"I don't belong to this world," Rowan Mercer said calmly. "But the reasons aren't simple. Explaining them wouldn't help you."
He sat cross-legged on the cold floor, one hand resting against his chin, and looked up at the man suspended upside down in the center of the hall.
"More importantly," Rowan continued, "who are you?"
Moments earlier, the surge of power from the man before him had been unmistakable. It was not brute force, not technology, but something deeper and older. Magic, refined to an almost terrifying purity.
"You're a magician," Rowan said. "And not an ordinary one. Someone powerful enough to build this city, shape its systems, and stand at the center of everything. That narrows the list."
Through inherited memories and fragmented intelligence reports, Rowan had absorbed much of this world's occult history. One name, in particular, stood apart like a scar burned into the age itself.
A magician once known by the title Beast 666. His real name: Edward Alexander. A prodigy hailed as the greatest magician of the twentieth century. A man said to have brushed against the edge of godhood without falling in.
Nearly a fifth of modern magicians traced their lineage directly to him. More than half had been shaped by his theories, his methods, or his mistakes. Then, without warning, he had abandoned magic altogether, turning toward science. Branded a traitor, hunted relentlessly, and officially recorded as having died in rural England in 1947.
Rowan raised his hand.
"Trace Manifestation. Edward Alexander."
The tracking spell unfolded without ceremony. No symbols, no ritual circles. Just a quiet pull, like a compass needle snapping into place.
Its direction pointed unerringly at the man hanging before him.
Silence thickened the air.
"Fascinating," the man said at last, his voice cold and precise. "A spell without structure, without imitation of divine phenomena, yet capable of isolating a target with perfect accuracy."
His eyes sharpened.
"And since you now know who I am, you should also understand this. I cannot allow you to leave here alive."
Rowan smiled, untroubled.
"There's no need for that. I'm not interested in your past. I don't care why you built this city, and I have no intention of informing the Church. What I want is simple."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I want to grow stronger. To push my limits. To learn the magic of this world."
He spoke plainly, because he had already weighed the risks.
"Look at your situation. You're hiding. Any prolonged conflict risks exposure. I can help you deal with problems quietly. In return, you teach me. That's all."
If the man before him truly was Edward Alexander, then searching elsewhere for magical knowledge would be a waste of time. This one individual embodied more arcane understanding than entire institutions.
For a moment, the man said nothing.
"Your offer is logical," he replied at last. "But your existence introduces uncertainty. Killing you would be safer. My plans do not tolerate variables."
"That assumes you can kill me cleanly," Rowan said evenly. "If the fight drags on, even briefly, your presence will be noticed. That risk is greater than mine."
A faint smile crossed the man's face.
"I doubt it would take more than a few seconds."
"Maybe," Rowan said.
Then the hall expanded.
The space stretched outward in all directions, walls racing away as if reality itself had been pulled thin and redrawn. The ceiling vanished into impossible height.
Rowan spoke a single word.
"Animagus."
His body erupted into motion. Bone, scale, and muscle unfolded in a violent yet controlled transformation. In seconds, a colossal dragon filled the vastened hall, its massive form stretching hundreds of meters from claw to tail. Power rolled off him in suffocating waves.
This was no illusion, no constructed energy shell.
It was flesh. Life.
In this form, Rowan's physical strength and magical capacity multiplied explosively. More importantly, the innate resistance of a dragon rendered conventional magic vastly less effective.
His voice thundered through the chamber.
"Still think it will be quick? This isn't even my limit. The space can't handle anything larger. So consider my proposal again. Cooperation benefits us both."
The man stared upward, genuine shock breaking through his composure.
"A dragon… Your true form is a dragon."
Not because the dragon outmatched him, but because such a being should not exist here at all.
This world layered mythology atop a physical universe. Magic drew power from overlapping frameworks, allowing reality to bend. But the creatures of legend were not real inhabitants. They were imitations, constructs, echoes.
What stood before him now was none of those things.
A living being from beyond this world's structure.
"Not a god. Not a demon. Not an angel," he murmured. "A dragon."
He calculated quickly. Victory was possible, perhaps. But exposure was guaranteed. And the city would not escape unscathed.
"…Very well," he said after a long pause. "You've convinced me."
The killing intent faded.
"I accept this cooperation."
It was not merely fear that guided his decision. His future plans were approaching a stage where disruption was inevitable. A force like Rowan Mercer, if controlled rather than destroyed, could stabilize many uncertainties.
And if his identity were to be revealed someday, then secrecy had already lost its absolute value.
"As long as you are not a god or a demon," he concluded, "we can work together."
The dragon lowered its head slightly, eyes gleaming.