Zwei put forward a calm and collected front, but his heart raced as he presented the tomahawk.

“Shaker’s Beard?” One of Irma’s colleagues asked. He appeared to be middle-aged, suggesting he was in his late fifties. Zwei had met too many people and was struggling to keep track, but believed the man was a Spellscribe, specializing in the creation of spell scrolls and manuals. “I’m not sure, I don’t understand the name. Shaker? Beard?”

“Sound. Essence of Fracture.” Zwei let his voice tremble and his pitch falter as he spoke. A young artisan showing nerves was likely to make sense to the coalition of artisans. They looked like the type of crowd who expected people to be nervous. “Both involve shockwaves, vibrations, and I’ve also been reading about the Worldshaker. It just made sense.”

“And beard?” One of the women asked, raising an eyebrow. She was an alchemist.

“I imagine it being a hand axe has something to do with it,” said another guest. He was the largest of the lot, tall, rotund, and heavily bearded. The man had hands of a blacksmith, calloused and covered in burned scars. His fingers ran along the axehead, starting from the top and ending where the edge curved slightly inward. “Axes have beards. Shaker’s Beard is a fine name for the weapon. Answer me this, though, why Essence of Fracture?”

“I intended for the weapon to cleave through plate, natural armor, and rock. Fracturing and cracking materials felt like the way forward.”

“Did you have the essence professionally identified?” The Spellscribe asked. “Was it called Essence of Fracture or Essence of Fracturing?”

“I’m sure most of you are aware, I work for the Cold Fire Sorcerer,” Zwei replied. “She has the means to discern such things. It was called Essence of Fracture.”

The alchemist and the blacksmith exchanged knowing looks. Irma only smiled, not contributing to the conversation.

“Have you considered the possibility of the essence not being precisely what you think?” The Spellscribe continued. “Fracture is the ground below us. The air we breathe. The magic we harness. Is it possible you fused the world’s very presence into Shaker’s Beard?”

“No.” Zwei’s eyes widened as he focused his arcane senses, studying the tomahawk closely. The arcane lights had faded from the inscriptions, but he felt the potent magic lying dormant within. El-Prime had little knowledge of the project and had only provided funds and instructions for what he wanted the weapon to do. Selecting the essence and planning had been all up to Zwei. He hadn’t been dispelled since the ascension to tier three.

El-Prime knew nothing and had only contributed the name when Zwei rushed home to clean and get changed. Ascending Spellweaver before the Frozen Phoenix expedition occupied the rest of the clones’ and their creator’s attention.

“I hadn’t considered that possibility. What does that mean?”

“It means that you might’ve made something far more powerful than you realize,” the blacksmith answered. “Did you make the piece for yourself or to sell?”

“For myself,” Zwei answered after thinking it over for a few seconds. Individuals with deep pockets surrounded him and were sure they’d pay handsomely for Shaker’s Beard. However, he didn’t have the authority to make such a decision. “But I think it would be smart for me to sleep on the decision.”

“If you do sell it, do it publicly at an auction,” Irma interjected. “Not here. If my esteemed colleagues’ suspicions prove correct, the weapon is far too valuable. It's the type of creation that makes artisans famous and kicks off their careers.”

“I’ve never liked you, Irma,” the man grunted, taking a long sip from his stein of foaming beer.

The enchanter continued, ignoring him, “The enchantment might be simple. But the fact that you managed to contain such an essence and successfully fuse it with the weapon is an incredible feat for someone of your age and experience. It speaks greatly of your talent.”

“And arcane prowess,” the Spellscribe added. “Not to mention you smith the base weapon too. It’s just short of a masterwork piece.”

“But the enchantment pushes it past that threshold,” the smith stated as he walked toward another prospective inductee, showing off his creation. “Auction houses would label it as a masterwork.”

“And where is your prodigy, Ephram?” Irma asked the Spellscribe. “Is she joining us today?”

“Mira got here a few minutes ago,” Ephram answered, eyes narrowing. “She is powdering her nose and mentally preparing herself before facing you vultures.”

“Vultures?” Irma gasped, feigning offense. “We’re perfectly lovely. You’d think she’d attend more often after everything we did for her.”

“I’m grateful,” a meek voice said. Zwei hadn’t heard or sensed its owner approach and almost jumped. He wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. Usually, it was he who held onto the advantage of surprise. “Honestly, I am. It’s just been a hectic couple of months with the guild and getting used to my new magic.”

“It’s nice to see you again,” Zwei said, offering Mira a hand. It was the Aquila mage. She had kept herself hidden throughout the mission and then spent most of the journey back unconscious and on the back of a pack animal. “Or should I say to meet you formally?”

“I apologize.” Mira smiled shyly. Zwei probed her with his Arcane Senses as they shook hands, wishing El-Prime had picked Inspector’s Compendium II. The room was full of powerful individuals. Learning more about them and uncovering a secret or two about them would put them in an advantageous position. “Given the potency and rarity of my magic, the guild insisted I keep my identity hidden. If the wrong party were to find out about what I can tap into, things could get dangerous for me.”

“That’s understandable. What was that, if you don’t mind me asking? The draconic presence was suffocating.”

“How do you know it was draconic?” Ephram asked, raising an eyebrow. Only he and Irma remained. The rest had moved on to the other inductees.

“The Cold Fire Sorcerer’s magic has a similar aura,” Zwei answered without hesitating. “The news might not have reached the Gray yet, but there was also an Elder Wyrmkin plot under Iskander a few months ago. The sorcerer and I were the ones who took out their encampment, ritual, and uncovered it all. The shaman’s magic also carried a similar trace.”

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“That explains your rapid rise through the Shadow Seeker’s ranks,” Irma stated. “Tell me, Zwei, do you have ambitions of following this woman out of the Gray. Are you following her to the conclave?”

Zwei shrugged. “She no longer employs me. We’re friends, and she is an incredible teacher. I have her to thank for my rapid growth in the arcane fields. If the conclave gives her a new job, I might assist her with it. However, I’m not obliged to.” He looked between the two senior members of the mysterious group and Mira. “Honestly, I have sorcerous aspirations, but it's a long and expensive journey. I also love the art of arcane smithing and enchanting. They help toward my goal, assisting with the growth and improvement of the foundational magical arts, and lack the dangers of fieldwork. So, I’d like to stay in the Gray a while longer and hone my skills.”

“That’s an extremely well-thought-out answer,” Emphram said. He studied Zwei closely for a minute. “I like him. He will do.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Irma grinned. “Zwei is talented and hardworking. He’s going above and beyond as an assistant, and his work speaks for itself.” She patted the clone’s shoulder. “You’re a perfect candidate.”

“Thank you,” Zwei replied. He shot Mira a wink. The young, platinum-haired woman smiled but swiftly broke eye contact, gaze drifting to the floor.

“It’s been a while since you’ve brought us someone worthy,” Ephram continued.

“Unlike the rest of you, I’m picky.” He and Irma followed the alchemist and blacksmith, heading toward a candidate showing off a giant sword. A beautiful, flowery pattern filled the fuller, and its creator moved it around like it weighed almost nothing.

“How long have you been a part of this?” Zwei asked, more trying to make conversation than out of interest. Mira seemed shy and uncomfortable, and he hoped to make her more comfortable before extracting details about the Great Black Dragon’s flame.

“About six months,” Mira answered, still not making eye contact. “Ephram brought me in after I penned a series of fortification spells?”

“Fortification spells? I’m not sure I’m familiar with those. Is that a part of your draconic heritage? I’ve been studying dragonborn and Wyrmkin ever since I started working with the Cold Fire Sorcerer. I don’t think I’ve encountered anything of the kind.”

“I’ve known of my draconic heritage all of my life.” Mira seemed to grow more comfortable as Zwei talked. Penelope had told El-Prime once that knowledge about the dragonblooded was rarer than individuals who could claim to be one. Individuals with draconic heritage were always eager to learn more about their past and meet more of their kind. “But I had trouble awakening my internal fire and harnessing it until recently. Ephram, Irma, and everyone else here helped me.

“Before them, I was just a girl with unusually large magical reserves. So, the Aquila had me channel it into their protected fortification and combat-support arts. Fortification magic does precisely what the name suggests. It’s all about creating emergency shelters and defences while out in the field, using whatever materials and energy are available. It primarily features shaping and reinforcement magic.”

Did I just break the dam? Or does she want something from me?

“That’s certainly interesting. Did they do some sort of ritual to help awaken it? Penelope and my research suggest that the Elder Wyrmkin do something similar to awaken their females’ and top warriors’ draconic heritage.”

“That sounds incredible.” Mira frowned, adding wrinkles to her smooth, unblemished skin. The young woman lacked the artificial perfection displayed by Lady Silverspine in her human form, but her body almost seemed unnatural. Her current expression momentarily broke the illusion, making her look almost like a child. “I didn’t know that was possible. I wish I had heard of that before. But no. They helped me commune with one of the great dragons who stirred my dragonblood and gave it a nature.”

“I didn’t know that was possible either.”

Penelope will want to hear about this.

“Do you think you can introduce me to the Cold Fire Sorcerer?” Mira asked, taking his hand in both of hers, earlier shyness gone. “I’ve been struggling with harnessing my fire. You saw how a single attempt turned out. It’s powerful, but the accompanying mental strain knocks me out for hours if not days at a time.”

“That doesn’t sound sustainable in the long term,” Zwei said. “You might suffer permanent damage.”

Mira nodded. “It’s why I have to limit myself to such simple spells and even then use them sparingly. What good is having dragonfire if I can’t use it to its full potential?” She lowered her volume and moved closer as she continued. “The guild and people here don’t want me talking to outsiders above it. They worry about what might happen, but I really need the guidance of another dragonblooded. I want to become one of the greats, but it doesn’t seem like I can walk the path of a dracomage without killing or severely hurting myself.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Zwei replied, keeping his volume low. He glanced at Irma. She and her colleagues—there were a dozen of them—had finished talking to all the prospective inductees and were returning toward him and Mira. “Penelope will want to meet you two, but let's keep this between us for the time being, alright?”

“Of course.”

The pair changed topics as the group of senior members got closer, discussing their individual artisanal pursuits. Irma and her people paid no attention to the other hopeful eyes following them and made a beeline for Zwei.

“The Revolution wants you,” Irma said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Our invitation is conditional,” Ephram added. “You’ll need to swear a vow of secrecy. If you share any specifics about us, our work, or our pursuits as a group with unaffiliated parties, pain and possible death await you. We’re protective of our intellectual properties, the deals we make, and the assistance we offer each other.”

The blacksmith spoke up next. “The sorcerer. The Union. The guilds. None can discover our secrets or the source of our knowledge of power.”

Source? As in one singular source? This ought to be juicy.

“Will you join us, Zwei?” Asked the alchemist. “Or should I say, Lukas Zaun? Do you want to become one of the greats?”

“Do I need to sell my soul?” Zwei joked. He noticed the guards who’d been standing at attention around all entrances had finally moved. They were guiding the other inductees

No one laughed.

“Your soul is your own.” Irma stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We only ask you to swear a binding oath to protect our secrets and work toward the betterment of mortalkind, putting aside petty alliances, rivalries, and all else. Our goal is greater than any politics. It’s about improving life on Fracture for all and bringing about a Revolution in magic and technology. We expect you to commit your body and mind to the pursuit regardless of whether you stay in the Gray.”

Double doors at the end of the hall opened. A variety of arcane lights waited beyond, and the magic radiating from within was potent to say the least. Just looking through the semicircular frame sent shivers down Zwei’s spine.

Is it just me, or does that place have a magitech vibe?

“What happens if I refuse?” Zwei asked.

“Nothing,” the alchemist answered. “The guards will guide you out and have you inhale one of my brews. It will wipe everything from the past couple of hours from your mind.”

“I was curious about your organization from the moment Irma told me about it. However, now that Irma has informed me about your purpose and goals, I am interested. So, yes. I’m in.” Zwei paused for a moment, glancing through the doors again. “I’m not committing myself to any god, am I?”

Ephram laughed. “We’re the pursuers of progress and growth. We might commune with beings that transcend our world and universe, but we serve no god.”

“It’s settled then. Induct me.”

Mira smiled and took his hand, leading him toward the door. Zwei wasn’t sure what he was getting into and couldn’t help but wonder whether the beautiful young woman was part of the honeypot meant to tempt him. He prepared to dispel himself just in case the oath tried to bind to his soul in any way. Sensitivity toward the fragment that resided within his arcane shell had increased since the ascension to tier three. El-Prime would be furious if anything were to happen to it. Zwei wanted to trust Irma and her colleagues, but decades of wariness and caution were challenging to move past. The traits had kept El-Prime alive through several impossible situations, so he didn’t want to turn his back on them either.