True to their word, the three wardens sent a relatively powerful group of mages to escort Leon to the main keep, where they would hold their negotiations. The escorts were quiet, but at least showed no disrespect, while Leon brought Valeria, Gaius, and Anna with him to the meeting, trusting them to be the most politically savvy of his followers.

    The keep was a labyrinthine construct, built for one thing and one thing only: defense. The keep had been built into disparate sections, each connected only via a few easily defended halls and doors. If any enemy were to take one of these sections, they’d have to fight hard to even breach another one.

    Most of the keep’s halls were relatively small and without much ornamentation, painting an exceptionally austere image of those who called the keep home. While Leon’s tastes ran decidedly simple, even he was starting to feel like the endless halls of black stone and dull gray metal, with so few windows to break the monotony, were too little. There was little artistic flair to the castle, few signs of any kind of joy or life within its walls.

    The escort brought Leon’s small group to a door flanked by a pair of ninth-tier mages, and from what Leon could sense, many more mages were waiting in the wings, ready to intervene if violence were to break out. Acting like he neither noticed nor cared about any of these security precautions, Leon advanced right to the door and laid his hand upon the thick enchanted oak. He could easily sense many of the wards locking the door, and with a quick expression, he broke right through them.

    “The wardens will—” one of the ninth-tier mages sternly said before trailing off, his surprise at Leon pushing the door open himself clear to see even though his face was obscured by his helmet.

    Inside lay a round table, at one end of which sat Uwe, Carver, and Vetta. This time, instead of full black plate, each of them wore plain black tunics, trousers, and boots, all of which were about as ornate and ostentatious as the rest of the keep.

    ‘At least they’re showing this much trust,’ Leon thought, his mind briefly touching on the accusations levied against him upon his arrival. If they had been truly worried about him, they probably wouldn’t have shown up to this meeting sans armor.

    Several other mages between the fifth and eighth-tier were present, too, though none sat at the table. Weathering the glare he received for forcing the door open, Leon took the closest seat, deliberately not sitting exactly opposite from the wardens. The other three took up positions by the door instead of sitting with him.

    “We will have to fix that door,” Uwe growled in irritation.

    Though it was a small power play on his part, Leon decided to take a more conciliatory approach now that he was at the table.

    “I’ll compensate you for it. For now, how about we get down to business?”

    Carver jumped in immediately, seeming as if he was trying to head off any arguments or misunderstandings.

    “What do you want from us, King Leon?” he asked.

    “I have already told you what I want from you,” Leon retorted. “I’d rather know your answer after you’ve had some time to deliberate.”

    “We hold no love for the squids,” Vetta spat, “but we hold no power in the south. The Seventh Iron Order’s purview does not extend to Titan’s Coast.”

    “It is our purpose to protect the Storm Lands from the predations of the other Elemental Lands,” Uwe stated, “but our power is limited. Our orders number more than twenty, but our actual political influence is rather low. By long agreement amongst the competing Anakes, our Captains are meant to be on par with Strategoi, if not Strategoi themselves.”

    “We are without a Captain,” Carver stated.

    “How are we to help you, King Leon,” Vetta continued, “if we are not free to act down there, and when we lack a Captain?”

    Leon suppressed a scowl as they spoke. “The Captain of the Third Iron Order is Strategos Djoser, is it not?”

    “Yes,” Carver confirmed. “If anyone were to support you in this time, it should’ve been our brothers in the Third Iron Order.”

    Carver left his follow-up question unstated, but Uwe was apparently not so subtle.

    “Ishtorpor is obligated to come to your aid; why come here instead of there?”

    Leon controlled his expression into a confident smirk instead of the deep scowl he almost wore. “I’m sure Strategos Djoser is an honorable man under normal conditions, but we have had some recent disagreements. He was quite affronted not only that Alhamachim acknowledged me as their Strategos instead of him after I saved them from an attack by raiders from outside the Nexus, but also because Despot Archelaus confirmed my suzerainty over the city and its hinterland.”

    Vetta reflected his smirk at him. “Are you suggesting that the Captain of the Third Iron Order is shirking his duty to the Storm Lands and leaving you to die without support?”

    “I believe you just said that, not me.”

    Vetta scoffed, though her smirk didn’t lessen.

    “We have forty thousand, three hundred and fifty-nine warriors who call this castle home,” Carver stated, and though it was subtle, Leon detected some slight tension in the other two as the Second Warden revealed this information. “We have twelve arks of standard frigate tonnage and four of standard destroyer tonnage. We also have three green water fleets, though none are as strong as they should be. Of the war beasts that many of our brother orders possess, we have none. R?aNo??BE?????

    “Our support among the local cities is low, with most of our recruits coming from Culain to the northwest. In short, Leon Raime, we have little in the way of support that we can offer you. We struggle with our own responsibilities, and taking on those designated for the Third Iron Order would be... difficult.”

    Leon took in this information, especially that of their strength. It was lesser than what he’d hoped for, but given what he’d accomplished so far with less than half the manpower that the Seventh Iron Order possessed...

    “I have power,” Leon said. “I also have resources. The twenty thousand people I started to build my city with are but a small fraction of those that are to follow. In the few weeks that I’ve been seeking allies and support, I have acquired additional means to defend my city, though none are guarantees. All this is to say that if you aided me in my defense of Artorion, I would, in turn, provide your order with material and financial support.”

    “If you successfully fend off the squids at your gates,” Vetta stated.

    The lance spoke first, its disembodied tone dismissive. “You bring your leashed demon with you. Do I terrify you so, mage?”

    “Leashed?!” Xaphan furiously growled. “I am a Lord of Flame, and you only a sharp piece of metal!”

    A bolt of golden lightning struck Xaphan in the blink of an eye, but it dissipated in his fiery aura.

    “Try again, little poker,” the demon sneered.

    “Enough!” Leon shouted as he exerted his power over his soul realm, preventing further violence. “We’re just here to talk, so both of you: stow it.”

    He let his aura spill forth from his magic body and emanate from the very ground, and though they remained quiet, both Xaphan and the lance quieted down.

    “Let’s make this quick, then, to avoid any further unpleasantness,” Leon continued as he enforced peace and calm. “You promised to aid me. I would have more details.”

    “As I said before; leave me somewhere quiet and secure. Somewhere with access to the sky. Once placed, denote to me the limits, and if it is within my power, I will protect your city.”

    “Is that it?”

    “What more do you wish?”

    “I would’ve figured there would be more demands, more requirements. Wards, amplification arrays, something.”

    “Keep my peace. Keep my solitude. I desire no contact with mortal men—or the immortal. My haft is to be unblemished by the hands of anyone. Should you allow my solitude to be breached, so too shall our contract be breached, and my aid, forfeited.”

    “Those are easy enough conditions to fulfill,” Leon said. “There’s a mountain I intend to build my palace upon, an enormous feature rich in beauty. I intend it to be as private as I can make it, with no one but my own family granted unlimited access. If I plant you at the highest peak of this mountain, and you protect my city, then I will decree that no one, save for myself, shall have access to it, under pain of death.”

    Silence stretched between them, and then the lance said, “If it maintains my serenity, then so be it.”

    Leon nodded. Then, with narrowed eyes, he asked, “How will your power manifest itself? To be clearer: I’m curious if the storm around you is something you control or not, and whether or not it would surround Artorion.”

    “My power enforces my will. Should you wish it, and so long as I remain undisturbed, I can retract it, and allow the cursed Origin Spark to shine upon you.”

    Xaphan crackled, “Got a problem with the big glowing marble?”

    A tiny bolt of lightning raced up the haft of the weapon. “No,” it hissed.

    Sensing its unwillingness to speak on that subject, Leon asked, “You know, I was wondering just what you were, what the nature of your existence is. Let me know if you don’t want to talk about it, but I still can’t help but wonder. Are you an implanted wisp, a complicated enchantment, or something else entirely?”

    “Valen Kanto wove me of magic and breathed life into me,” the lance replied. “‘Miracle’, he called me. His Shining Glory.”

    Leon nodded. “But the details of your creation, or the nature of your existence... Is there any light you can shed on either of those things?”

    The lance went quiet for another long moment. “Little. I first awoke in the bones of the earth, my maker standing nearby, playing on a flute of bamboo. His power sank into my metal form, and I was more aware of myself with every passing moment. When my master finished the song of my creation, he took me into his hand and declared me his Miracle.”

    “That’s interesting...” Leon said as he glanced at Xaphan, who looked thoughtful. “Let that be what we call you, then: ‘Valen’s Miracle’, or maybe ‘Mir’ or ‘Miracle’ if that’s too much.”

    Naught answered Leon save the whistling wind, which he just decided to take as assent.

    “We’ll... leave you to it, then,” he said as Xaphan jerked his thumb back toward his Mind Palace.

    Together, he and his demonic partner took back to the skies, but it wasn’t until they landed in Xaphan’s pavilion that the demon finally spoke.

    “I had thought it was a wisp attached to a weapon, as you’d said,” the demon mused. “Such weapons are powerful and often contain some semblance of sentience. In some ways, they are much like Universe Fragments, though no more than pale imitations. That thing, however, is something else.”

    “What is it?” Leon asked.

    “A unique being,” Xaphan declared. “Or as unique as it can be. If I had to say anything with any certainty, it’s that Valen Kanto had a Universe Fragment. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what that fuckwit did; how else could he become the greatest smith in humanity’s pathetic history? That flute, I’d say, was the Universe Fragment—it sounds familiar, though its name escapes me.”

    “Well...” Leon whispered. “Certainly interesting. Though the lance is no Universe Fragment itself, I have to say that I’m rather comforted knowing that its power stems from something so powerful. Terris has a similar weapon so we can’t take anything for granted, but... Maybe Artorion will actually make it through all this...”