Leon’s blood turned to ice as he processed Triyr’s question. It was one he was expecting to have to answer, but not so soon. But he only needed a moment to kick his brain back into action.

“Found it in a ditch somewhere,” he quipped. “Thought it was nice. Took it for my own.”

Triyr glared dismissively at him. “Yet another uncouth newcomer…”

The question had stunned the other Storm Lords on the dock, and it was Gwarim who recovered first. “Wait, wait, wait! Hold the fuck on! What the fuck are you saying that this is Jason fucking Keraunos’ ark?!”

“Eighty thousand years ago, I stood amongst those left behind on Minos while Jason Keraunos departed on his conquest,” Triyr stated. “He kept his destination secret…” The thirteenth-tier mage turned his smoky gray eyes to Leon, narrowed slightly in accusation. “I would never mistake this ark. It was the symbol of the Thunderbird Clan’s dominance, of the Storm King himself. Wherever Storm Herald was, all the Storm Lands followed… And now here it is, before me again, in the hands of a new Lord who doesn’t look like he knows his right hand from his left.”

Leon tensed, ready for violence that he could sense was coming. Behind him, he could sense the rest of his people doing the same. He had quite a few post-Apotheosis mages with him, but against a thirteenth-tier mage, and with other Storm Lords around who might side with him against Leon…

Triyr directly said, “Give this ark to me, Leon Raime. It belongs in no one else’s hands.” The man leaned in, letting his aura press against Leon hard, emphasizing his power.

But Leon was undaunted. “No,” he answered without hesitation. His pride prickled, he made his position clear despite the risks. “I am the last living descendent of the Thunderbird—the last bearer of her power. This ark is mine by blood rights alone. More than that, I found it, repaired it, and used it against the Ocean Lords in defense of the Storm Lands. It is mine and no one else’s.” Pushing through Triyr’s aura, he took a few steps toward the Basileus and stated, “I am not averse to writing my claim in blood.”

Triyr’s expression turned murderous, and for a moment, Leon thought he might make a move. The tension between them thickened so quickly that when Gwarim darted between them, Leon almost expected him to bounce right off.

“You two need to settle the fuck down!” the large man declared.

Strategoi Realiz, Lindis, and Jagan darted in, too, though Strategos Puortis and Despots Nuertis and Illum merely watched. All around them, more and more mages were either arriving or moving away, sensing the situation was about to get violent.

“Descendent of the Thunderbird…” Triyr whispered derisively even as so many other Storm Lords interposed themselves between him and Leon. “Thousands have claimed such a title. All have met bloody ends.”

Leon opened his mouth to respond just as viciously, but Archelaus stepped forward to add his voice to those calling for peace.

“Demanding other’s property is barbaric, Basileus Triyr. Is this how you conduct yourself? As a tyrant demanding what is not yours from your fellow Storm Lords? Tell me, what does the third sermon of Khosrow say about this?”

Triyr tore his eyes away from Leon just long enough to glare balefully at Archelaus, but as more and more people arrived at the dock and whispered amongst themselves, more and more eyes were turned in his direction, throwing silent accusations his way.

Finally, the Basileus scoffed and took flight. “Pathetic, the lot of you. It’s little wonder the Storm Lands remain divided when filled with such men.” Venom still dripping from his tongue, he shot away, and Leon let out a restrained sigh.

“Wrinkly ballbag,” Gwarim snorted, the statement releasing so much tension in the air that everyone seemed to deflate. He then clapped Leon on the shoulder and boomed, “Ha! That was quite something, Leon Raime! I’d expect nothing less from a Storm Lord, but too often have I been let down! Fucking impressive, my new friend! Impressive indeed!”

Several other Storm Lords offered similar words, but Archelaus, after exchanging a meaningful look with Despots Illum and Nuertis, quietly said amongst the din of the crown that had assembled to see Leon’s arrival, “This is hardly the place to continue our introductions, is it? I’m sure Leon Raime is flattered that so many of his fellow Storm Lords came out to meet him on the dock, but should we not retire somewhere more comfortable?”

“Is this more comfortable place somewhere in this magnificent ark?” Gwarim shot back with a sarcastic smile. At Leon’s thin-lipped smile, he added, “Just a jest, my new friend! Come! Let us drink and make merry! I know just the place for it!”

Without waiting for a response, Gwarim took flight, several other Storm Lords following suit. The gathering crowds around the dock, however, didn’t immediately start dispersing, and in fact, only continued to grow. Leon nodded to Archelaus to signal his acceptance, but then he turned and said to the Jaguar, “Stay here, keep an eye on our arks. I don’t think this is going to be the last time someone tries something…”

“Agreed,” the Jaguar responded as Singer and Sar nodded along. “We’ll stay here with Red and Anshu. Make sure no one tries something they might regret.”

Leon nodded, and then with his friends and family, took off to follow Gwarim. Keeping all of the ark crews onboard was unlikely to be a popular decision, but given how quickly another Storm Lord showed up demanding what he owned, Leon thought it prudent. Those arks were his, not theirs.

As they took flight, others on the dock followed—the entourages of the other Storm Lords, it seemed. They flew quickly over the shining city, passing the city’s internal defenses without a care. Leon found it almost shamefully neglectful on the part of Voidshore’s garrison, but given it benefitted him not to have to pass through gatehouses and checkpoints, he wasn’t going to make a scene out of it.

Gwarim led the group to a jagged palace surrounded by gardens that were beautiful, though not particularly extensive given the city’s size constraints. The palace itself rose into the air like a steep mountain, towers and buttresses giving it an almost broken silhouette while jagged black glass rippled across its exterior. Unlike the towers that surrounded the palace, it had actual windows, though Leon doubted they were made of regular glass.

The palace had only a single courtyard, which lay just past the main entrance, and it was small. Gwarim landed close to the center next to a large bronze statue of a well-built man winding up to hurl a lightning spear. The spear was made of actual lightning instead of bronze.

“Anax Jir’tess won’t be participating in the Games this year,” Gwarim said as his fine boots touched the polished stone of the courtyard. “But she leaves her palace open to all Storm Lords passing through Voidshore.”

“A trusting woman,” Leon stated as he landed next to the enormous Despot.

“It’s easy to trust when there is no risk involved,” Archelaus said as he landed next to Leon, the rest of their large party quickly filling the small courtyard just behind him. “Jir’tess leaves nothing of value within this palace, so she only benefits by giving others a haven in Voidshore.”

“Is such an attitude widespread?” Cassandra asked as she stepped up to Leon’s shoulder.

Gwarim grimaced as he answered, “It’s all too rare. Without a strong Storm King to keep us unified…”

“Come, my friend,” Archelaus said as he clapped Gwarim’s shoulder, “let us leave the more serious discussions for when we’ve gotten out of the public eye.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The Despot nodded—their party was still subject to the magic senses of thousands of people, the palace’s wards not extending out to the courtyard for a reason Leon couldn’t fathom.

Gwarim and Archelaus led the way in entering the palace, revealing a circular entrance hall with such a long diameter that it likely took up at least half of the palace’s footprint. The domed ceiling, partially supported by gigantic pilasters in the wall, each coated in shining bronze covered in reliefs showing scenes of nature. Lightning flashed amongst the top of the pilasters and danced across the ceiling along jagged lines of bronze, highlighting the murals on the ceiling and drawing the eye towards the oculus in the center of the dome which appeared to lead to a shaft that ran the entire length of the palace’s central tower.

The entourages of the Storm Lords immediately separated from them, remaining in the entrance hall even as Gwarim led them to a huge set of doors to the right of the entrance. With a look, Leon ordered the rest of his people to stay with them, save for his wives and Clear—the dynamic seemed to be that post-Apotheosis mages went one way and the rest went another.

“There should be some golems keeping this place in shape,” Gwarim said as he led the group of Storm Lords into a curving hallway that wrapped around the edge of the circular atrium. “Other than them, we’re largely alone in here.”

“Good,” Archelaus stated. “Maybe now someone might tell us why Triyr was acting so forcefully. In my experience, he’s not usually as bold as he was today.”

“The fool cast his lot in with Kamran,” Strategos Lindis said. “He seems to think Halbast won’t win despite Auset tossing her support behind him.”

“Shortsighted,” Strategos Jagan growled.

“In some ways,” Despot Illum said. “In others… Kamran is certainly the most powerful Anax remaining after…” His eyes drifted in Leon’s direction. “Despot Leon, might you satisfy my curiosity?”

“That will depend on what would satisfy you,” Leon smilingly responded.

“HA!” Gwarim boomed as he took them into a large sitting room, fully stocked with drinks and various crystal vessels perfectly arranged in a nearby bar, while plush seating ensured comfort. “It would take little more than a wink and a smile from a beautiful woman to satisfy good Illum!”

“Whereas it takes the combined efforts of half the whores in all the Storm Lands to satisfy you, good Gwarim.”

Gwarim laughed again, both he and Illum smiling widely despite their exchanged barbs. “A man is made by his appetites! And mine are boundless!” True to his words, he wasted no time cracking open the bar and rummaging around inside, pulling out bottles of both conventional alcohols—as much as ‘conventional’ meant in the palace of an Anax, at least—and bottles filled with liquors glowing in various neon shades.

“Anyway,” Illum continued as the rest of the Storm Lords gathered around Gwarim to see what treasures he’d unearthed, “how did you manage to acquire Storm Herald? Where did you find it?”

Leon smiled and laughed to cover the twitching in his lips and eyes. Arms crossed over his chest did the same for his hands. “When Jason Keraunos met his end, he took much of the Thunderbird Clan with him. The rest scattered, leaving much of their material open to be taken by various local powers.”

“What local powers?” Illum pressed. “And where did he take his invasion force? Those who returned to the Great Strand of Atreus never said. Even Lord Koukouva has remained tight-lipped about the matter.”

That name struck an old memory in Leon, that of a message left in a ruined Thunderbird facility in the Ilian Empire—Lord Koukouva was the man who rallied the scattered vassals left on Aeterna for evacuation. Another Lord whose name escaped him resisted his efforts, though Koukouva was still able to escape. The only ones who remained behind were those who later went on to become the Ten Tribes exiled on Kataigida.

“Strategically insignificant planes who would’ve rather been left alone,” Leon said. “There was nothing to be gained there save for the fact that they were being defended by a mage with a Universe Fragment. Jason Keraunos led the Clan there to secure the fragment and got himself killed along with much of the Clan’s elites. The locals, too weak to join anyone in the Nexus, took what they could, but couldn’t use most of it. Millennia later, I rose and reclaimed what I could, including Storm Herald.”

Illum stroked his chin, the other Storm Lords having quieted down as Leon explained in the safest and broadest terms he could the disaster that Jason led them into without outright lying.

“That is… surprising. Where did this Lord go? The one who bore the power of a Universe Fragment?”

Leon shrugged. “Man wants to be left alone and has ensured that he would be following Jason Keraunos’ failed invasion.”

Illum thought for a long moment before saying, “Fair enough, I suppose. But still, Jason Keraunos brought so much power with him, and did he not bear the Iron Needle, too? Hard to imagine that he was killed by one man…”

“The strength of an Elemental King is not without limit,” Archelaus said, rejoining the conversation. “Nor is that of a Universe Fragment. Arrogance has been the downfall of many a Lord, as Triyr may have been close to learning…”

Illum chuckled. “Ahh, it would’ve made my day to see that man’s face caved in! But he is a Basileus for a reason; it is perhaps for the better that that disagreement was ended sparklessly.”

“Speaking of…” Archelaus said, “Illum, what has kept Ramin from joining us? It is unlike him to run so late…”

“Aye,” Illum replied, pausing for a moment as Gwarim shouted in triumph as he pulled three bottles filled with a pale amber substance that Leon almost thought was ambrosia until the Despot identified them as some kind of high-class wine. Continuing, Illum explained, “There were some problems he had to deal with as a result of Halbast and Kamran’s conflict heating up. Defenses were being tested, Anax Alderion demanded additional tribute to ensure the borders were secure out in the strands… Ramin has done what he could as quickly as he could, but…”

Archelaus grunted in displeasure but didn’t press the issue—it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway.

“Come!” Gwarim roared as he began distributing drinks. “Let us drink! And celebrate our meeting with Despot Leon Raime! Welcome, my new friend! And all of our other new friends!” He smiled at the other ‘Strategoi’ Leon had brought with him, and after a cheer went up in the hall, everyone shared a moment of shared camaraderie before naturally splitting into tier groups. Leon went with the other Despots to one side of the room while his wives and Clear joined the handful of Strategoi on the other.

“Tell me, Leon,” Nuertis said as they got settled, the Despot wearing a grin of anticipation that seemed at odds with his otherwise calm demeanor so far, “tell me about your battles with Terris. You have covered yourself in glory kicking those stinking fish out of our fair Storm Lands; I am eager to hear the story of how!”

“Yes!” Gwarim agreed in his booming voice. “Few recent tales have been so glorious as those of your rise, Leon! Share it with us, that we might all be so inspired to bring further glory to our lands on Belicenion!”

Leon smiled, more than willing to tell the story despite the many setbacks he’d faced and mistakes he’d made. He went deliberately light on some of the details, not wanting to draw attention to his use of Doomfire nor his possession of the Iron Needle, but he was more than willing to talk about his use of the Thunderbird’s power.

“… Yes,” Nuertis said just as Leon described his use of silver-blue lightning during the opening clash of the war. “You claimed descent from the Thunderbird, but now you also claim to bear her power? I have never seen such a thing, yet it is such an easily-verifiable—”

Before he’d even finished voicing his request, Leon had already raised a hand and let silver-blue bolts ripple over his fingers. The sight stunned the other Despots, their silence so deafening that even the Strategoi across the room paused their conversations to glance in their direction. From deep within, Leon could also feel the Thunderbird’s attention, his avian Ancestor practically preening as her power once again shocked Storm Lords into silence.

“The color of lightning isn’t itself proof,” Leon conceded, though his smile didn’t at all fade, “but this is her power. Darkness magic flees before it, and few beings can touch my mind if I don’t allow it.”

‘… May I?” Illum asked as he leaned forward, a hand reaching for the hand Leon was using to demonstrate his Ancestor’s power. Leon nodded, and Illum’s fingertips brushed against Leon’s own, drawing a few silver-blue bolts to spark against his skin.

Illum withdrew his fingers, a look of wonder crossing his features as he stared first at his own fingers, then back to Leon’s. “I have… this is…” he murmured.

“Ha!” Gwarim finally thundered. “I see why that ark allows you to use it! I doubt anyone other than a bearer of the Thunderbird’s power could’ve taken it for themselves!”

“Truly remarkable,” Nuertis whispered. “I had never thought to see that lost power before my end…”

“Let my elderly tongue tell you youngsters the truth,” Archelaus said. “Leon Raime's power is legitimate. I remember the old Storm Kings and the power they used. It is unmistakable.”

Leon nodded in gratitude for him lending him credibility, which Archelaus responded to with a smile.

“This is… everyone’s going to be talking about this,” Illum declared. “The old blood has returned! What are… how do… what does this mean?”

“War, most likely,” Nuertis nonchalantly replied. “I doubt Halbast or Kamran will end their conflict to recognize anyone else as Storm King. You have a difficult road ahead of you, Leon Raime. For all your gifts, I do not envy you…”

“I am ready for whatever comes,” Leon said. “I do not invite war, but I will meet it if it’s brought to my door. I will neither hide nor beg.”

“Ha! No man worthy of a title can be weak, but you have iron in your blood, Leon!” Gwarim roared.

“Yes, war,” Archelaus said. “There is another war we must be aware of, one which Leon and I found at Iaivi Fortress.”

“Iaivi?” Illum whispered. “Has someone been foolish enough to attack Anax Drenthor’s property?”

“It seems so,” Archelaus said. “And Jors-kil was there when it happened…”