Zeke stood at the edge of his estate grounds, taking in the view. Tradespire sprawled beneath him, smoke rising from homes and workshops in thin columns that merged with the morning haze. The third circle hummed with its usual chaos—wagons grinding through narrow streets, voices bartering from every direction, the rhythmic clang of hammers echoing across rooftops.
Today was the day. Or at least, he hoped it would be.
It was the day he had set for his forces to gather. So far, he hadn't heard back from any of them. Two Wraiths had been sent into the Wilderness to escort his Bloodguard, though Zeke had no news of their progress. For all he knew, they could still be weeks away on some distant assignment.
He had also sent word to David—the only Archmage officially under his command. Zeke knew the former butler had grown attached to his work in Undercity and to the people there, but he still hoped David would answer the summons in time.
Otherwise, all his efforts over the past week would have been for nothing.
His gaze drifted toward the large hangar, and by extension, to what waited inside. Neither his pale face nor the dark circles beneath his eyes could hide the pride he felt at what they had achieved. Akasha had truly outdone herself this time. No matter how often he saw it, her tireless mind and unmatched precision could accomplish in days what would take an army of craftsmen months to complete.
Without her, none of this would have been possible.
A tingle in the back of his mind pulled him from his thoughts—a physical cue the Spirit had taken to using whenever something required his attention. It didn't take him long to figure out what it was. Two large shapes were approaching the airspace above his estate. Yet when he looked up, there was nothing to be seen.
That could only mean one thing.
A smile spread across his face as he strode toward the open courtyard beneath the spot where he sensed the shapes hovering.
He arrived just in time. Two black silhouettes shimmered into existence, materializing out of thin air. The Wraiths descended with the mechanical precision he expected from his creations—faster, smoother, and far more graceful than any airship built by mortal hands.
With a soft, almost inaudible thud, they landed on the perfectly manicured lawn before him.
Zeke's heartbeat quickened.
The ships had returned—but had they succeeded? Would he march to war with an army at his back, or alone?
The cargo hatch opened at a maddeningly slow pace, every grinding sound stretching his nerves taut.
Then, finally, sunlight spilled into the interior of the craft.
Zeke sensed it before he saw it: a large, black shape hurtling toward him with the speed of a loosed arrow. A heartbeat later, two powerful arms wrapped around him in a vise-like grip that even he couldn't break.
Not that he wanted to.
The embrace was warm—really warm—with a faint scent of sulfur and ash. What might have repulsed others instead filled Zeke with a deep sense of nostalgia.
Vulcanos.
Laughing from the depths of his heart, Zeke returned the embrace with equal force, doing his best to crush the ribcage of the towering figure before him.
The touching reunion quickly turned into a contest of strength—a contest Zeke was losing fast. Without drawing on his Draconic Essence, his body was still no match for a Chimeroi of Vulcanos' caliber.
With a quick flare of mana, Zeke slipped free from the losing struggle and reappeared a few steps away, finally getting a good look at his old comrade.
Vulcanos seemed to have grown since they last met, now towering a full head taller. The body that had once been gaunt was now filled with hardened muscle, giving his already imposing frame an even more monstrous presence. But the most striking change was the network of fiery lines that crisscrossed his jet-black skin, glowing like molten cracks in volcanic rock.
They were brighter than Zeke had ever seen them. Even before the battle that had left the Chimeroi broken, those lines had never burned so vividly.
At last, Zeke met Vulcanos's gaze. He stood patiently, a wide, confident smile on his face.
"Well? How do I look, Master?" he asked, grin widening.
"Good. Really good. I'm glad," Zeke said—and he meant it. Leaving Vulcanos behind in such a pitiful state had been one of his lingering regrets. Though Gravitas had promised to care for him, the worry had never quite left Zeke's mind.
Now, at last, that burden had been lifted.
"A pain in the ass—that's what you truly look like."
The voice made Zeke smile. Behind Vulcanos, more figures began to emerge. The first was the one who had spoken—tall, slender, and still wearing a veil that covered the lower half of her face. Gravitas.
A faint sparkle lit her violet eyes as their gazes met, and she dipped her head in greeting. "Master."
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Behind her, the Bloodguard filed out of the airship in perfect order. One might have assumed their serpentine lower bodies would make marching in formation impossible, yet the opposite was true. Their synchronized, sinuous movements gave the impression of precision beyond anything a conventional army could display.
Zeke watched in stunned silence.
Was this really the same band of prisoners he had entrusted to Gravitas only months ago? Discipline, pride, confidence, and lethal purpose radiated from every one of them. The transformation was nothing short of astounding.
A wide smile spread across his face. "I knew I made the right choice putting you in charge."
Gravitas shook her head. "I did not do this alone."
Zeke followed her gaze to the second vessel. Besides the first, another formation of soldiers was disembarking with the same impeccable discipline. His eyes skimmed over them only briefly before locking onto the woman leading the formation.
White hair. An impossibly long spear slung across her back. And—most striking of all—human legs. Aside from the slitted pupils, she appeared completely human. Zeke recognized her instantly.
Zelkara.
The last surviving pureblood daughter of the Frostscale Progenitor. She had been mortally wounded after the war, barely conscious when she swore her oath to the Bloodguard. Zeke remembered how he and Akasha had done what they could to save her, though he had doubted she would survive.
Yet here she was.
The two formations halted before him, merging seamlessly into one. Zelkara dropped to one knee, her gaze lowered in respect. Behind her, three hundred Bloodguard moved as one, mirroring her perfectly.
"We greet the Progenitor!"
The words thundered as though spoken by a single voice, echoing across the estate grounds. Windows flew open as startled onlookers craned their necks to see the source of the roar.
Zeke couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.
He had left behind a group of prisoners on a whim, hoping they might one day prove useful. He had even told Gravitas he wouldn't mind if only a handful survived the training.
But this—
Their numbers hadn't diminished at all, and yet the change in them was staggering. Discipline. Pride. Unity. Lethal purpose radiated from every one of them.
He still couldn't fathom how such a transformation had been possible.
A surprise, certainly—but a welcome one. It seemed he wouldn't have to face the Empire alone after all.
Though, as it turned out, the surprises weren't over yet.
After Zelkara and her troops, a smaller group of warriors emerged from the airship. Their discipline didn't match the Bloodguard's, but Zeke knew better than to mistake their relaxed demeanor for weakness. He even recognized some of them from the final battle.
Icefang warriors.
And not recruits, either—these were hardened veterans.
And leading them was—
"Ash?"
Zeke's gaze locked onto the man. Gray, tousled hair, furry ears peeking through—clean-shaven now, but unmistakably Ash.
When they had last spoken, Zeke had assumed the Chimeroi would settle down in Winter's domain and finally enjoy the peace he'd earned. That was why he hadn't summoned him. And yet, here he was, with a few dozen of Winter's finest at his back.
Zeke stepped past the still-kneeling Bloodguard, momentarily forgetting them, and approached his old friend. "Why are you here?"
Ash smiled—a mix of genuine warmth and faint embarrassment. "...It turned out to be harder than I thought to leave all this behind."
Zeke nodded, his expression softening. He wouldn't make light of the confession. He understood it too well. The drive to grow stronger burned in him constantly, consuming every waking moment. He often wondered what would remain of him if that fire ever went out.
Maybe one day he'd find out.
He clasped forearms with Ash, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face. All three of his old companions had returned to him. It was a comforting thought—to know they stood by his side, not because of orders, but because they chose to.
Then the moment passed, and Zeke could no longer ignore the dozens of hungry eyes fixed on him. "I couldn't help but notice you didn't come alone. Let me guess—Winter doesn't want his daughter becoming a widow before she even gets married?"
Ash chuckled at the jab but shook his head. "You're wrong about that. The tribe didn't move for Snow's sake this time. This was Winter's idea."
Zeke's brows furrowed. He knew Winter held him in decent regard, but the Progenitor was not the nurturing type. The Father of Wolves believed that flowers grown in a greenhouse could never compare to those that had survived storms on their own.
So why send help now, unprompted and without demanding anything in return?
Ash seemed to read the question on his face. "Your airships impressed him more than you think. It shocked him to see what human minds can create these days."
Zeke's gaze shifted from Ash to the Wraith and back again as realization dawned. "He's… currying favor? With me?"
Ash shrugged. "What can I say? He was really impressed."
Zeke nodded slowly, his eyes drifting over the Icefang warriors surrounding them. Their expressions were filled with reverence—echoes of their shared stand during the war.
"I'm honored to have you," he said, meeting their eyes one by one. "To stand once more beside the warriors of the Icefang tribe is a blessing I had not expected."
The words landed perfectly. Winter's tribe valued two things above all else—battle and praise—and Zeke had just offered both. The warriors' faces lit up with excitement, and from their expressions, he wouldn't have been surprised if their tails had started to wag.
"The honor is ours, ancient blood," one of them said. "Only death will pry us from your side."
Zeke's heart swelled. It seemed his deeds had not been forgotten by the tribesmen. But before he could reply, a commotion near the gate drew his attention.
He turned and came face-to-face with another group approaching from the entrance.
"We aren't late, are we?"
A bright smile, a slightly disheveled suit, and the familiar hint of stubble on his chin.
"You made it."
David grinned. "Would I dare refuse a summons?"
Zeke smirked. "You'd better not, or I'll have to catch up to you just to kick your ass."
The butler stopped a few paces away and dipped into a perfectly executed bow. Disheveled or not, decades of training in etiquette were not so easily undone.
"Nothing would make me happier, young lord."
Zeke's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "I'm glad you're here, David."
David straightened to his full height, posture flawless once again despite his casual air.
"Always."
The moment was interrupted by the crowd that had followed in his wake. They split into two distinct groups: one composed of winged, scaled figures—hulking beings that looked more monster than man—and the other covered in striped yellow fur, their feline eyes scanning the surroundings with predatory focus.
At their head stood two familiar figures.
Elder Dragon and Elder Tiger.
Zeke's questioning gaze shifted to David.
The man merely shrugged, as if the matter were trivial. "Undercity has grown too peaceful for their kind."
It wasn't much of an explanation, but Zeke understood the gist. "You've grown bored?" he asked the two Elders directly.
"Do you want our help or not?" Elder Tiger shot back.
Zeke nodded eagerly. Though he hadn't planned for their arrival, the surprise was a welcome one.
Slowly, his gaze swept over the gathered crowd filling the vast grounds of his estate. Humans, Elves, Chimeroi. Hundreds of them.
All had come at his call. And now, he would lead them into battle—into the first true war he had ever fought.