The week following the Wraith's debut brought a flood of correspondence to the von Hohenheim estate. Letters arrived by the dozen, their wax seals bearing the crests of influential houses from across the continent. Each one inquired, with varying degrees of subtlety, about the exact nature of his revolutionary creation.
Zeke left them all unanswered.
Not because he dismissed these potential customers: quite the opposite. But parchment and ink could never capture what needed to be experienced firsthand.
Soon enough, the ship would dominate every conversation in every court. Though he suspected the Empire's saboteur units would speak of it through gritted teeth. Their profession had just become infinitely more difficult.
Talking about the Empire, its official response remained conspicuously absent. Clearly, the appearance of this new variable had thrown their strategists into disarray. They likely didn't yet know whether to condemn it, acquire it, or pretend it didn't exist.
Let them struggle. Zeke had more pressing matters than the floundering of his enemies. Tasks that had lingered on the periphery of his attention for far too long now demanded their due.
Chief among them: his curriculum for Tradespire's common folk.
The lesson plans spread across his desk represented weeks of meticulous planning. Each sheet built upon the last in deliberate progression, a stairway leading from ignorance to competence. His fingers traced the edge of a curling parchment, smoothing it flat against the humid morning air.
Mana Synchronization.
The words stared back at him from the topmost page. Such a deceptively simple concept when reduced to ink and paper: teaching one's Core to pulse in harmony with breath, creating a rhythm that would eventually become as natural as a heartbeat. Yet Zeke's jaw tightened as he remembered his own introduction to the practice.
Seven days. Seven excruciating days of maintaining focus while his untrained body fought him like a cornered beast. His muscles had cramped, his head had pounded, and more than once he'd wondered if the teachers were playing an elaborate prank. Then came that moment—sudden, inexplicable—when his Core had fallen into alignment with his breathing. The memory of that first successful synchronization still kindled a spark of that old triumph.
Now, thousands would walk that same path under his guidance.
The transformation from commoner to Mage began with this single step. Once mastered, every breath would strengthen the body, every exhalation would sharpen the mind. It was the foundation upon which all magical practice rested.
It should have been cause for celebration. Instead, a vein pulsed beneath the skin of his temple as he stared at his carefully organized notes. His fingers had ceased their habitual drumming against the desk.
"Host appears agitated." Akasha's projection materialized in the chair opposite him, wearing a simple blue dress with her silver hair drawn back in a practical braid. "Is the lesson plan insufficient?"
Zeke's grip on the desk's edge relaxed slightly. "The plan is perfect."
And it was. Every lesson carefully structured, every hurdle anticipated. The curriculum was so refined that many academies would likely pay a hefty sum to acquire it. Yet Zeke remained dissatisfied; not by what was there, but by what was missing.
Akasha tilted her head, a gesture she'd adopted to convey curiosity. The movement still carried an artificial precision, like a marionette mimicking human behavior, though it had improved dramatically from her earliest attempts.
He gestured at the parchments spread before him. "Within a month, even those with Lesser affinities will feel themselves growing stronger. Their bodies will grow more resilient, their minds sharper. They'll taste what it means to be a Mage."
"I was under the assumption that this was the intended outcome," Akasha remarked dryly. "Why does this trouble Host?"
A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Tell me, Akasha. What will happen when their Cores are primed for magic and they stand at the threshold of true spellwork, eager to step forward, only to find the way barred by a price they can never pay?"
The concern had gnawed at him for weeks, growing stronger with each lesson he planned.
The masses had never been taught proper magic for reasons beyond mere elitism. It wasn't simply that every Mage hoarded power like a miser hoarded coin. Many genuinely believed in uplifting the downtrodden, sharing Maximilian's noble ideals.
But noble ideals often crashed against harsh realities.
Beyond the astronomical cost of Affinity crystals, beyond their extreme scarcity, another bottleneck strangled the average person's magical potential.
"Is Host worried about the cost of spells?" Akasha guessed correctly.
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Zeke nodded. "Even the simplest cantrip costs more than a laborer earns in a year." He rose from his chair and paced to the window. The Fourth Circle spread out below, smoke rising from countless chimneys as the working folk went about their daily lives. "And that's just for the right to learn it once. They're forbidden from sharing it."
"Such is the established order," Akasha noted. "Host bears no responsibility for systemic inequities."
Golden eyes reflected back at him from the glass, burning with frustration. "It doesn't matter. I'm the one offering them a feast, then telling them they can only smell it." He let out another sigh, deeper this time. "Hope is a dangerous thing to give if you can't deliver on its promise. It curdles into something far worse than simple disappointment."
"Why not distribute Host's accumulated spells?"
Zeke shook his head slowly. "That would have me branded as a thief."
It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. The many spells he had acquired over the years were enough to fill a small library.
"No, Akasha. Those spells belong to their creators and their descendants. Even the most benevolent among them would feel betrayed if I distributed their life's work without permission. It would be the fastest way to unite the entire continent against us."
Akasha's projection went unnaturally still, her way of indicating intense processing. The silence stretched like a taut bowstring.
"Host should create original spells," she said at last.
Zeke shook his head, returning to his desk. "How could it be that simple? These spells would need to be completely original, not based on anything that already exists. And we'd need spells for every possible affinity. Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Lightning, Nature, Life, Metal, Mind..." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Even Time and Space. The research alone would take—"
"Host." The interruption cut through his litany. Akasha leaned forward, ocean-blue eyes sharp as winter ice. "Are you looking down on me?"
The question landed like a slap. Such a profoundly human phrase, delivered with such unexpected intensity. In all their time together, he'd never heard her speak with such... pride?
"I am a Mind Spirit."
The words hung between them, a statement of fact that somehow felt like a battle cry.
"No amount of research is beyond me."
Zeke studied his companion, watching as something that might have been offense flicker across her usually impassive features. His lips curved upward, just slightly. If Akasha felt confident enough to take offense at his doubts, who was he to deny her the chance to prove them unfounded?
It didn't take more than a moment for him to make up his mind.
"…What do you need me to do?"
Akasha smiled, the expression looking almost genuine. "If Host could narrow down the specifications of the spell as much as possible, that would be helpful."
Zeke settled back into his chair, mind already dissecting the problem. He spoke his thoughts as they formed, a stream of consciousness given voice.
"Affinity… Let's start with something challenging. Lightning, maybe. A spell for beginners. It should not draw more Mana than an apprentice can muster. Not an attack spell, then. Support? Yes. But how? Interact with the nervous system? That could work, but what benefit should that bring? Reflexes? No. That would need a lot of control. Maybe something that could drive away drowsiness? A harmless shock of some sort."
The instant he finished speaking, his Core lurched. Invisible hands seized his magical reserves, pulling with desperate hunger. The sensation usually accompanied battle, when he pushed his limits against worthy opponents. To feel it here, in his study's safety, sent his hand instinctively toward a weapon that wasn't there.
The moment the words left his mouth, the draw on his Core intensified. It felt as though invisible hands had seized his magical reserves, pulling with desperate hunger. The sensation was familiar from combat, when he pushed his abilities to their limits, but to feel it here, in the safety of his study, was jarring.
Akasha's projection flickered, her features growing faint as she diverted energy from maintaining her appearance to pure processing power. Her silver hair turned translucent, the blue dress fading until only a faint outline remained.
An hour crawled by. Sweat beaded on Zeke's forehead from the constant drain. His seedlings—those mystical extensions of his Core that marked him as a Grandmage—strained with the effort of sustaining Akasha's work. Just as he began to wonder if he had overtaxed her capabilities, the pull ceased.
Akasha rematerialized instantly, her expression radiating satisfaction.
"Mission accomplished."
"Show me."
With a gesture, she materialized a projection in the air between them. It resembled an excerpt from one of the many spellbooks he had studied. The pattern was elegantly simple: seven nodes connected by flowing lines, forming a three-dimensional shape. Beside it, text appeared in Akasha's characteristically precise script. It was the spell's description—just a few lines, yet it contained everything one needed to know.
Wake Up
Affinity: Lightning
Classification: Cantrip
Effect: Sends a controlled pulse through the nervous system, instantly bringing the caster to full alertness. Secondary effect includes heightened awareness for a time.
Mana Cost: Negligible
Difficulty: Novice
Zeke examined the spell's architecture, admiring its elegant simplicity. Rather than forcing an artificial framework onto the body, it worked with existing neural pathways. Nearly impossible to miscast, trivial to learn, and genuinely useful.
Perfect.
Not a weapon for Warmages or a tool for scholars, but something everyone could use. A way to practice control while gaining practical benefit. How many times had he fought exhaustion with nothing but willpower and bitter tea? How many crucial moments had he faced while struggling against his body's demand for rest?
His gaze shifted from the glowing projection to Akasha's newly solid form. Words formed and died on his tongue. For perhaps the first time in memory, Ezekiel von Hohenheim found himself genuinely speechless.
He'd thought her capabilities impressive when she'd designed the Wraith. This transcended impressive and ventured into the realm of the impossible. Creating an entirely new spell in less time than it took to draw a hot bath?
Scholars devoted lifetimes to such achievements. Entire magical dynasties rose and fell without producing a single original spell. Yet Akasha had crafted one with the same casual efficiency she might use to solve a mathematical equation.
The implications staggered him. Usually, his mind would already be spinning through possibilities, weaving plans within plans. Instead, he simply stared, mouth slightly agape.
Akasha met his gaze, her expression returning to its customary neutrality. Though perhaps—just perhaps—a glimmer of satisfaction lingered in those artificial eyes.
"Well," he finally managed, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and anticipation. "I suppose we're going to be rather busy for a while."