Trinity of Magic

Book 6: Prologue: Undercurrent

The grand chamber was a monument to absolute power.

Vast and gilded, its marble floors shimmered beneath fractured light streaming from stained-glass windows. Each pane depicted scenes of triumph, conquest, and dominion, but always with a singular motif at their core: the elements—fire, water, wind, and earth.

Towering columns adorned with runes of conquest reached toward a vaulted ceiling, where an imposing fresco dominated the room. It showed the four elements once more, their shapes intertwined in a spiraling vortex, subdued and commanded by an indomitable force at the center.

But the hall was utterly empty. No councilors whispered behind pillars, no guards stood vigil. It was a room that needed no witnesses, for its master ruled alone.

Otto Geistreich strode purposefully across the chamber, his polished boots striking the floor with a deliberate rhythm. His dark military uniform, adorned with medals and silver trim, framed a man who carried the weight of his duties with quiet precision. A thick leather dossier rested under his arm, its contents chronicling the war’s developments.

At the heart of the chamber, a towering construct of obsidian and gold gleamed with unnatural light. Its surface was adorned with intricate sigils and etched patterns that shifted subtly, pulsing in time with an unseen rhythm.

Otto came to a halt at a respectful distance, falling to one knee. “Loyalty to the Empire,” he announced himself.

There was no verbal response from the dais, but it was clear that his words had sparked some response as the empty platform began to shimmer. A moment later, a being flickered into existence. A spectral form hovered there—a faceless, translucent figure cloaked in shadows.

Otto lowered his head. “Your Majesty.”

The figure gave no reply, but the air around Otto seemed to grow heavier, charged with an unseen force. Taking this as his cue, he opened the dossier and began to speak.

"Your Majesty, the situation at the front grows more dire by the day," Otto reported, his tone factual and devoid of any attempt to soften the grim reality. "More than half of our forward bases have already fallen, and the Earthen Legion is struggling to keep up with repairs. The Fire Legion is facing fierce resistance from the Blood Mages, who, with support from long-range specialists, have made it impossible for us to advance further. Even with reinforcements from the Wind Legion, the tide of battle remains unchanged.

"While we still hold control of the seas, without a viable landing point or support from land forces, this advantage cannot be exploited. As a result, the Water Legion remains idle."

Otto lifted his gaze from the ledger, the weight of its detailed accounts lingering in his mind. The files held precise figures and summaries of every battle fought, but he knew better than to burden the Emperor with such minutiae. The supreme ruler of Arkanheim trusted Otto's judgment implicitly—if there were any irregularities or unexpected developments, he would have already brought them to light.

Besides, Otto was certain the Emperor already knew every detail of the war, perhaps even more thoroughly than he did. The ruler of Arkanheim was a figure of unfathomable insight, his awareness extending across the entire continent. Few things, if any, could evade his all-seeing eyes and ever-listening ears.

“In summary,” Otto concluded. “The enemy continues their advance unimpeded. At this rate, they will push us back to the western flank within weeks. Some of our bigger strongholds may hold for a time, but their fall is inevitable.” He paused, closing the dossier with a sharp snap. “Our supply lines are faltering, morale is plummeting, and every day we lose ground. This... is the state of the war.”

The proxy remained silent, its shadowed form unmoving. For a moment, the vastness of the chamber seemed to swallow Otto whole, the oppressive quiet pressing down on him.

Finally, the figure stirred. Its voice, when it came, was devoid of warmth or inflection, a deep and resonant tone that seemed to echo from all directions.

“Proceed as planned.”

Otto stiffened. “Your Majesty, if I may...” He hesitated, glancing at the faceless projection before him. “Are you certain the time is right? If we continue along this path—there will be no turning back. No retreat. No second chances. I am uncertain if the Empire will be able to survive the coming storm.”

The figure tilted its head slightly, a gesture that carried an almost imperceptible weight.

“All that I do,” it intoned, “is for the greater good. You will execute the plan, Otto. Concern yourself only with the tasks I have given you. The empire will endure.”

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Otto’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

The moment his words ended, the figure raised a spectral hand. From the obsidian surface of the construct, tendrils of light snaked upward, forming an ephemeral map of the empire. It shimmered with ghostly luminescence, showing the boundaries of their realm and the encroaching enemy forces. Tiny pinpricks of light flickered at the empire’s edges, slowly extinguishing one by one, each a silent testament to lost strongholds.

Otto watched the display in awe. The display was a perfect depiction of the developments of the last couple of months, from their initial invasion to the stalled front lines and the inevitable counterattack. A team of dedicated scholars, given a month and all relevant reports, couldn’t have created a more perfect recreation.

For the Emperor, this extraordinary display had required nothing more than a casual gesture.

"Hmmm," the shadowed figure murmured, observing the final form of the projection. Then, silence. For over a minute, the room remained still, and Otto didn’t dare so much as shift his stance during the pause.

“You have done well,” the Emperor finally spoke, his voice devoid of warmth despite the praise. “The losses were less severe than projected, yet sufficient to deceive our enemies. The balance was expertly maintained.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Otto replied, a faint tension easing from his posture.

“The next part of the plan,” it continued, “will be the most crucial part of the war. I expect you to perform up to expectation there as well.”

"As you command," Otto replied without hesitation, though a knot of unease coiled tighter in his chest. The Empire had prepared meticulously, its hidden forces far more advanced than the world suspected. Yet, even that did not seem sufficient. This next move would thrust them squarely into the crosshairs of the entire continent.

No longer would the allied nations merely observe as their neighbors faltered against the Empire's might. Whether they achieved victory or suffered defeat, their actions would unite the world in opposition. Otto could already envision the overwhelming forces that would rise against them. The power of the opposing Exarchs alone could crush legions and reduce cities to ash.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Yet the Emperor showed no sign of concern. Otto knew it was impossible for a mind as sharp as his to overlook such a peril.

There must be a hidden plan, Otto reasoned. Some secret contingency that even he, the Chancellor of the Empire and the closest to the Emperor’s inner circle, was not privy to.

The thought unsettled him deeply, but he knew there was no questioning it. The Emperor’s words were law, and to defy them was unthinkable.

Instead, he spoke of another matter that troubled him. “What if the Eternal Witch makes a move, your Majesty? As you know, she is not bound by the covenant of the Exarchs, yet her power is no less than theirs. I would be hard-pressed to execute the plan if she were to join the war effort.”

“Aurelia…” the silhouette murmured, a faint trace of emotion threading through his voice for the first time. It wasn’t hostility or caution, but something closer to nostalgia, a deep and poignant memory stirring within. However, the moment was fleeting. His voice quickly returned to its usual stoic tone as he continued.

“You need not concern yourself with her. If she chooses to intervene, someone suitable will handle her.”

The words sent a jolt through Otto, more shocking than anything the Emperor had said so far. Someone suitable? Was such a person even conceivable?

It was widely acknowledged that Aurelia Thorsten, the Eternal Witch, was unparalleled below the level of Exarch. Even a coalition of Archmages would struggle to delay her, much less defeat her outright. For the Emperor to speak so casually of confronting her left Otto reeling, his mind racing to grasp the implications.

Was the Emperor planning to intervene personally?

The thought was unsettling. Such an action would not only violate the covenant but also went against everything Otto knew about the Emperor. He was not a man who stepped onto the battlefield unless absolutely necessary.

Then, did it mean there truly was someone capable of opposing the Eternal Witch?

One name surfaced in Otto's mind: Maximilian von Hohenheim.

A prodigy in his own right, Maximilian had been a peerless talent, advancing to Archmage despite possessing multiple affinities—a feat as rare as it was astonishing. He might have been one of the few who could stand against the Eternal Witch. But Maximilian was long dead. Otto himself had overseen his burial. He had seen the cold, lifeless body with his own eyes.

Even then, as remarkable as Maximilian had been, Otto doubted he could have matched Aurelia in a prolonged confrontation.

Still, questioning the Emperor was pointless. If His Majesty stated there was someone suitable to face the Witch, then it was simply a fact. Whatever plans lay hidden within the Emperor’s mind were beyond Otto’s understanding—and perhaps, he thought grimly, better left that way.

“I will obey,” Otto said simply. Life was far easier when he abandoned pointless speculation. In the grand scheme of the Empire, he was nothing more than a tool in the Emperor’s arsenal—a fact he had long accepted. He harbored no illusions of being irreplaceable. The very fact that he had risen to his current station without being directly bound to the Emperor’s will was an anomaly.

It was an unprecedented display of trust, one Otto was determined to honor. Failure was not an option. Disobedience was not an option. There was only one path: absolute adherence to the Emperor's commands.

As if sensing the resolution solidify in Otto’s mind, the Emperor’s voice rang out again, calm yet final. “I see that you understand. You are dismissed.”

With those words, the phantom's presence vanished, leaving Otto kneeling alone before the empty dais.

Finally, Otto allowed himself to relax fully. The report had gone as well as he could have hoped. Though he left with more questions than answers, his path forward was once again clear.

Yet, as he stood and prepared to leave, a profound weight seemed to settle over him. It was as if another mountain had been added to his already burdened shoulders. Despite the Emperor’s reassurances, the unease in his mind lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

The years ahead promised to be turbulent, and a quiet anxiety gnawed at him. Would the Empire truly emerge unscathed when the storm finally passed?