Trinity of Magic

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?"

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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.