhaps decades, before such changes filtered down to the lowest levels of elven society.

The outcome had confirmed his assumptions.

Once again, Zeke could only shake his head. Without the World Tree’s protection, this guileless race would likely have gone extinct long ago.

Even now, when they had summoned him themselves and were fully aware of the Alexandria’s capabilities, they had prepared no countermeasures at all. He had slipped past their defenses without the slightest resistance.

Still, he could hardly complain. For once, their arrogance and carelessness worked in his favor.

The real reason Zeke had brought the Alexandria into the city’s airspace was the vantage point it provided. Anchored above the heart of the city, he could observe every entrance and exit, every major thoroughfare, every street and square.

In the coming days, nothing would move beyond his notice.

That meant none of the delegations sent by his so-called allies would escape his scrutiny. And that was essential. Entering such a meeting blindly would be foolish. Who had been sent? Whom would they meet? What relationships bound them, and what motives guided them?

The more Zeke uncovered, the safer he would be.

Above all, he needed to be certain that none of them maintained hidden ties to the Empire.

Such precautions might appear paranoid, but in truth, the odds of at least one double agent were high. At their core, these forces were mercenaries. They had come for a price.

And whatever the elves could offer, the Empire could match, or exceed. As one of the richest and most powerful nations on the continent, Arkanheim could easily dangle treasures tempting enough to sway any middling power.

Aside from Zeke himself, few of those present had personal grievances against the Empire. So what would stop them from changing sides at a critical moment? Honor? Virtue? Professional integrity?

Laughable.

Zeke did not believe they were all soulless profiteers. But it would be bad enough if one of them was. And he had no intention of gambling his life on the hope that twelve unrelated factions were, by sheer coincidence, paragons of virtue.

That was exactly why he had arrived early. It would give him a measure of insight into who his allies truly were. How they carried themselves, how they treated those around them. And even if it did not reveal their true allegiances, Zeke would at least gain a sense of their competence.

And so, he waited.

Before even half a day had passed, the surrounding ring of refuges began to stir. Zeke knew exactly what that meant. An unknown force was approaching.

The first of his allies had arrived.