The Storm King

Blue.

The sky was blue.

The sky was always blue.

The Origin Spark far above burned a brilliant gold-white.

The clouds danced across the sky, light and fluffy.

The grass around him glowed a vibrant red.

Ferns and bushes and flowers of all sorts painted a panoply of colors all throughout the garden.

But Archelaus processed none of it. It was all the same. Everything was always the same. Every day came and went, offering no new experiences. He was alone, numb.

He’d been lying in the fields of his garden for several hundred years, unmoving, uncaring as flowers and weeds and grass grew around him, periodically enshrouding him until his servants could muster the nerve to clear the ground around him.

Never did he aid them in their labors. He couldn’t say when he’d stopped caring; he didn’t care to know. So long as he was undisturbed, nothing else mattered. He could stare upward at the unchanging sky, enjoying the feeling of the grass beneath him, and being slowly buried beneath the foliage.

Though his heart was dull, he felt closest to joy when his body was obscured and none could see him.

Unfortunately, his servants had cleared the area fairly recently, so when he sensed someone entering his garden, he felt mild irritation for but a moment. It was an exciting feeling, for he felt so little anymore, but it was gone before he could savor it.

The servant in question was a ninth-tier mage, a young—at least, relative to Archelaus—man of considerable talent. Of all the bureaucrats Archelaus had known in his long life, few showed the promise that Jason did.

‘Jason…’ Archelaus dejectedly thought, his thoughts wandering even as the young man approached. Lost in memory, it took some time for Jason to bring him back to the present.

“…espot? My Lord?”

Archelaus didn’t respond. He didn’t sit up, he didn’t twitch, he didn’t so much as blink or turn his head. The only indication he gave Jason that his words were heard was a quick flexing of his aura.

“There have been developments in the west,” Jason quietly whispered. The garden was, despite being out in the open and quite untamed in most areas, dead silent. It created an oppressive atmosphere that Archelaus had once enjoyed, and no longer cared enough to change.

For the first time in weeks, Archelaus opened his mouth and spoke, his voice coming hoarse and creaky.

“Have… you ever wanted… to be a tree?”

Without missing a beat or so much as blinking in surprise, Jason repeated, “There have been developments in the west, Sire.”

“To never move… save to sway… in the breeze…”

“Our informants have informed us that a new post-Apotheosis mage has arrived in the west. He’s already making waves.”

“Drinking in the light… of the Origin Spark…”

“Battles have been fought, men now ply the Aesii rivers in droves.”

“Growing… Being… Living…”

“Alhamachim, a city of otherwise little consequence, is at stake.”

“Cursed we be… with thought… and awareness…”

“Strategos Djoser asserts his authority over this city. Alhamachim has chosen the new mage as their Strategos, citing his defense of the city during a raid.”

Archelaus sighed, mentally checking out of the update.

‘More bullshit,’ he quietly derided. ‘More violence. More blood. The Primal Gods have truly made us in their image.’

Jason kept speaking, his presence doing little but reminding Archelaus of days long past, of days when the Storm Lands were united beneath a strong King, when the other lands looked upon them as equals, not as targets. When the Storm Lands had known peace.

“…f the Thunderbird Clan…”

Archelaus wasn’t sure how long Jason had been speaking, but his ears picked something up that brought his attention back to the conversation.

“Repeat…” Archelaus rasped.

“This newcomer claims to be the last of the Thunderbird Clan,” Jason stated.

Archelaus lay there for several seconds while Jason waited for a response. Thoughts upon thoughts raced through his mind, ranging from simple dismissal to sheer outrage. He was so incensed that his heart beat slightly faster for a second or two.

“Djoser’s… intent?”

“The Strategos prepares for possible war. Given this newcomer came here on his own and wasn’t led to us, he has a power base of his own. Conflict seems inevitable.”

“Call them… here. I will… arbitrate…”

Jason bowed at the waist, then turned on his heel and departed, leaving Archelaus alone with his thoughts—usually his favorite state of being, but now, his thoughts were trapped in painful memories. Chaos, old wars, mad scrambles for power among those who were once equal…

‘Long has it been since another has dared to claim such august lineage in my lands,’ Archelaus mused. ‘Must I truly remind everyone of such mistakes? Must I make another example?’

His fingers twitched, and then his arms. The longer he thought about the claims made, the faster his heart beat, and the more anger started to blaze through his body. The fires of passion, so long gone cold, were relit, and mana flowed freely through long-unused muscles. Thankfully for Archelaus, at his level, he didn’t lose muscle mass, so it was only his mental state that caused him to slowly rise from where he lay.

Once he started moving, he couldn’t stop. First, he raised one arm, and then both, and almost before he knew it, he was pushing himself back to his feet.

For the first time in centuries, he looked upon the world from a standing perspective. He would be ready for this up-jumped imposter to arrive. He darkly wondered if this imposter knew what kind of dread awaited him in Archelion.

---

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Leon observed as he walked into the cartographer’s office.

The man formerly known as the Director of Heaven’s Eye, Icarius, turned and smiled from where he sat, pouring over the maps that Leon had received from Alhamachim at his request. He could hardly plan for the future if he didn’t know what awaited him out in the Nexus.

In response, he received dozens and dozens of maps, each one of a different region or including many regions together. Leon’s favorite map depicted all of the Storm Lands, showing which territories each of the Anakes ruled. He could see on that particular map how desolate the western region was, with the vast majority of the people in the Storm Lands concentrated much further east. The distance between Artorion and Alhamachim was great, though Leon was pleased to see that most of the large cities in the Storm Lands were situated much closer together.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Someone has to catalog all of these maps,” Icarius smilingly responded. “Besides, I have to know where I want to visit first, don’t I?”

“Still set on traveling?”

“Always. Though, I’ll only depart when given your leave—I have sworn myself to you as your vassal.”

Leon waved his hand as if to dismiss that statement. “You swore Heaven’s Eye to me, as far as I’m concerned. If you want to leave, I’ll permit you to depart.”

Icarius’ smile widened, though he didn’t rush to take up Leon’s offer. “I have more research to do, first. Perhaps in several decades. When you’re more established.”

Leon grinned and nodded. “It’s appreciated.”

“So, King Leon, what brings you here?”

Leon glanced around at the office, noting that there were more than a dozen other officers present all working to create the most accurate maps of their surroundings as possible. He’d explicitly ordered them to keep working after entering the room, not wanting to delay their work just to observe ceremonies, but he knew that one couldn’t always control what one overheard…

So, he clapped Icarius on the shoulder and marched him off to a separate room in the building, one where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Secretive,” Icarius said, his aged face wrinkling slightly with intrigue. “What’s so important that you’re acting like this?”

“Nothing so much as a desire for privacy,” Leon said as he made sure all of the privacy wards in the room were working. It was an army office, so the wards were robust enough, though hardly comparable even to what he’d put on his portable villa, let alone a more important building like a fortress or proper palace. “And a discussion of possible strategy.”

“I’m not much of a military mind, but I’ll offer what advice I can…”

“I have plenty of military minds to offer me advice, and while I don’t claim to be a master, I have confidence in my ability to wage war. No, what I want from you is to draw on your experience in Heaven’s Eye. What I want from you is your advice on establishing proper supply chains for needed strategic materials.”

Any levity in Icarius’ demeanor vanished. “Titanstone? Lumenite?”

“To start. I also want Aurichalcum and ambrosia.”

Icarius nodded slowly. A hand went to his chin, and he hummed in thought for a moment, leaning against a desk as he did in a manner most reminiscent of how he’d receive Leon in his office back in Occulara’s Hexagon.

“We received some Lumenite and ambrosia from Alhamachim, did we not?”

Leon grimaced. “We did. Not much. Not enough Lumenite to fully repair even our least damaged heavy cruiser. But we’ve been promised more in the future. As for their ambrosia…”

With an almost dismissive flourish, Leon conjured one of the amphorae he’d received from Tauri barely more than a week prior. He also conjured a glass, then took the cap off the amphora and poured some of its contents into the cup.

The ambrosia made by Helen using the Hesperidic Apples was a rich golden color that sparkled with arcane light, putting even the night sky to shame. It was as smooth as the finest of wines and was incomparable in taste.

What came from the amphora, however, resembled syrup more than wine, and possessed a much lesser golden color. It shone brightly, and Leon could sense a considerable amount of magic power contained within the substance, but it was almost hilarious how inferior the quality of this ambrosia was to what Helen could make. Leon found it almost insulting—Helen’s first few attempts to make ambrosia weren’t that far off from what he poured into the glass, but she improved rapidly. If this was the best that Alhamachim could offer…

“Is… that meant to be drunk or eaten with a spoon?” Icarius sarcastically asked.

“Speaker Tauri told me that they usually cut it with wine or water,” Leon stated, unimpressed.

“That… sounds like quite the waste.”

Leon picked up the glass and slowly inspected the finger’s worth he’d poured in. “Quite. Diluting ambrosia has a detrimental effect on its efficacy. I doubt what they’ve given us will have much of an impact on our power.”

“Then we need to establish better methods for making ambrosia.”

“Very much so.”

“I’ll coordinate with Lady Helen to see if some of her methods can be transferred to brewers in Alhamachim. Or perhaps see if their Hesperidic Apples can be transferred here instead where she can brew the ambrosia herself. We also need to source more of those strategic materials like Lumenite and Titanstone.”

“And soon. I want my arks repaired.”

“Then I’ll begin immediately.” Icarius glanced back at the maps. Leon had only arrived back in Artorion the day before, so copies had yet to be made. However, as a tenth-tier mage, Icarius wouldn’t have any trouble memorizing the maps with only a glance or two. “I’ll bring Penelope. She’s been a bit stir-crazy these past few weeks. Visiting some of these cities to see what they might have on the open market will be good for her. And me. Mostly me, perhaps.”

Leon nodded his assent. Before Icarius could leave, however, Leon took a box from his soul realm and passed it to him. The former Director received it with an intrigued look, and when he opened the small box, around three hundred coins in three sizes and denominations were revealed, though all were made of the same orange-goldish material.

“Local currency,” Leon said. “All made from Aurichalcum—or at least well-plated in it. The smallest one is a ‘hormiz’. Twenty-five hormizes make an ‘anoshaz’. Ten anoshazes make a ‘khosrid’. What I’ve given you should be the equivalent of about three thousand silvers back on Aeterna.”

“Strange that such practical metals are used to mint coins,” Icarius observed.

“Each Despotate has minting rights,” Leon said. “Archelaus apparently likes wasting Aurichalcum on coins. Let’s hope that that means it’s relatively easy to get up here.”

“It’s certainly a promising sign. Have you anything else for me, Leon?”

“No. Just learn where I can source these materials in the short term.”

With that, Icarius departed Artorion on just the kind of adventure that he had been craving on Aeterna—visiting strange cities in search of rare and valuable materials.

---

The fortresses at the north and south of the Artor Valley were raised fairly quickly once the architects and engineers finished their work surveying the site and coming up with defensible designs. Thick walls, heavy enchantment work, and plenty of space for larger weapons. Lances of various sizes, bays to house fighter arks in the future, empty facilities that would one day service Ulta suits, and so much more. The fortresses themselves were made of the finest materials that the earth mages could conjure up, serving as gleaming monoliths of the power of Leon’s Kingdom.

When Leon set down atop the southern fortress, however, it wasn’t for an inspection, though there was a not-so-little part of him that demanded he explore the shell of a fortress as soon as he could, empty of most of its amenities and facilities as it currently was. Atop its roof stood Maia with several of her lesser nymphs, their lake blue eyes turned southward, toward the King’s Ocean miles away.

While Maia wore a gorgeous blue dress embroidered with silver Thunderbirds, the dresses that Leon saw the lesser nymphs wearing were more surprising—that Maia had gotten her nymphs to wear clothes in public spoke more to her power over her pod than almost anything else.

Leon spared the lesser nymphs little of his attention, and he approached his river nymph wife from behind, taking her into his arms. She didn’t even need to say anything to know it was him, and she practically melted back into his chest. Under normal circumstances, she might’ve poured love through their connection or otherwise expressed her joy with his presence. This time, however, it was apprehension that Leon felt—apprehension and a tinge of genuine fear.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

[My girls have followed the river to the ocean,] Maia explained. [It’s bountiful and beautiful. Plenty of space. For now.]

“That sounds suspiciously like good news.”

[Some settled close to the river mouth. They’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on the coast. They’ve reported strange sightings…]

Leon’s blood ran cold. Dark scales, burning green eyes, and a curved horn the size of a destroyer flashed through his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was a genuine memory or something conjured from the depths of his mind’s abyss after being told of the Horned Serpent that Jormun had become.

The prospect of fighting some other sea monster was… chilling, to put it mildly.

“How worried should we be?” Leon asked.

[These… creatures have displayed some measure of intelligence,] Maia reported. She haughtily added, [They’re keeping their distance from the coast. Some appear… to not be monsters, though.]

“Not monsters? What do you mean?”

[Rigid shapes, straight lines. Machines wrought by the hands of men. Ships that cut through the sea like arks through the air.]

Leon could feel outrage through their connection—outrage and mild anger. River nymphs were territorial, and Leon thought that perhaps this instinct was being prodded.

“Keep an eye on the coast, then,” he whispered. “I don’t want any surprises coming in from the south.”

[The ocean will be held back,] Maia promised. [The rivers are for me. For us, and our daughters.]

Leon smiled lovingly, planting a light kiss on her neck. He held her close, though he couldn’t deny that he was disquieted. Monsters and submersible ships off the southern coast… There were more than ten months until reinforcements could arrive from Aeterna. He couldn’t afford to face powerful threats, especially not from the ocean ruled by the Ocean King himself. However, he hadn’t the resources to spare to try and deal with that at the moment.

He could only hope that these monsters and people weren’t interested in messing with Artorion.

He wasn’t that optimistic, though.

---

Not even two weeks passed following Leon’s first meeting—or perhaps confrontation—with Djoser before he received a call from Alhamachim. An envoy had arrived from Archelion. He was being summoned to Archelaus to answer for his ‘overreach’, as the envoy put it.

Immediately, he couldn’t help but feel offended, but even if he was in Alhamachim to receive the envoy, he wouldn’t have acted on that indignance—attacking an envoy of a twelfth-tier mage sounded like a terrible idea.

Regardless, he assembled a small team to join him, consisting of Clear Day, Gaius, Marcus, Alix, Cassandra, Valeria, Red, and two dozen Tempest Knights, and set off for Alhamachim. From there, he would meet with Tauri, who would assemble a team of his own, and together, they would make the journey to Archelion.

Leon treated the matter with deadly seriousness. If Archelaus refused his claim to Alhamachim, then nothing less than war would likely follow, for he had no intention of giving up the city that had decided of their own accord to acclaim him as their King…