Watching the Seventh Iron Order ready themselves for battle was inspiring. Even Leon’s most professional forces could learn a thing or two from the way the order’s warriors went about their tasks, handling their logistical needs and methodically servicing their kit. They were an order with singular dedication, and it showed, their hands practiced in the ways of war.

    Leon couldn’t help but wonder just how practiced they were, though—their familiarity and professionalism spoke to long years spent on the warpath, but he hadn’t heard that much about other Ocean Lords attacking the Far West. Either the order was highly trained to a degree he found admirable, or they were constantly dealing with threats that the rest of the Far West didn’t care enough to notice.@@@@

    No matter the reason, he found a growing admiration for the Seventh Iron Order as they readied their three local arks and a host of several thousand warriors to follow him back to Artorion. The orders had sprung from a need to defend the Storm Lands in the absence of a strong Storm King, but he couldn’t help but imagine a time when he wore his Ancestor’s crown, Storm Diamond glimmering above his brow, accepting offers of fealty from all the Iron Orders. If they were anything like the Seventh, then they would be powerful allies to have.

    Leon’s party observed the order from the guest tower for a short time, intending to head out into the main courtyard once Nestor was ready to recall them. Leon had contacted Artorion to let them know of his successes thus far, and Nestor had set about readying the Lumenite gateway to bring them home.

    “A matter of hours,” Nestor had said. “I’ll message your comm slate when it’s ready.”

    And so, Leon waited. He’d finished all he’d set about doing with a week to spare, though there was so much to do back in Artorion that resting on his laurels upon his return never once occurred to him. He had to integrate the Iron Order into his command structure, inspect the repaired defenses, the arks that were battle ready, and the new Aurichalcum Lances that were already being completed. He also had to catch up Elise and Cassandra, as well as plant Mir at the highest point on the nine-peaked mountain. On top of all that, he still had the branch and seed from the Stormborn Oak to handle...

    Finally, he had to find some way to thank Clear Day, Eva, and Anastasios for their diligence in maintaining the shield over the valley. Not once had they faltered, even when Terris’ fleets had heavily bombarded the shield, hoping to cause enough strain to shut the thing down. Those bombardments had been unsuccessful, but despite this stellar service on their part, Leon wasn’t sure he could find a way to properly thank them until after this siege had been well and truly lifted.

    He couldn’t help but softly chuckle as that thought ran through his head.

    “Something funny?” Valeria quietly asked him. She and Maia were the only two that were that close to him, the rest of his party remaining close by but not within comfortable muttering distance. With a cheeky, if subdued grin, Leon’s silver-haired wife said, “I’d like to laugh to, please share with me.”

    “How many arks now surround Artorion?” Leon asked.

    “Almost two hundred,” Valeria answered, her expression faltering slightly at the unexpected question. Her answer wasn’t that specific, but Leon wasn’t asking to get the details, but to make his point.

    “The Ocean Despot has called enough power down upon us to conquer entire planes,” Leon said, “and yet... the success we’ve had in the past few weeks is enough that, just now, I didn’t even question our chances of victory. I thought about rewarding Eva and Anastasios, but only once we’d won, as if that was hardly even in question. Misplaced confidence? Maybe. It still amused me, to realize my confidence despite the situation.”

    Valeria pinched his arm. “Keep a level head, ‘King’ Leon,” she whispered. “Overconfidence will get us all killed.”

    [Our enemies will die,] Maia stated as she jumped into the conversation. [Confidence doesn’t matter when this is fact.] She nodded as if she’d just declared the sky was blue.

    A bolt of lightning flashed across the gray, overcast sky as Leon felt her confidence bleed through their connection, bolstering his. As he opened his mouth to respond, his comm slate, which rested on the windowsill in front of him, began to shine with magic.

    Leon stowed his thoughts and activated the runes on the slate. The comm lotus petal within the thin black slate pulsed with power, and above the slate, an image was projected, revealing Cassandra.

    “Cassie?” Leon exclaimed in surprise. “Where’s Nestor?” As he asked his question, he projected his magic senses, checking on the Artor Valley, fearing some calamity had befallen his chosen home in the few minutes it had been since he’s last checked on it. His magic senses, however, revealed a situation unchanged, his fear misplaced.

    “Leon,” Cassandra warmly replied. “We’ve received a message that... might change your plans, and I wanted to let you know. Bright Intent is back.”

    Leon blinked in surprise. Bright Intent had been sent back to Aeterna more than a month ago at this point with all of the wisps that he and his fellow eleventh-tier mages had created over their time in the Nexus. If the next wave of arks and colonists from Aeterna were to reach the Nexus safely, then they needed every wisp they could get their hands on.

    “I’ll admit, I almost forgot that they were due to return,” Leon said.

    “A little early,” Cassandra replied, “but they’re soon to be here. Captain Grass-Cutter checked in with us right outside of the portal into the Nexus. I told him to hold his position there and not to enter the Nexus until you give permission.”

    The first bridge had formed around the same time the barrier went up, and the second days later. Now, he was being informed of a third, this one lasting much longer than the others.

    He’d suspected the monster within the valley had been doing his best to try and call for aid. Terris had been tempted to send forces out to the northern regions to put a stop to that, but he was wary of provoking any other Storm Lords into action. Most of the wrecks around the besieged valley had been salvaged at this point, but he’d still taken considerable losses. Nearly all of the arks and armies he could bring to bear were now here, but even those numbers could be bested if a Storm Lord of Basileus rank or higher took too great of an interest in his business...

    So, he restrained himself, despite his certainty that it was giving his opponent too much freedom to move.

    Making matters worse, Rejhava, one of his Strategoi that had contended with the beast during their last confrontation and been hit by black lightning, was still in recovery. The wounds inflicted upon him had sent shivers down Terris’ spine, and there was a large part of him that dreaded facing that monster again, if it could wield such power. The Doomfire had been easy enough to counter, if painful, but the effects of this black lightning were not so easily countered. Flesh could be flensed away, and that certainly seemed to help, but the damage done by that black lightning ran deeper, leaving Rejhava bedridden these past weeks. Whatever ate away at him ran deeper, and he would require extreme treatment to recover.

    Once the beast was dead, his city razed, and the Ocean King’s buffer zone restored, Terris intended to make sure that his Strategos received the best care that anyone could provide. He’d already lost so much in this endeavor, losing another Strategos couldn’t be tolerated.

    Terris obliterated the report in his hand speaking of the third Lumenite bridge, and made his way up to the bridge of his personal ark where he could see what was happening with his own eyes. There, he was met by Sarjell, who commanded his forces in his absence.

    Sarjell bowed and spoke the words he was expected to when his Lord entered the room. Terris largely ignored him, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand.

    “How was this one any different?” he asked, not elaborating.

    Understanding despite Terris’ curtness, Sarjell explained, “The Lumenite bridge remained for longer than the previous two occurrences. It also connected to the Seventh Iron Order. I was able to confirm that Leon Raime was there in person, likely soliciting their aid.”

    Terris scoffed. “As far as allies go, the Seventh Iron Order is hardly one to brag about.” His eyes momentarily drifted eastward. It was a good thing that none of the other Storm Lords had gotten involved. Djoser and Archelaus were his only real worries, and they were staying out of it—and Djoser was keeping his word, preventing the Third Iron Order from entering this conflict, too. “Have there been any detected changes in their barrier?”

    “Minute changes,” Sarjell stated. “I’ve been told that the barrier will last for, at most, two weeks. Probably less, if we regularly bombard it.”

    With a vicious grin, Terris said, “After almost a month, those few defenders who remain probably have at least twenty percent of their body made up by stimcoral—or the Storm Lands’ equivalent. Their towers and command rooms will reek of unwashed ass. Fatigue and the sound of our bombardments will have replaced all higher thought. Once that barrier comes down, we will storm into their valley and put them down, for the glory of Ocean King Ahndhas. In their state, they will consider death a relief. For Leon Raime, I would deny even that mercy. I want him paraded through the streets of Akhreteia, Theia, Ponturia, and Denrock. His defeat will be known in every corner of the King’s Ocean.”

    Terris paused long enough to grin. His fingers twitched, itching to close around his Ebon Mace. Though there were few things he wanted to do less than facing down someone with both Doomfire and that black lightning, he was confident he could take the arrogant Strategos down if they were to clash again. Even if he couldn’t...

    “He thinks he can withstand the tides? Survive one wave, well done... but another will follow. Mountains are ground to dust by the patient sea. All is washed away beneath the salty waves. All is dust beneath the surf.”

    A seemingly innocuous sound from his bridge’s comm station caught his attention. The officer stationed there did his duty to the letter, but only a moment after laying his hand upon one of the small comm stones at his console, the officer paled and reeled back. He cast a terrified look at Terris, and when he locked eyes with his Despot, he shot to his feet and ran toward him.

    Terris, his curiosity rising quickly, leaned down for the officer to whisper what he’d heard in that message to him. As the words fell from his lips, Terris’ heart skipped a beat, and he was glad the officer hadn’t made an announcement to the entire bridge.

    “Noted,” Terris growled, and the officer ran back to his station.

    Sarjell didn’t say a word, but he stared expectantly at Terris.

    The Diluvian Despot sighed, searching for the right words. Then, he reached out with his darkness magic, touching Sarjell’s mind. When Sarjell reciprocated the connection, Terris stated, “The brat’s on her way. It seems we’ll have an august spectator to watch our triumph over our beastly foe.”

    Sarjell paled, and this time, Terris knew that his silence stemmed not from professionalism, but from genuine terror—a fear that Terris, if in a more subdued way, shared.

    ‘It would be best if we finished this siege quickly,’ he thought, after which he ordered his arks to commence with their daily bombardment. ‘I’d rather not have to deal with her for any longer than is needed...’