Zeke extended his hand, letting a ray of light streaming through a crack in the closed window dance across his fingers. For a while, he had felt its warmth on his shoulder as he lay in bed, reluctant to move. However, it had now moved to his face, making it impossible to ignore any longer.
The day outside was flawless, the sky a clear, endless blue. It made leaving the soft comfort of his bed all the more difficult. Yet, now that he was fully awake, his thoughts refused to grant him the peace of drifting back to sleep. His restless mind was both a blessing and a curse.
With a resigned sigh, he pushed off the silken blanket and planted his feet firmly on the ground. Being in his old room again felt strange after so long. The opulent luxury surrounding him felt distant and alien, like a relic from another life.
For the past year, he had been constantly on the move—sleeping in campsites, on the hard ground, in barracks of gladiatorial halls, or caves on frigid mountain peaks. Now, the soft fabrics and fresh scents of home were as unfamiliar to him as they had been when he first arrived at the Elementium, a wide-eyed fourteen-year-old.
No matter. He would adapt, just as he had back then.
Zeke rose from his bed, wearing nothing but a simple undergarment. Even that felt unusual—its texture so soft and weightless that it was as if he wore nothing at all.
With a familiar gesture, he raised his arms, and a shirt enveloped his torso a moment later. While Zeke had always disliked the idea of servants dressing him, it was different with Akasha. He viewed the Spirit as an extension of himself, no more foreign than his own hands and feet. Accepting her assistance felt natural, not intrusive.
Beside the bed, an outfit had already been laid out. Each piece floated toward him in perfect sequence as if following a silent command. Pants, socks, and a Mage's robe joined the shirt in rapid order, even his boots positioning themselves snugly on his feet.
Before he fully registered the process, Zeke stood completely dressed, not a button out of place.
Zeke stood motionless, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. It had been a long time since he'd taken a moment to truly examine himself. Out in the wild, there had been little use for such vanities. But now, back in Tradespire—a city where battles were waged not with steel or magic but with words and cunning—appearance was a weapon all its own.
And Zeke's appearance had become a weapon of formidable caliber.
He had grown taller, his once scrawny shoulders now broad and sturdy. His face, once soft with youth, had sharpened into strong, defined features. His crimson hair, tied back yet flowing past his shoulders, added a touch of roguish charm to his otherwise polished demeanor.
But it was his eyes that drew the most attention—piercing golden orbs that seemed to glow with intensity. They stared back at him from the mirror, alive with a wild, predatory glint. Whether it was the time spent among the Icefang Tribe or the influence of his draconic bloodline, his gaze had transformed into something almost feral.
He smirked faintly. Those eyes could probably silence a crying child with a single glare.
With one last satisfied glance at his reflection, Zeke left his chambers. He had no specific destination in mind, simply wandering the mansion's second floor. Now that he was back home, it was time to set new goals. Though no immediate crises loomed, he couldn't shake the feeling that this calm was only a brief respite before the inevitable chaos and the city's peaceful atmosphere only deepened his inner turmoil.
The Emperor of Arkanheim couldn't possibly have overestimated himself so gravely. Zeke was certain it was just a matter of time before the other shoe dropped.
No, this was no time to relax. It felt more like the final opportunity to prepare before a storm engulfed the continent.
Zeke's footsteps came to a halt as he noticed a group of figures by the backyard pond. His gaze immediately fell on the blonde girl sitting at the center—Maya. His sister sat cross-legged, her eyes closed in serene meditation, surrounded by other children mirroring her pose.
The silence was almost eerie. Not a single sound broke the stillness as the children remained completely focused. It was strange to see such liveliness subdued into calm, but Zeke found the sight deeply encouraging.
These were undoubtedly the children most dedicated to their meditation practice. Akasha's reports had already identified them, but seeing it firsthand filled Zeke with quiet pride.
To Maya's left, sticking close by her side, was Lue. She was Jettero's daughter and had apparently taken to meditation like a fish to water. According to the observers' reports, Lue dedicated even more time to her practice than Maya did. It was an encouraging sign, and Zeke truly hoped her efforts would bear fruit.
Across from them sat the twins, Malik and Marina. With their starkly contrasting black and white hair, they were hard to miss. The two were the closest competitors to Maya and Lue in diligence, viewing the other girls as their rivals. Orphaned a few years ago, they had been taken in by Maximilian, who had given them a place to belong.
Zeke found their determination admirable. Despite their circumstances, the twins worked tirelessly to prove their worth. It was an attitude he respected, one that would undoubtedly serve them well in life—even if they didn't end up with exceptional magical affinities.
His gaze traveled over the other children one by one, committing their faces to memory. Soon, they would awaken their Cores, and Zeke hoped to see joy on all their faces when that day came.
After a few moments of quiet observation, he turned and continued down the hallway, setting aside thoughts of the meditation technique. For now, the best he could do was silently wish them luck. He had no intention of disturbing their practice—there were other matters demanding his attention.
With his course decided, he headed toward his mother's office. David had entrusted her with overseeing his duties, and Zeke was eager to see how she was managing. He approached the door, opening it just a crack to peek inside.
Despite his mastery of Spatial magic, there were many rooms in the mansion beyond his ability to observe from the outside. This was a deliberate security feature, one that most high-level establishments incorporated. After all, one could never be certain what kind of magical espionage a rival might employ. Zeke wasn't so arrogant as to believe he was the only one with abilities akin to his Sphere of Awareness.
Inside the room, Zeke saw his mother alongside three others, all seated at their desks and diligently working through a mountain of paperwork. Unlike his first visit, however, the workload now seemed manageable. From all appearances, they were keeping up with their tasks comfortably.
Zeke lingered for a moment, silently observing his mother.
Every so often, she would call out to one of the others, who would promptly respond—either bringing her a report or taking one she had finished. The efficiency of the entire process resembled a well-oiled machine, each part functioning seamlessly.
A soft smile spread across Zeke's face as he watched her immersed in her work. He had always known she had a knack for organization and planning, but seeing her thrive in this role exceeded even his expectations. It was a heartening sight, one that eased some of the guilt he carried for uprooting her from her previous life.
Without making a sound, Zeke closed the door and left, choosing not to interrupt. He wanted her to continue her work undisturbed, proud of the strength she was displaying in her new role.
His next stop was the workshop, where he expected to find both his father and Jett. However, he unexpectedly encountered one of his targets before even reaching the area. His father was seated outside the mansion on an elegant wooden bench, a steaming cup of tea resting on the low table in front of him. Yet, the beverage seemed forgotten as his gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, vacant and unfocused.
Zeke immediately changed course, heading toward his father. Even as he approached within a few steps, the man didn't seem to notice his presence. Zeke's expression grew concerned. He hadn't seen his father so lost in thought since the day he announced his decision to become a Mage. Something was clearly weighing heavily on him.
"Dad?" Zeke called softly.
His father jolted slightly, snapping out of his reverie. His eyes met Zeke's, and a smile replaced the contemplative expression on his face.
"Didn't hear you coming, Zeke. What's up?"
Zeke studied him closely. The man who once seemed as unshakable as a mountain now appeared smaller, more human. Over the years, the towering figure of his childhood had diminished, leaving behind the frame of an ordinary man. Now, they stood nearly eye to eye.
"Is… everything alright?" Zeke asked tentatively, his voice laced with concern.
"…Is it that obvious?" his father replied, his smile turning bitter.
Zeke nodded, his gaze steady. "It's not like you to space out."
His father sighed heavily, the weariness evident in his voice. "I suppose I should tell you. A few days ago, I received a letter from my father. He wants to meet—said he wants to reconnect."
Zeke tilted his head, puzzled. "And?"
Geralt let out another long sigh, seeming to age visibly in the brief pause. "You don't know my father, Zeke. He's not the sentimental type. When I was cast out of the family, he didn't even bother to meet me in person."
Zeke's expression darkened. It was no wonder his father never spoke of his family. The lack of connection, coupled with such a cold dismissal, must have left deep scars.
"…Knowing that old bastard, the only reason he's reaching out now is because he wants something," Geralt continued, his tone bitter.
"And you're trying to figure out what that is?" Zeke asked cautiously.
Geralt shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Not really. I'm almost certain it has something to do with you. After all, I know how rare and valuable a Perfect Blood affinity is."
Zeke tilted his head, trying to recall his only meeting with the head of the Bloodletter family. It had been during his visit to the Bloodsword household. At the time, the man hadn't left much of an impression. Then again, it was hardly a fair comparison—after all, that was also the day Zeke had met Tristan Bloodsword and his inner circle, individuals of exceptional caliber.
Even so, the Bloodletter family was an old and established household within the Valor Kingdom. While they lacked many powerful members in their current generation, their unique Blood Arts still afforded them considerable influence.
"What are you going to do about the invitation?" Zeke asked after sifting through everything he remembered about his paternal grandfather.
"I…" Geralt began but trailed off, silence following his unfinished thought.
Zeke waited patiently, his gaze shifting as he noticed a servant approaching in the distance. He subtly signaled the man to hold back, giving his father the space he needed to gather his thoughts.
"…I don't know, Zeke," Geralt admitted at last, his voice heavy with uncertainty.
Zeke nodded in quiet understanding. "There's no rush. But when you do make a decision, just know that you'll have my full support. Our house is no longer one that can be easily pushed around."
A faint, bemused smile appeared on his father's face, though it soon softened into a nod of acknowledgment.
Satisfied, Zeke finally turned and approached the waiting servant, who had stopped a respectful distance away.
"Young lord," the man greeted with a bow.
Zeke nodded in greeting, interested to learn what had caused him to run over in such a hurry.
"A messenger has arrived to meet you," the man reported.
"That's it?" Zeke asked with a raised brow. "That's what you rushed over to tell me?"
The servant nodded hurriedly. "Yes, but this is not just any messenger. It would be unwise to keep him waiting for too long."
Zeke's interest was piqued. "What sigil does he bear?"
"The Sigil… of the Merchant Union."