The message arrived on the morning of the final day, carried by a Space Mage whose discretion likely cost nearly as much as the delivery itself. Zeke accepted it at the entrance of his study, noting the official seal of the Magic Association pressed into burgundy wax. The Mage departed without waiting for a response, as none was expected.
He broke the seal and unfolded the expensive parchment, revealing a precise script. The note was brief, almost terse in its formality, yet its implications were anything but.
Lord von Hohenheim,
The Association has completed its review. Maximilian von Hohenheim's One Hundred Free Spells are now available for purchase at all branch offices.
President Isolde extends her regards.
E. Matthias — Senior Administrator
Zeke read the letter twice, then fed it to a nearby candle. The parchment curled and blackened, crumbling into ash that drifted to the floor. It was done. The spells had been released, just as he had demanded.
He moved deeper into his study, passing shelves laden with crystalline instruments and half-finished blueprints, until he reached the place where the morning sun slanted through the high windows. Here, surrounded by the fruits of his labor, Zeke allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
His dramatic exit from the Association building seemed to have served its purpose perfectly. The memory still brought a faint smile to his lips. People always feared most what they did not understand. It did not even matter that, in truth, he could not pose much of a threat to the Association. With one calculated move, he had elevated himself into a figure of mystery. Simply because most would have considered escape impossible.
…And it hadn't even been that difficult.
Akasha had unraveled their setup in moments, her consciousness flowing through the magical matrices like water through a sieve. The ward structure was impressive: layers upon layers of protective magic woven with an artisan's care, yet she found a critical flaw almost immediately.
This enchantment doesn't lock space, Akasha had noted. It merely prevents connection to anchor points.
The distinction was subtle but crucial. The ward designers had built their prison with diligence, yet their work rested on a flawed assumption: that teleportation required a known destination, a fixed point to orient the spatial translation. Without the ability to sense such anchors, a Space Mage would indeed be trapped, as surely as if bound in iron.
Zeke's fingers traced idle patterns in the air as he recalled the sensation. His focus was not on the air itself, but on the very fabric of Space holding everything in place. When he concentrated, he could feel it—an omnipresent force binding the world together—yet most would never even notice its vast, silent strength.
But he could.
His understanding of space had deepened during his time exploring the Cube, and with it, his grasp of the void had become instinctive—like seeing color after a lifetime in monochrome.
The change was hard to explain, but just as one could always recall the general position of objects in relation to oneself, Zeke could do the same on a spatial scale. Even without peering through space, he knew the direction of the ocean, the sky, or even his own mansion.
Simply put, he remembered his way home, not in any of the three dimensions, but in a fourth.
Of course, such an approach carried risks.
Materializing inside solid matter remained a very real possibility, one that would end his ambitions with brutal finality. To avoid such a fate, he had aimed high, calculating an exit point in the air above his estate.
The no-fly zone surrounding a Merchant Lord's property had proven unexpectedly useful.
This trump card had given him the confidence to turn a negotiation into a statement of terms. The President would not risk making an enemy of someone who could bypass the Association's most sophisticated defenses.
Now, with the spells released and the Association's implicit backing, another obstacle was gone. One by one, the pieces were falling into place, allowing him to focus on the things that truly mattered.
Zeke moved to his desk, where his latest experiments awaited. Three drops of blood hung suspended in reinforced crystal vials, each infused with varying degrees of Will.
The concept of return had proven more complex than he had anticipated, but the challenge only fueled his determination.
It wasn't enough to merely command the blood to return; it needed to understand how to return, to navigate the space between departure and destination with something resembling intelligence. Each drop represented hours of meticulous work, layers of intent woven into the very essence of his blood.
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The three vials before him now held three possible solutions to the problem.
Zeke examined the first drop. Its energy was nearly spent, clinging stubbornly to the glass. As he moved, it shifted within the vial, always pointing toward him.
This had been his first breakthrough. Instead of forcing the blood to race back at maximum speed, he had it crawl toward him. This slower, more deliberate movement prevented splattering and allowed it to remain active far longer. Given time, it could navigate around obstacles and return to him as he changed position.
Zeke unscrewed the top of the vial and held his hand above it. Moments later, a wet sensation spread across his skin, followed by the now-familiar feeling of blood slipping through his pores.
This method was simple, reliable, and highly efficient. Blood could be separated for days and still find its way back. Yet it was far from what he envisioned. Its weaknesses were obvious and easy to exploit.
His gaze shifted to the second vial. Though it was an evolution of the first method, calling it merely an improvement would be unfair. It was something entirely new. In seeking a way for his blood to avoid all obstacles, he had been forced to adapt, and the result stood before him now.
This drop still held his Blood Magic Concept of return, but Zeke had woven in another piece of Will, unrelated to blood—drawn from his mastery of Space. It carried the Concept of object avoidance.
At present, the drop drifted in a slow orbit within the vial, endlessly searching for an opening large enough to pass through.
With a faint tremor in his hand, Zeke twisted the cap free and immediately stepped back, heart pounding in anticipation. The tiny red speck wasted no time. It darted toward the opening, curved in midair, and landed squarely in the center of his outstretched palm.
Zeke smiled as the drop merged back into his bloodstream. This was a monumental success and further proof of the advantages multiple affinities offered. Such a feat would have been impossible with his Blood affinity alone. With this breakthrough, the two concepts might finally be refined enough for practical use.
Well. No time like the present to put that assumption to the test.
A crimson needle formed at his fingertip. It was a simple [Blood Needle], one of the most basic Blood Magic spells. Yet even this modest construct had him sweating.
Combining two concepts at once was vastly more difficult than wielding a single one, especially if he hoped to release the spell in a reasonable span of time.
He slashed his hand through the air, releasing the needle at the apex of the motion. It whistled faintly as it flew, striking the reinforced training dummy in the corner and embedding itself in its forehead.
Zeke held his breath, eyes locked on the sliver of crimson still protruding from the dummy's skull.
"Come on," he murmured, pupils narrowing.
After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, the needle finally moved. Its rigid form softened, coalesced, and shot toward him in a straight line. Zeke's lips twitched upwards. An initial success, but far from enough. This time, instead of catching the drop, he dodged.
The red dot whistled past, curved sharply, and came at him again. Zeke slid behind his desk, rolled underneath, and emerged on the other side. The drop followed flawlessly, avoiding every obstacle in its path.
He launched himself backward toward the far wall, the drop pursuing relentlessly. A book flew toward it, then a second and a third. Volumes Zeke had snatched from his desk now served as moving obstacles.
The drop twisted and veered, navigating around them like a skilled airship pilot avoiding enemy craft.
It was an impressive display. While it failed to choose the most efficient paths—lacking the ability to plan ahead—it still achieved its goal.
Zeke's back struck the study wall, halting his retreat. Accepting the inevitable, he stood still. A moment later, a wet splash landed on the bridge of his nose, followed by the familiar sensation of blood seeping back into his body.
Zeke allowed himself a small smile.
Though he couldn't use this in actual combat just yet, his progress was remarkable. Once he could use these concepts comfortably, they would shore up one of his biggest weaknesses.
The road to that end, however, would be far from easy. Days, weeks, or even months of relentless repetition would be necessary to make them second nature. Only then could he use them with any degree of confidence.
Yet there was no doubt in Zeke's mind that he would reach that goal in time. If he had to name one thing he wasn't afraid of, it would be hard work.
His gaze shifted to the third and final vial.
The drop within lay still. It had not yet lost its form, but it showed no inclination to seek him out. Another failure.
Buoyed by his initial success with combining two concepts, he had attempted something far more ambitious. In this third vial, instead of using only a Blood and Space concept, he had tried to add a Mind concept as well.
The Concept of Planning.
He had hoped to eliminate the last weakness in his current approach, creating drops that could choose the most efficient path, immune to traps or diversions. It would have been the ultimate Return concept.
But every attempt had ended in failure.
While Return and Object Avoidance worked well on their own, the addition of Planning seemed to render even those functions useless.
There had to be something he was missing, something he had not yet considered...
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock at the door.
"What is it?"
"Lord von Hohenheim, there is a visitor."
Zeke's attention sharpened, his senses stretching toward the main gate. His spatial awareness now reached far enough to encompass it, and there he perceived a carriage. Though he could not see inside, the crest painted on its side told him everything he needed to know.
"The Empire?" he asked aloud.
"Yes, milord. The ambassador seeks an audience."
The ambassador. Azra had come.
If asked whether he was surprised, Zeke would have denied it. After all he had done, it was only a matter of time before the pretender sought him out again. That much had been easy to predict. What truly interested him was the ambassador's attitude this time.
During their last meeting, Azra had tried to appear amiable, urging him to surrender peacefully. By now, the man must have realized such an approach was utterly useless. But what would he try next?
Threats?
Bribes?
Anger?
Pleading?
The corners of Zeke's mouth lifted. The thought of the spider's antics filled him with anticipation. Naturally, he could not fully let his guard down against an opponent like Azra, but he could not deny how much their positions had shifted.
Azra had played his cards, rousing the upper crust of Tradespire against him, only for Zeke to ignore the effort entirely. He no longer cared if these people thought he had perverted Maximilian's dreams, or that he had forced the children into his service, or whatever else Azra whispered into their ears.
These soft-bellied cowards would change their tune with the wind.
Their outrage came with a price tag, their opinions swayed by gold. It was foolish to reason with them in the first place.
Zeke opened the door, meeting the servant outside. "Show him to the audience chamber. I'll meet with him shortly."