Trinity of Magic

Zeke’s senses extended outward, searching. Though he could not perceive much, it was still better than moving blindly. His feet carried him down the central road toward the heart of the settlement.

For a while, his search remained fruitless. Then, at last, he sensed something. A familiar presence. It was a vague feeling, almost drowned out by the mana trees, but not completely.

He followed the sensation through the winding streets, past structures that grew increasingly intricate the deeper he went. The architecture shifted, becoming more refined. Elven influence grew clearer, with curved lines and living wood, buildings that seemed to have grown rather than been built.

This had to be the original part of the sanctuary, before it had been expanded in such a haphazard way.

The garden appeared at the end of a narrow lane.

It was small, perhaps fifty paces across, but maintained with obvious care. Plants grew in ordered rows, their leaves catching what little light filtered through the canopy above. Flowers bloomed in colors that seemed too vivid for the surrounding gloom. None of them were ordinary.

A tall man stood at the center of the garden, his back to the entrance. Even so, Zeke recognized him at once. Cassius.

He held a seedling in his hands, studying it with the kind of focus Zeke associated with men trying not to think about anything else.

He had aged since their last meeting. Not physically, half-elves were long-lived, and Cassius might well have centuries ahead of him. But there was a weariness in his posture that had not been there before, a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Zeke watched him for a moment before speaking.

”You look like a man with a lot on your mind.”

Cassius turned. Whatever he had expected to see, it was clearly not Zeke standing at the edge of the garden. His eyes widened, and the seedling slipped from his fingers.

”Ezekiel.” The name came out rough. ”Why are you...” He stopped himself and shook his head. ”Never mind. Of course you would be here.”

There was no accusation in his words, only a delayed realization. Cassius must have found it natural for Zeke to join the war, given his hatred of the empire and his opposition to everything Augustus Geistreich stood for.

Well. He was not wrong about that.

Zeke stepped into the garden, carefully moving between the rows. Cassius had put work into this place. He would not trample it.

Zeke studied Cassius’ face. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper now, carved by something more than time. His shoulders, once held with the easy grace of someone detached from worldly affairs, now curved inward, as if bracing against a blow that had already landed.

”I remember our last conversation,” Zeke said, his voice even and neutral. ”You spoke of the Emperor’s virtues. His justice. The peace he brought to Arkanheim.”

”I remember,” the elf admitted.

”You told me I saw the world in black and white.” Zeke stepped closer, his boots silent on the soft earth between the flower beds. ”That things were more complicated than I understood.”

Cassius said nothing. He bent to retrieve the seedling he had dropped, brushing dirt from its roots with careful fingers. The motion was automatic, the sort of thing a man does when he needs something to occupy his hands.

”Tell me.” Zeke stopped a few paces away. ”Do things still seem complicated now?”

The words hung in the air. Zeke had not meant them as an accusation, though he knew they carried that weight all the same. He had earned the right to ask. Years ago, this man had called him foolish for wanting revenge, for refusing to see the nuance in Augustus Geistreich’s conquest.

Now the Emperor had come for Rukia, and Cassius stood among the ashes of his home, many of his people having paid the ultimate price.

The irony should have tasted sweet. It did not.

Cassius straightened slowly. When he met Zeke’s eyes, there was no anger in his gaze, only exhaustion.

”I still believe the words I said back then. I just—” He trailed off. The seedling’s roots hung limp, already beginning to dry.

Cassius knelt and pressed it into an empty patch of soil. His movements were precise and methodical, the motions of a man repeating a task he had done a thousand times.

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”You must think me a hypocrite...” he said suddenly.

Zeke did not respond. The thought had crossed his mind. In the end, for all his talk, Cassius had still chosen to oppose the empire the moment his own home was threatened.

Cassius sighed. ”You might be right. Maybe that is exactly what I am. But know that even now, I do not condemn the Emperor. For all we know, this could be the path that leads to lasting peace.”

”Then why fight at all?” Zeke asked.

”Alas...” Cassius said, slowly infusing mana into the seedling. ”It is much easier to hold certain beliefs than to live by them.” He paused, his eyes unfocusing. ”There is so much death. So much destruction. So much grief. I could no longer close my eyes to the suffering of my people.”

Zeke nodded. He understood that even sincerely held beliefs did not always withstand the test of time. Even someone who fiercely opposed theft would not let their child starve rather than steal a loaf of bread.

Cassius must have felt the same. Though he believed it was not his place to judge the actions of the ruler of a nation, he could not watch his people be slaughtered without acting.

Was that hypocrisy? Maybe. But in the end, it did not matter if it was or not.

Here, in the middle of a warzone, questions of right and wrong were secondary to practical reality. Cassius was here now, fighting for his people.

”I met Rhea earlier,” Zeke said, choosing to change the subject. ”She seemed to be having a hard time.”

Cassius remained silent, continuing to infuse his mana into the seedling. Zeke watched with keen interest as it grew rapidly. What had first looked like a strange radish soon swelled to the size of a child, sprouting limbs.

The plant was beginning to resemble something Zeke recognized, something he had encountered only recently.

A treant.

So the fearsome creatures that had fought alongside Rhea had originated here, in Cassius’ garden. Zeke should have realized as much the moment he saw the Titan fighting alongside them. They were the product of the half-elf’s unique growth magic.

The realization gave him pause.

Cassius could apparently produce creatures strong enough to drive back an entire regiment of legion troops, if only for a time. Zeke felt a brief pang of jealousy. The ability to influence a distant battlefield while remaining in complete safety was a terrifying power.

In a sense, Cassius could raise an endless army, given enough time and resources.

Zeke shuddered at the thought of what they might accomplish together.

”...They do not quite appreciate our efforts,” Cassius said at last.

”They?”

”The prince and his cohort,” Cassius clarified. ”They say we are causing trouble by provoking the Empire.”

”Provoking the Empire,” Zeke repeated. ”Do they not realize the country is already at war?”

Cassius looked up, the exhaustion clear in his eyes. ”They would like to avoid a fight, if possible.”

Zeke was struck speechless. Avoid a fight? Did they not understand how war worked? If avoiding it were an option, who would not choose that?

”And how do they plan to achieve that?” Zeke asked, hoping, against his better judgment, that there was a reasonable explanation.

The pained look on Cassius’ face told him there would be none.

”The prince intends to rely on the sanctuary’s hidden location, or if it comes to that, on the defenses he has built.”

Zeke’s frown deepened. ”Please tell me the defenses he is relying on are not just that wall.”

Cassius shrugged. ”He has other cards to play, I think. But they will not be enough.”

Zeke swept his gaze around. Even at a glance, he could tell there were thousands of people here. Now he understood why they all seemed so unconcerned. The war had not reached them yet, and under the leadership of this so called prince and his advisors, they were comfortable pretending it never would.

If they closed their eyes tightly enough, they could act as if the world was not burning and the enemy was not advancing with every passing day. At least, they could do so until the Legion finally broke through.

Likely when Cassius and Rhea had been worn down so much that they could no longer hold the line.

His eyes narrowed as he studied Cassius, who continued his work. Clear signs of severe exhaustion showed on him. This was not the result of a day or two of overexertion. It had been building for weeks, perhaps months.

Zeke sighed. ”What is your plan?”

”I am trying to grow something that can stand up to the Legion.” Cassius’ eyes sparkled, a hint of life returning to them. ”I have already made the little ones fireproof, which was the biggest problem at the start. Now, from what Rhea told me, the Windblades are the real issue. But I already have an idea for that. Would you like to see?”

Zeke listened in silence as Cassius explained his work. Under normal circumstances, he would have welcomed the chance to discuss the results of Cassius’ research and offer ideas of his own. But he could not allow himself that indulgence.

The reason was simple.

They had Archmages, trained for war. The chance of breeding a creature that could stand against them was almost zero. Cassius was only an Archmage himself; it was nearly impossible for his creations to match their power.

Especially since his special blend of Magic didn’t really lend itself to combat or warfare.

”...So if I infuse it with a trace of the Ironwood and maybe use some properties of the hybiscus flower—”

”Cassius,” Zeke interrupted the spirited explanation.

The half-elf fell silent, even though Zeke said nothing more. The liveliness in his gaze faded, replaced by a deeper weariness than before.

”It will not be enough to stop them,” Zeke said once the silence stretched on. ”You know that.”

Cassius neither agreed nor denied it. He only looked at Zeke with a gaze more forlorn than any he had seen before.

”It’s the best I can do.”

Zeke sighed deeply. That was the problem with people like Cassius. Despite what he had just said, the current situation was far from the best he could do. It was simply the best he was willing to do.

For instance, Zeke could tell at a glance that at least half the food sustaining the sanctuary came from Cassius’ gardens and greenhouses.

That fact alone would have put him in a powerful position.

If Zeke had been in his place, he would have used that leverage long ago to force the people into action. But Cassius, with his firm belief that people were free to make their own choices, would never impose his will so forcefully.

Well. That was going to change.

”Cassius...”

Zeke had decided. He would save this sanctuary, even against their will. Even if it cost the lives of half the people living here. Even if he had to drag this useless prince from his throne and take it for himself.

Did that make him a hypocrite? Maybe. But as he had already concluded, in war, questions of right and wrong were secondary to practical reality.

”...Please tell me everything you know about the prince.”