With one last glance, Zeke vanished from the stage.
Though he would have liked to linger a little longer, to savor Azra’s pale face, staying would only harm his cause.
He had humiliated the Merchant Lords, forcing them to reveal their hypocrisy before the entire public. It had been a calculated play, down to the smallest detail. And Zeke knew, with absolute certainty, that none of the Lords would dare risk exiling him now.
Whatever Azra had offered, whatever promises he had made, only mattered if they still retained their positions. And who would gamble their foundations for a fleeting favor?
Some people might, driven by justice, righteousness, or an emotional outburst. But such people would never become Merchant Lords in the first place.
The only way his ploy could fail was if he drove them past the point of reason, if their rage outweighed their logic. So far, he had not crossed that line. But if he pressed further, there would come a moment when they could no longer endure.
Rationality had its limits. Even in the most calculating mind.
That was why Zeke chose to leave. He had made his point. He had shown his claws and vented much of his frustration. Now it was time to step back, to let them perform their song and dance in whatever way they pleased.
His senses were already piercing the void, locking onto his study in the Third Circle. It was time to go home.
In an instant, the spatial membrane engulfed his body, and he slipped into the void. With flawless execution, honed over countless repetitions, the journey lasted no more than the blink of an eye.
Yet in that fleeting moment, Zeke felt something he had never experienced before. His stomach lurched, and a strange force tugged at him. Not a grip, not a hold—more like a subtle pull, subtle but undeniable, bending his course.
He exhaled in relief as the physical world solidified around him, grateful not to find himself fused into a wall or scattered into a thousand pieces.
But… what in the name of Magic had that been?
Since his first disastrous attempt at void travel, he had never again felt such peril. Until now. It had come out of nowhere, defying all logic.
[Warning.]
Something is wrong…
Zeke’s mind snapped into sharp focus. He tried to extend his senses, to spread his Sphere of Awareness, but… nothing came.
He couldn’t perceive a single thing beyond his own body.
And that wasn’t the only problem. The surroundings were all wrong. Instead of the familiar shelves and desk of his study, he stood in a room he had never seen before.
This… wasn’t his home.
“That is an interesting spell,” a voice said from behind.
Zeke whirled, the loss of his spatial awareness leaving him far more skittish than usual.
A few steps away stood a man. His skin carried the faint grayish hue of Cosmoa’s people, but unlike their typical gleaming bald heads, this one had flowing black hair that reached all the way to his hips.
Zeke instinctively tried to gauge the man’s level—only to realize he couldn’t sense the surrounding Mana at all. That left only two possibilities. Either his Core was damaged, or…
“…I greet the Exarch,” Zeke said, taking a gamble.
The man smiled, confirming his guess without words.
“Did you bring me here, senior?” Zeke asked.
The man nodded, not attempting to deny it.
Zeke’s mind raced, trying to unravel the situation. Was he in danger? The man didn’t radiate hostility, but that hardly changed the fact that he had been abducted. He needed to tread with utmost caution. First, he had to confirm whose hands he had fallen into.
“Are you an Exarch of Space, senior?”
Another nod.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The man’s silence persisted, his eyes studying Zeke intently. It felt as though he was testing him, watching to see how he would respond. That could be a good sign—or a very bad one.
Still, Zeke had learned something vital. An Exarch of Space. That narrowed the possibilities considerably. To his knowledge, only two such figures existed: one, the ruler of Cosmoa, and the other, in service to King Midas. From what he had heard, they were father and son.
Could it be Cosmoa?
Zeke shook his head immediately. Though he had recently reached out to them in hopes of securing a tutor for Keiran, this was unlikely to be them. Even if they desired Keiran's perfect Affinity, this was overkill. To abduct a Merchant Lord from his home city bordered on an act of war.
Besides, Zeke doubted anyone could pull it off—not even Cosmoa. Tradespire had its own Exarch of Space. That left only one possibility.
“Did Midas send for me?” Zeke asked, certain of his guess.
The man clapped slowly. “That didn’t take long at all. Not bad, little one.”
Zeke shrugged. The compliment did little to ease his unease. Learning that Midas was behind this brought him no comfort. The true intentions of the Merchant King were unknown. In fact, Zeke thought he might have felt more at ease had this been Cosmoa’s doing.
“First, let me apologize for bringing you here in such a manner. It must have been… uncomfortable.”
Zeke’s ears perked up. Though the sense of danger hadn’t lessened, his inquisitive mind seized on those words like a glutton smelling a feast.
“If you don’t mind me asking… how did you do that?”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Zeke’s voice carried a steely resolve. If there was one thing he took pride in, it was his grasp of magical principles, especially those concerning Space. Countless days spent inside the World Anchor, pressing against the boundaries of its internal dimension, had given him an intuitive understanding that few could rival.
It was that very comprehension which had once allowed him to escape under the gaze of the Magic Association and even its president.
The Exarch’s eyes narrowed at his tone, but after a pause, he seemed to dismiss it as irrelevant.
“You might not know this, but whenever you travel through the Void, you are not truly moving—you are being pulled.”
Interesting.
“By locking onto an Anchor, you establish a connection to a point in the physical world. That is the only method most Mages know.”
Zeke nodded. He was well aware of that much. But the way the Exarch phrased it suggested there were other methods—better ones.
“Now, if you can perceive the Void as I do,” the man continued, “and see the threads connecting a Mage to the physical world, then you can alter their trajectory.” His hand made a motion, casting outward and reeling back in. “Like a fisherman with his line.”
Zeke’s eyes gleamed. He had no means of using this method, but the mere confirmation that it was possible already sparked a dozen ideas. It was true what they said: a few words from a master could bring more enlightenment than a year of self-study.
“Thank you, senior.”
The man waved a hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. It’s the least I could do after ruining your triumphant return.”
Zeke’s mind faltered at those words. There was an implication there. “You know what was happening in front of the Great Hall?”
The Exarch chuckled. “Did you think you were the only one who could use Space to spy on others?”
Zeke’s jaw nearly dropped. He didn’t know what shocked him more: the confirmation that this man knew about his spell and how he had been using it, or the casual admission that he possessed a similar ability.
How much had he seen? Did he find out about the World Anchor? Was that the reason Zeke had been brought here?
No.
If they knew about the Anchor, if they could detect it with this method, they wouldn’t have waited so long to act. That treasure was valuable enough that even the dwarves would have broken their sacred laws of hospitality for it…
“You’ve gone awfully pale there. Got some secrets, don’t you?” the man said with a grin.
Zeke smoothed his expression, wrangling his emotions back under control.
Calm down. Think. Assess the situation clearly.
Nothing about his reactions so far should seem unusual. After all, anyone would look unsettled after discovering they’d been spied on. What Merchant Lord didn’t have secrets worth keeping?
As expected, the man confirmed his suspicions at once.
“Don’t worry. I usually refrain from intruding on others’ privacy,” he said, pausing with a faint smile. “…Unless they give me a good reason not to.”
Zeke dipped his head in acknowledgment, though his thoughts told a different story. He doubted courtesy was the only reason for the man’s restraint.
With a similar ability himself, Zeke knew the true shortcomings of this method. The sheer flood of information a spatial sense could gather was overwhelming, far more than any mind could process. This man wasn’t a Mind Mage, and he certainly didn’t have a Spirit like Akasha to sift through the torrent.
Granted, Zeke didn’t know the full extent of an Exarch’s capabilities, but he would wager even they had limits.
“I appreciate it,” Zeke murmured, making sure to lace the right amount of tension into his voice.
“Well then,” the man said, pointing over his shoulder. “Shall we get going?”
“…Going?”
“As much as I’ve enjoyed this little chat, I didn’t use such an elaborate method to bring you here out of sheer boredom.”
Zeke’s mind whirled. Indeed, there was something he hadn’t considered. The manner of his abduction was peculiar. If the King truly wanted to see him, he could have summoned him openly.
There was only one reason for such a method.
“…A secret summons?”
“You catch on quickly, young man,” the Exarch said, though it sounded more like irritation than praise.
So it was true. That left only two possibilities. Either the King intended to deal with him in private, disposing of a nuisance without consequence, or—far more likely—the King himself didn’t want it known that they were meeting.
Now things were getting interesting.
Zeke hadn’t expected someone of Midas’ stature and influence to feel the need for such pretenses. Who could he possibly be hiding this from? After all, Zeke had no powerful backers who would seek justice if Midas chose to mistreat him. If anything, it was the reverse—Midas had been the backer Zeke relied on to deter others.
His gaze drifted over the man’s shoulder to a simple wooden door. Outwardly unremarkable, yet its presence pressed against him like a weight. Whatever lay beyond that threshold, it would be no trivial matter.