Trinity of Magic

"Please step into the center of the circle, sir."

Zeke complied, his curiosity piqued as he observed the process. Technically, this was his first time using an official gate, as he had previously traveled with his own Magic. The procedure seemed overly intricate, requiring multiple layers of verification on both sides. Perhaps the stringent checks were due to the fact that he was leaving human territory.

After a short wait, the Archmage overseeing the transportation finally gave him the go-ahead. "They’re ready to receive you now, sir. Are you prepared? This can be rather disorientying if you’re not accustomed to it."

Zeke allowed himself a small smile and briefly flared his Space affinity. The Archmage’s posture eased noticeably, a nod of understanding accompanying his relaxed demeanor. "Ah, I see. I suppose this won’t be an issue for you then. Safe travels, sir."

With those words, Zeke felt the space around him solidify, locking him in place with an unyielding force. It was far beyond anything he could achieve, and he was certain that no amount of struggle would free him from this invisible prison. This was the undeniable difference in power between an Archmage and a Grand Mage.

Moments later, he sensed a membrane of spatial Mana beginning to envelop him, spreading from head to toe. If not for his enhanced perception, the entire process would have been over in the blink of an eye. Now, experiencing it in slowed detail, Zeke could fully appreciate the precision and skill of the Archmage's work.

He could replicate something similar at a comparable speed—but only for himself. Encasing another person in spatial Mana would take him significantly longer, and the difficulty would increase dramatically if the target moved. This explained why he had been immobilized beforehand.

Soon, his body was encased in a robust cocoon of spatial Mana, and Zeke felt the familiar pull of a connection forming with another location. No matter how much he heightened his perception, he couldn’t detect the traversal of space itself. One moment, he stood in Tradespire; the next, he was in a nearly identical location, though manned by a completely different set of people.

“Welcome to Stonehearth, Ezekiel of Tradespire,” a voice greeted him.

Zeke looked up and saw a human addressing him. This was expected—dwarves, after all, couldn’t develop a spatial affinity. In fact, humans were the only race on the continent capable of mastering the domains of Space and Time. It was one of the reasons for their dominance.

He nodded respectfully at the Archmage. “Am I good to go?”

The man returned the gesture with a friendly smile. “Yes, you’re properly registered with the network, and the Department of Immigration has already approved your visit. There’s no restriction on how long you may stay.”

Zeke was pleasantly surprised by how smooth the process had been. Compared to his journey to Korrovan, this was worlds apart. He recalled sneaking through the land with Leo, avoiding roads and settlements, their every move shrouded in caution. Back then, they had looked more like beggars or thieves than travelers.

But he hadn’t had a choice. As a mere True Mage, nearly anyone posed a threat. Even a small group of wandering Grandmages could have overwhelmed him. And with the bounty on his head, there had been no shortage of people eager to try.

Fortunatly, the situation was entirely different now. With his current strength, Zeke no longer feared Grandmages. Of course, he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he could defeat all of them in a head-on fight—far from it. However, with his repertoire of spells and abilities, he was confident in his ability to escape nearly any peril.

His mastery of a perception-slowing technique, combined with his lightning-fast teleportation, made him a nightmare for attackers and nearly impossible to pin down. This was one of the reasons he had opted to travel alone. Though his mansion was staffed with capable guards, they would only hinder his movements if he needed to make a swift retreat.

As for an Archmage attacking him?

Zeke dismissed that notion outright. For one, Archmages couldn’t move freely without strict oversight, and those who did were typically under constant supervision. Especially here, in dwarven territory, the likelihood of encountering an Archmage from the Empire was virtually nonexistent.

Moreover, Zeke was confident in his ability to evade most Archmages. Only when faced with a Space or Time Mage would things become tricky. However, such specialists were far too valuable to be deployed as expendable assets, and he had never heard of them being used in such a manner.

Zeke gave the man a final nod before making his way toward the exit. The structure of teleportation gates was fairly standardized, so navigating wasn’t difficult. Before long, he was stepping outside, his heart pounding with an excitement he hadn’t experienced in ages.

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The first thing that greeted him was a blast of scorching air. It was so dry and intense that it made his skin tingle, as if a flame’s tongue were brushing against him. The sensation was startling. If even Zeke, with his enhanced strength and resilience, felt it this strongly, how would an ordinary person fare? Likely, they’d suffer severe burns just by standing here.

His gaze swept across the landscape, searching for the source of the oppressive heat. But instead of pinpointing a single origin, he quickly realized the truth: the heat came from everywhere. Finding a place untouched by its relentless presence would have been the real challenge.

Zeke stepped outside, finding himself before a railing crafted from gleaming black steel, seamlessly fused with the stone platform beneath his feet. The craftsmanship was impeccable, but he hardly noticed, his attention stolen by the breathtaking sight before him.

The city unfolded like a colossal, inverted pyramid, its monumental scale almost incomprehensible. Tier after tier of stone terraces descended deep into the earth, each layer glowing with veins of molten metal that bathed the city in a fiery, golden light. Homes, shops, and workshops were carved directly into the walls, their facades adorned with intricate runes and elaborate murals that told stories of the dwarves’ legacy.

From his elevated position, Zeke observed streams of people bustling along streets etched into the terraces, the layers alive with purpose and industry. Steam hissed and coiled into the air from vents and pipes embedded in the stone, while the clang of hammers and the whir of machinery formed a relentless, rhythmic symphony.

As his gaze drifted downward, the air seemed to shimmer with heat, a tangible distortion rising from the city’s core.

At the very bottom of the pit, a pulsing, fiery glow emanated like the heart of a living giant. Zeke knew immediately what it was: the Omniforge. The forge, powered by ancient geothermal veins running deep beneath the mountain, burned with an intensity unmatched anywhere else. It was the lifeblood of Stonehearth, the source of its power and pride.

Before Zeke could lose himself in the sight of the city, a sudden noise broke his focus—gears grinding and metal scraping. With a loud screech, a massive metal platform descended from above, coming to a halt right beside him. The land bridge, now stationary, connected his terrace to the one on his left.

Zeke glanced around and saw that similar platforms were installed all around the city. They moved up and down constantly, providing a quick way to travel between the layers. The large, movable terraces could easily transport goods, and, as Zeke watched, a group of dwarves quickly boarded the platform.

Fascinated, he watched as the platform descended again, stopping one layer below. Some passengers disembarked, while others stayed on, preparing to travel further down. Not too far away, another terrace ascended in tandem with the one going down, forming a seamless loop. It was an ingenious system, one that could be of great use in Tradespire. But Zeke knew there was no way to replicate such a massive operation back home—there simply wasn’t the power to run something of that scale.

Zeke’s gaze returned to the massive pool of molten stone at the center of the city. It was hard to believe that the dwarves powered all their inventions simply by converting heat. He had learned about steam engines, but he still couldn’t grasp how it was possible to harness that power on such a grand scale. Yet, with the proof before his eyes, there was no denying it any longer.

"Aye, ye plannin' to stay 'ere forever, lad, or ye thinkin' o' movin' on someday?"

Zeke turned to see a stout man pushing a massive wheelbarrow. He was heading toward the area where the next platform would soon descend but was blocked by Zeke. "Sorry about that," Zeke said, stepping aside. "I was a bit mesmerized by the sight."

The man’s gruff expression softened slightly as he glanced over the railing, his small stature barely allowing him to peek over. “It sure is a sight, ain't it? I reckon this be yer first time in the city, eh?”

Zeke nodded, gesturing to the Gate building behind him. "Just arrived."

The dwarf nodded, setting down his wheelbarrow and rolling his shoulders. “Where ye headin', lad?”

Zeke studied the man more closely. He seemed to be middle-aged, with a massive bushy beard and ruddy cheeks. His height barely reached Zeke’s chest, but his shoulders were almost twice as wide. It was a common misconception that dwarfs were small. In terms of overall mass, they often outweighed the average human. This man, for example, had arms thicker than Zeke's legs.

“I’m looking for the Steelbender Forge. Do you know where it is?” Zeke asked.

“Aye, I do,” the dwarf replied, then spat on the ground in apparent disgust. “But what’s it to ye? Everyone knows ol' Steelbender’s nothin' but a bandit an' a scoundrel. His wares ain't even half as good as what others can churn out and twice as expensive.”

Zeke had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. According to David, Steelbender was a highly respected artisan and a master of his craft. He wasn’t about to take the word of this random stranger to heart. Still, there was no harm in playing along for now.

“Is that so?” he asked, feigning surprise. “Then, where do you suggest I go instead?”

The dwarf gave him a long, appraising look, as if trying to determine whether Zeke was being honest. After finding nothing suspicious, he nodded with a satisfied grin. “It’s a good thing ye’ve crossed paths with me, lad. Others might try an' swindle ye, but I ain’t like 'em. If ye want th' best wares in all o' Stonehearth, ye best be headin' to ol' Gunner’s smithy.”

Zeke wracked his brain, even asking Akasha for help, but he couldn’t recall ever hearing of a place called ‘Gunner’s Smithy.’ It was likely either a hidden gem or a completely insignificant shop.

“Never heard of it,” he admitted.

The dwarf flushed slightly but quickly regained his composure. "Course ye haven’t, lad. Ye’ve only just arrived. Where would ye’ve heard of it? In yer human lands? Ha!"

Zeke had no intention of contradicting the man. Instead, he simply extended his hand. “Makes sense,” he said. “I’m Ezekiel.”

The dwarf seemed to appreciate the straightforward gesture and firmly clasped Zeke’s hand, his palm nearly enveloping Zeke's. “Pleasure meetin' ye, lad. Name's Gunner.”