Trinity of Magic-Chapter 9Book 7: : Ceremony III

The red-haired man began to pace, his steps measured, each one ringing faintly against the white stone beneath their feet. The pavilion remained eerily still, the swirling clouds below and the distant thunder the only signs that time was moving at all.

“I see the excitement in your eyes,” he said after a moment, “the hope, the wishes, the longing. You all want to become Mages today—to awaken a powerful core and become the next hero of the continent, isn't that right?”

A few nodded, but even those who remained silent had a spark ignite behind their eyes.

“…All of you are fools,” the man said.

The words landed like a hammer blow. Several of the children stiffened. Others exchanged uncertain glances, unsure if they had heard him correctly. Maya felt her breath catch. It was the first time she had heard her brother speak in such a way.

“However, that much is to be expected,” he continued. “When I was your age, I was exactly the same.”

He stopped, tilting his head back to watch the dark, endless sky for a moment.

“Just like all of you, I was born without name or purpose,” he said, his voice calm but unshakable.

“Raised in a rural village, far from the games of influence and power. I was not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to exist in this world of nobles and magic, of power passed through blood and privilege.”

He stopped. Slowly, he turned his golden gaze back to them.

“But I was foolish,” he repeated. “Foolish enough to think that I could rise to the top on my own merits. Foolish enough to believe that hard work and perseverance would allow me to compete with my peers from distinguished families.”

“It did not,” he said flatly.

“No amount of sleepless nights, added practice, or sheer willpower would ever have been enough to contend with the sons and daughters of the powerful, literally bred for Magic. With every resource at their command—rows upon rows of private tutors and every other advantage imaginable—the game was rigged from the start.”

“I barely survived those days.”

That single sentence sent a shiver down her spine. There was so much pain packed into those few words—pain she had never known her brother carried. Though she had known he had struggled early on at the academy, she had been too young to truly understand. And Zeke had never spoken of it.

Until now.

"I dreamed of Magic and power, blind to the world I was walking into. I wasn’t destined for greatness or glory. I was meant to die nameless, forgotten—a fool who never knew his place."

Absolute silence followed.

Maya didn’t even dare to breathe. The atmosphere felt so volatile that even the slightest sound might shatter it.

“But someone changed that.”

He raised his hand, and the air itself seemed to shift. A pulse rippled through the clouds below, and a shaft of brilliant light burst upward—so sharp, so sudden, it felt like the sky itself had been pierced. The beam lanced into the heavens and fell upon something vast in the distance.

The children gasped.

A mountain loomed across the void—no, not a mountain. A monument. Enormous beyond comprehension, carved as if from the bones of the world itself. A bearded man stood tall, etched into the peak with one arm resting on a stone tablet, the other raised high as if delivering a final decree to the heavens.

Maximilian Bombastus von Hohenheim.

Maya’s breath caught.

Even in stone, the old man’s face was unmistakable: those deep-set eyes, the proud arch of his brow, the solemn gentleness in his mouth. It was the same expression he had worn the last time she saw him, sitting beside her brother in the quiet of their garden, a cup of steaming tea in hand.

She hadn’t expected to cry.

Yet her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes before she could stop them.

“He gave me everything,” the man in red said quietly. “A name. A path. A future. He saw what this world could become, not what it was. He dreamed of a realm where magic did not belong solely to the nobleborn or the blessed. Where even the lowliest child could stand equal to the proudest lord.”

He looked at them again.

“That dream came at a cost. His life.” freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

No one moved. No one dared breathe.

“He defied the Empire to give us one thing—this,” the man said, sweeping his arm wide as he drew a deep breath. The very air seemed to shift with him, as if he and the world moved as one. “The Meditation Technique.”

His voice rang out, steady as a drumbeat.

“It is not a shortcut. It is not easy. But it is yours. The gift Maximilian left behind—not for prodigies or lords, but for you. Children of farmers. Orphans. Merchants. Servants. This was his answer to a world ruled by bloodlines and fate.”

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He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone softened.

“And today, you will show whether his vision was right.”

The statue behind him now stood fully bathed in light, its stone eyes solemn, its raised hand frozen in judgment.

“You are the proof,” the man said, voice hardening. “The proof that his dream was not in vain. That what he died for meant something. So before you begin this journey, I want you to understand the weight upon your shoulders.”

He walked forward, past Maya and Lue, past Thomen and the twins, until he reached the edge of the pavilion. There, with the clouds churning below and lightning flickering in the depths, he turned to face them once more.

“That is why you are here today.”

“You are not here to awaken your magic,” he said.

“You are here to awaken hope.”

The silence that followed felt different—charged, sacred. Even the thunder had quieted, as if the sky itself held its breath in reverence.

Maya stared at the towering statue, her heart pounding. The lump in her throat hadn’t faded.

She thought of Zeke—of how he worked himself to the bone, day after day, driven by the fear that he might not be strong enough to protect those he loved. She thought of Maximilian, the man who had given his life so that the next generation might live in a slightly better world.

Here and now, she would prove them both right.

They all would.

She looked at Lue and the others, and in their wide eyes, she saw it: a shift. Resolve. Reverence. Belief.

The man—no, not just a man, but Ezekiel von Hohenheim—turned once more toward the pedestal at the heart of the pavilion. Atop it, a massive carved crystal pulsed softly, as though it, too, was waiting.

And when he spoke again, it was not a command.

It was an invitation.

"Come."

As one, the aspirants stepped forward, their white, billowing robes fluttering in unison with each stride. Maya felt her heart swell at the sight. Never before had their group moved so closely in sync, bound by a single purpose.

No words were needed.

She knew exactly what every last one of them was thinking.

They would prove Maximilian right. They would prove that even they, lowborn as they were, could rise to the top.

Maya’s eyes gleamed as she stared at the crystalline artwork resting atop the ornate pedestal. It was carved into the shape of a skull—a long, sinuous neck ending in a reptilian face adorned with curved horns.

She recognized the creature immediately. Everyone would.

It was a Dragon.

Whether the carving held any deeper meaning or was merely decorative, Maya couldn’t say. But somehow, it felt right. What better symbol for the power they would awaken here today than the king of beasts?

When they were only a few steps away from the crystal, the group came to a halt, forming a half-circle.

Ezekiel looked around, his gaze resting on each face for a moment before moving on. By the end, his lips had curved into a faint smile. It softened his aura slightly, allowing the tense mood to ease, if only a little.

“Those are good eyes,” he said after a moment. “Who has the courage to go first?”

Maya immediately wanted to volunteer.

She had been the first to adopt the meditation technique, the first to master the different levels. It would be only fitting for her to be first here as well.

But just as she was about to step forward, she met her brothers gaze.

No words were spoken, not even telepathically. And yet, she understood his meaning as clearly as if he had said it aloud.

Not yet.

“I’ll go,” Thomen said, stepping out of the circle.

Ezekiel remained motionless, watching him approach with steady, determined steps. It was a strange sight. Maya had always thought of Thomen as unusually large for his age, by far the tallest among their group. Yet now, as he walked toward her brother, his back looked unnaturally small, his frame almost scrawny.

It felt like a child standing before a grown man.

What a strange thought.

The two weren’t that far apart in height or build. Yet as she compared them—two young men, not so distant in age—the difference felt monumental.

The gravitas and aura her brother projected were overwhelming. He felt like someone who had seen the world, who had walked through fire and shadow, danced along the edge of a blade, and emerged untouched.

When had he changed that much? When had her carefree brother become the man who stood before her now? Had he always had this side to him, dulling his edge only toward her?

Thomen arrived before her brother. Though he had started out brash and full of confidence, he now seemed to be somewhat at a loss for what to do.

Thankfully, he wasn’t left long to flaunder aimlessly.

“Thomen, son of Manuel and Betina,” the voice was solemn as if part of a ceremony. “Are you prepared to face your destiny?”

Maya saw the boy stiffen for an instant, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. Still, he managed a nod after only the briefest pause.

“Then I, Ezekiel von Hohenheim, head of the von Hohenheim family and Merchant Lord of Tradespire, wish you the best of luck. Let your years of hard work reveal their worth in this very moment.”

With those words, Ezekiel stepped aside, granting the boy access to the crystal.

“When you are ready, place your hands on its horns and let your mind relax.”

Thomen took a deep breath, then carefully reached out toward the horns of the crystalline dragon skull.

His fingers trembled as they made contact, but he tightened his grip, forcing them steady. In fact, he held on so tightly that his knuckles turned white. For a moment, Maya feared he might crack the crystal, but the object appeared to be made of sturdier stuff.

Then they waited.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened.

Maya’s excitement gave way to worry.

Though Thomen was far from her favorite person, not even he deserved such a fate. While not as devoted as she was, the boy had been diligent in his meditation, never missing a single day.

But more troubling than his individual outcome was what it might mean for the technique itself. Could Maximilian have been wrong? Could Zeke have been wrong? What if it didn’t work at all?

Her frantic gaze searched her brother’s face, desperate for some sign of reassurance. She hoped he would have an answer—something that would dispel the dread beginning to curl in her gut.

What she did not expect was to find him watching the scene with a wry smile, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Thomen,” he said, trying to keep his voice flat, though clearly struggling against his exasperation. “With how tense you are, not even a Monarch could force an ounce of Mana into your body.”

There was a beat of silence, then a chorus of snickers rippled through the group. Even Maya couldn’t hold back, a soft giggle escaping her lips as the tension broke like a popped bubble.

Thomen looked embarrassed, his ears turning visibly red. But after a deep breath, his posture eased, the stiffness draining from his frame.

It couldn’t have been more than a second later when the change began.

The Dragon skull, once cloudy like milky glass, began to glow with a soft light, flickering like a flame. The luminance grew quickly, casting its warm radiance outward and painting the faces of the aspirants in fiery hues, their white robes now tinged with the color of dawn.

Maya didn’t know what this meant, her eyes locked solely on her brother, trying to gauge his reaction.

The sight stole her breath away.

Ezekiel von Hohenheim was looking at the crystal with misty eyes, seemingly caught in a trance. His lips moved, but the words that came out were barely more than a whisper. To anyone else, they would have been inaudible, but Maya stood just close enough to catch them.

“…Are you watching, Mentor?”

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