The space was far from comfortable. Wooden crates served as makeshift seats, uneven in height and unforgivingly hard. The dim lighting barely provided enough visibility to navigate, casting long, flickering shadows across the cramped chamber.
Yet neither Zeke nor Markus paid any mind to their lackluster surroundings.
Markus wasted no time. The moment they sat down, he asked, "How did you get here?"
The question caught Zeke off guard. That was exactly what he had intended to ask.
Was it really so surprising for him to be here? He was a wealthy man, after all, in one of the continent's most prosperous cities. For him, traveling here had been as effortless as flipping a coin.
Markus, on the other hand, had only been a blacksmith's apprentice under his uncle the last time they had seen each other. There was no logical path that should have led him to the dwarven capital at this time, yet here he was. Still, there was no harm in telling Markus about his plans.
"I'm here on business," Zeke explained. "Trying to establish connections with the great families."
Markus grimaced. "Good luck with that, Zeke. The owner's been trying for years and hasn't even gotten a response."
Zeke smirked. "I think my chances are pretty good. I'm dining with the Ironhide family tonight."
Markus blinked in disbelief. "How? Did your mentor have contacts here?"
Zeke shook his head. "Nope. Just had a drink with some rich kids recently—must have really impressed them."
Markus started to nod, then suddenly froze, his eyes widening. "Wait… THAT WAS YOU?" he burst out. "I heard a human won this year, but I never imagined it was you!"
Zeke smirked at the shock and awe on his childhood friend's face. Somehow, that single expression felt more precious than all the cheers and accolades he had received for winning. "It was the fastest way to get noticed," he said casually.
Markus still looked stunned, his mind clearly racing with questions. Zeke could tell he was dying to know how he had pulled it off, but before his friend could press him for details, Zeke steered the conversation in the direction that had been burning in his mind.
"How are you here, Markus? What happened?" he asked, his voice urgent.
The excitement faded from Markus's face, his expression darkening. "It's not a pretty story," he said grimly.
Zeke leaned in, eager for answers, but bracing himself for the worst.
"A while after you left," Markus began, his voice quieter now, "I was visited by the cloaks."
Zeke nodded grimly. He had expected as much. The cloaks—the emperor's enforcers—were a constant presence in the capital, maintaining his rule under the guise of order. Their signature hooded attire obscured them from head to toe, making them seem more like wraiths than men. Zeke had always thought they resembled bandits more than guards, but no one dared voice such thoughts aloud, or even think them in their presence.
"They came asking about you," Markus continued. "Just a few questions at first—what kind of person you were, the nature of our relationship." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, as if the memory itself unsettled him.
"I didn't tell them anything, of course." His words were barely more than a whisper as he continued. "But I don't think it mattered. I could feel them, Zeke—invading my mind, rifling through my memories like they had a right to them. I was powerless. I could do nothing while they took whatever they wanted."
When he finished, Markus hung his head, shame weighing heavy in his posture. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice small and exhausted, as if the admission itself had drained him.
The sight nearly shattered Zeke's heart.
He had never once blamed Markus—had never even considered the possibility of doing so. How could he? Against the emperor's elite enforcers, against seasoned Mind Mages trained to extract secrets with surgical precision, Markus had never stood a chance. His weak Metal affinity offered no defense against such an invasion.
And yet, his childhood friend still carried the weight of it, burdening himself with an impossible standard. That was who he had always been—unyielding in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that he should have done more, even when there was nothing more he could have done.
Zeke opened his mouth to speak, but for once, no words came. What could he possibly say to ease Markus's guilt when he knew his friend wouldn't forgive himself so easily? Markus had always been stubborn in the strangest ways, especially when it came to those he cared about.
So, instead of trying to offer empty reassurances, Zeke simply nodded—accepting the apology he had never needed.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
As expected, Markus seemed to steady himself at the gesture. His voice regained some of its strength as he continued. "I heard they went to see Lilly too, but apparently, someone blocked their way. Could've just been a rumor, though."
Zeke nodded, barely sparing a thought for Lilly. At this point, she was of little concern to him. He was far more interested in what had happened to Viola and Sophia, but it was unlikely Markus would have any insight. Given their connections to influential families, whatever fate had befallen them would have been handled behind closed doors.
"They never came back," Markus continued. "But not long after, rumors about you started spreading…"
Zeke raised an eyebrow.
"People whispered that you had planted dangerous ideas in your mentor's mind—that you had corrupted a hero of the Empire. Some claimed you drove him to his death. Others said you fled the Empire to sell its secrets to our enemies..."
Zeke's expression darkened with every word. He had expected some hostility toward him in the Empire, but he hadn't imagined it would go this far. Twisting Maximilian's death into some grand scheme of his own making? It was one of the most absurd accusations he had ever heard.
Maximilian had been a man of unwavering will and unshakable integrity. The idea that he could have been swayed—let alone manipulated—by the whisperings of a mere child was beyond ridiculous. It wasn't just an attack on Zeke. It was an insult to the very man Maximilian had been.
"A while after that, a new rumor began to spread," Markus continued. "People started saying that you had placed a bounty on the Empire's mages—that you were offering hundreds of gold for the heads of our finest spellcasters."
He shook his head, as if the mere thought was absurd. "And let me tell you, Zeke, a lot of people believed it. It was chaos. Every day, news spread of another influential figure turning up dead. The fear was so widespread that the Emperor had to ban any new adventurers from entering the Empire. Only then did things finally start to settle."
Zeke rubbed the back of his head, feeling a twinge of guilt as he watched how firmly Markus dismissed the rumor. This time, however, the story was entirely true. If anything, the rumor had downplayed the reality—he was offering far more than just a few hundred gold.
"That one's true…" he admitted after a brief, awkward silence.
Markus gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He looked more comical than anything else in that moment, and Zeke almost laughed despite the gravity of the situation.
It took a while for Markus to regain his composure, but when he finally spoke, his words were far different than Zeke had anticipated.
"Where did you get all that money?" Markus asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "Is it true you sold the empire's secrets?"
Zeke scoffed, shaking his head. "What secrets? And who would even pay me for them?" His expression shifted, becoming serious. "No, Markus. If I had known anything of value, the empire wouldn't have let me go so easily. They only started paying attention when they realized I was more than just some lucky brat."
"Then how?" Markus asked, still confused.
"Trade," Zeke answered simply. "How else would you get rich in Tradespire?"
"Tradespire…" Markus repeated slowly, as though the concept wasn't quite clicking. "The rumors made it sound like you were on the run, being hunted by the empire's elites like a dog."
Zeke shook his head in disbelief. He should have known better than to expect the empire to let the truth spread. Hunted like a dog? He was far from that. He and his family owned one of the most sought-after mansions in the richest city on the continent. But that was a truth that could never be allowed to surface.
After all, the empire couldn't let the idea spread that someone could walk away from their control, especially not someone like him. The perception that turning your back on the empire must be punished was one the empire would never let go of.
"Hardly," Zeke replied with a wry smile. "The only time I met anyone from the empire was when Otto Geistreich came to strip me of my title and declare me an enemy."
Markus nodded grimly. "I've heard about that. It was said that you wouldn't be welcome anywhere after that declaration. After all, no country dares stand against the empire."
Zeke shook his head, too tired to correct his friend on how deeply flawed that statement was. But something else caught his attention.
"How did you hear about it?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"They made an announcement," Markus explained. "It was to announce the new successor to Hohenheim."
Zeke shot upright, his heart pounding. A new successor? To his mentor? He hadn't heard anything about this.
"Who is it?" Zeke asked, striving to keep his voice steady, though he knew his attempt to appear casual was failing miserably.
Markus licked his lips, his eyes drifting as though he were reliving the moment. "I was surprised too," Markus began. "It was a young man, clearly a Mage, and by the looks of it, a powerful one." He locked eyes with Zeke, his gaze serious. "They said he was Maximilian's first disciple."
Zeke's eyes widened. He had never heard of Maximilian having any other disciples besides himself. In fact, Maximilian had made it clear when they signed the contract that would name him heir—he was the only disciple.
"You saw this man?" Zeke asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
Markus nodded. "He was there during the announcement."
"How was he?" Zeke pressed, eager for any detail.
Markus furrowed his brows, as if thinking over his words carefully. "The people seemed to love him," he said slowly. "And I can see why. He was tall, handsome, with one of those faces that made him look like a storybook hero, you know?"
Zeke nodded, though inwardly he scoffed at the people's stupidity. Judging someone based on their looks was utter foolishness. Most Mages were exceptionally handsome, their constant exposure to Mana cleansing their bodies of imperfections and prolonging their lives. But that didn't mean their character was any better for it.
"They say he inherited Maximilian's Magic as well," Markus continued, his words drawing Zeke's full attention. "Many people are claiming that he's a far better successor to the Von Hohenheim name than you ever could have been."
This gave Zeke pause. Maximilian had always been extremely reluctant to teach his Magic to anyone. Even Leo, who would have been the perfect candidate, had never caught Maximilian's eye. There could be many reasons for this—either out of caution, or perhaps something more personal, a past trauma that had shaped his mentor's decisions.
Slowly, a realization began to take root in Zeke's mind. Perhaps this person truly had been Maximilian's disciple. Someone his mentor had once deemed a failure. There were few things that could make Maximilian sever his ties with someone so completely, but Zeke knew there was one thing that could have driven him to do so.
Betrayal.
Zeke had a strong suspicion about who might know more. David, whose family had served Maximilian for generations, would certainly have information about someone who had once been a disciple.
"What is his name?" Zeke asked, suddenly realizing that he hadn't yet heard it.
"Azra," Markus replied. "Azra von Hohenheim."