The three men moved with the grim purpose of hounds on a scent. They ignored the other patrons, their focus entirely on the woman cowering at Seiji's table. The leader, a man with a face like a hatchet and cold, empty eyes, stopped before them.
"Astrea," he said, his voice a low, unpleasant rasp that carried no warmth. "This charade is over. Hand over the matrix. Sir Lucius's patience is not infinite." He extended a hand, palm up, the gesture an order, not a request.
The second man, broader and uglier, turned his glare on Seiji. "You. Stranger. This doesn't concern you. Get lost, unless you want to learn what happens to those who interfere with the Golden Dawn." He leaned in, his breath smelling of cheap ale and arrogance.
He never got to finish his threat.
Seiji's hand, resting casually on the table, twitched. It was a movement so slight it was almost subliminal. Beneath the table, out of sight, a small, intricate magic circle—the emblem of Kamen Rider Wizard's Hurricane Style—flared into existence for a fraction of a second. He didn't chant, he didn't gesture. He willed it.
[Activate: Blow Magic.]
A concussive blast of compressed air, invisible and silent to everyone else, erupted from the circle and struck the broad man square in the stomach. The effect was instantaneous and brutal. His eyes bulged, all the air in his lungs forced out in a pained whoosh. He was lifted off his feet and hurled backward as if launched from a cannon, crashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch of wood and bone before slumping to the floor, unconscious.
The restaurant fell into a stunned silence. The hatchet-faced leader and his remaining companion stared, their minds struggling to process the impossible. There had been no mana surge, no incantation. It was as if the air itself had rebelled.
Seiji didn't give them time to recover. He was already on his feet, his chair scraping back. He grabbed Astrea's wrist—her skin was ice-cold—and pulled her up.
"What are you standing there for?" he urged, his voice a sharp, quiet command that cut through her shock. "Run!"
He half-dragged her through the gawking patrons and out the restaurant's rear entrance into a narrow, dimly lit alley. The sounds of pursuit—shouted commands and heavy footfalls—erupted behind them.
"This way is a dead end!" Astrea gasped, her voice tight with panic.
"Not for us," Seiji stated.
He stopped, pulling her close. His free hand swept through the air. "Hurricane, please!" The words were not a plea, but a command. The air around them shimmered, and the green, dragon-like form of Wizard's Hurricane Style enveloped them for a fleeting moment. A localized tornado, no larger than a small room, materialized around them, howling with magical wind. It lifted them from the cobblestones just as the two pursuers skidded into the alley.
The knights stared, dumbfounded, as the whirlwind shot vertically up the side of the building and vanished over the rooftops, leaving behind only a few scattered dust devils and the scent of ozone.
In the safe, quiet confines of Seiji's rented room, the howling wind was replaced by a profound silence. Astrea leaned against the closed door, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She looked around the sparsely furnished room—a bed, a desk, a single chair—then back at the enigmatic man who had just defied the laws of magic as she knew them. Her intelligent grey eyes were wide, a tumultuous mix of terror, awe, and rampant, burning curiosity.
"Who are you?" she breathed, straightening her rumpled robes with hands that still trembled. "That magic… it wasn't any school I recognize. There was no formalized structure, no elemental alignment. It was… instinctual. Primal. Like you were commanding the world itself."
"Questions for another time," Seiji said, his voice calm as a still pond. He was already moving, checking the window latch and reinforcing the door with a simple sound-dampening ward he'd learned from Orias. "First, you will answer mine. Who are you? Who were those men? And what is this 'matrix' they are so desperate to acquire?"
The directness of his tone, the sheer authority in it, broke through her panic. She took a steadying breath, her academic mind reasserting itself.
"My name," she said, her voice gaining strength, "is Astrea Arcadia Zenith."
The name meant nothing to Seiji, but the pride with which she said it spoke of lineage.
"My father is Ian Winterbell Zenith," she continued, and this time, Seiji recognized the surname. Orias had mentioned the great magical houses of Magitopia in passing. The Zeniths were one of the oldest and most respected. "He is… or was… one of the Seven Great Mages of the High Council."
"Was?" Seiji prompted.
"He disappeared," Astrea said, her voice cracking slightly. "Three months ago. No note, no warning. He just… vanished from his sanctum. His vacant seat on the Council… it's created a power vacuum." Her expression hardened. "Several are vying for it, but the most ruthless is Lucius Blackwood, Captain of the Golden Dawn Magic Knight Corps."
Seiji recalled the name. One of the three corps that served the Wizard King directly. Enforcers.
"Lucius believes that with my father's seat, he can push the Council toward a more… militaristic stance. But to secure his position, he needs more than just votes. He needs a symbol of power. And he believes my father possessed it." She clutched the leather satchel to her chest. "He's after the Dragon Matrix."
Seiji went very still. "Dragon Matrix?"
"It was my father's life's work," Astrea explained, her eyes gleaming with a scholar's passion despite the danger. "A theoretical magical framework, a blueprint, designed to allow a mage to safely channel and wield draconic-level mana. He created it decades ago in collaboration with Magitopia's greatest sage in history… Orias."
The name, coming from her lips, hit Seiji with the force of a physical blow. Orias. The old sage who now advised him in Grimgar, who had never once spoken of a past in Magitopia, let alone of co-creating a weapon of such immense potential. The pieces began to shift in his mind. Orias's vast knowledge, his understanding of dragons, his willingness to leave his homeland… it all pointed to a past far more complex than he had let on.
"And the blueprint is now in your possession," Seiji stated.
Astrea nodded grimly. "My father entrusted the only copy to me before he vanished. He said it was too dangerous, that it was never meant to be built. Lucius must have found out. He's turned the Golden Dawn into his personal hunters."
Seiji processed this. The connection to Orias was a thread he could not ignore. Protecting Astrea was no longer just a matter of chance; it was now intertwined with his own mission. She was a key, not just to the political labyrinth of Magitopia, but to a deeper secret concerning his own advisor.
"Very well," Seiji said, his decision made. "I will offer you my protection. For now."
Relief washed over Astrea's face. "Thank you. I… I don't even know your name."
"You may call me Seiji." He paused, then delivered his condition. "In return, you will find a way for me to secure an audience with the Wizard King, Longinus."
Astrea's eyes widened in shock. "The Wizard King? But… he rarely involves himself in Council politics. He is a figurehead, a symbol. Gaining an audience is nearly impossible!"
"He is the sovereign of this nation," Seiji countered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I have business with sovereigns. Find a way."
She studied him, the curiosity in her eyes overpowering her fear. "Why? What business could a mage of your… unique talents… have with the King?"
Seiji met her gaze, his own eyes as unreadable as deep space. "There are some reasons," he said, his voice flat and final, "that you should not know."