The time soon came to meet Sasan at the fane’s central temple, and Leon assembled a small escort to join him. Given the fane’s apparent widespread attitude toward those with Inherited Bloodlines, he decided to leave Anzu, Clear, and Red behind, though his other four Paladins joined him and his wives. Anzu wasn’t that thrilled, but Leon specifically left him in charge of a host of Tempest Knights in addition to the small retinue that the griffin was starting to build. The rest of Leon’s people were remaining on high alert, ready to invade the fane and raze it to the ground if anything happened to him or any of his wives while they were out.

Opinions on his acceptance of the invitation were decidedly mixed, though, as many of Leon’s advisors seemed keen on showing as he and his wives finished their preparations.

“I must protest against,” the Jaguar said in a low growl. “These monks have bared their fangs and now you wish to venture into their den? My King—”

“I understand the risk,” Leon responded. “That’s why if anything happens, you’ll bombard the fane from Storm Herald. As for my personal safety: Sasan is honorable enough. I don’t know him well enough to trust him completely, but in this, I know that he’s on the level. We’ll be safe—at least until he leaves.”

“I don’t trust anyone here at all,” the Jaguar whispered. “Their hostility is ideologic and won’t go away just because a powerful patron backs you.”

Singer-in-Caves jumped in, saying, “I do not wish for war, but I find myself agreeing with our spotted friend, Leon. Even if it’s not that big of a risk, why take it? Without you, without your bloodline, our Kingdom falls apart.”

“This is hardly the first risk I’ve taken since my accession,” Leon said, his annoyance starting to rise, though he kept it in check.

“He’s already agreed,” Clear said. “To go back on it now would only insult Sasan and potentially lose him as an ally and friend. Isn’t that right?” The tau asked the question of everyone, but his eyes lingered on the other two post-Apotheosis mages at least nominally taking part in the exchange.

The first was Red, who looked almost bored by the concept of speaking at all, let alone expressing a political opinion. “He is strong,” she stated. “Why would he need to lie?”

“A salient point,” Sar, the other present post-Apotheosis mage, said. “Those with power don’t need to resort to deceit to get their way. Sasan could’ve ended us all down at that landing point, yet he defused the situation instead. Out of respect for his actions, let us not brandish our antlers until we are certain that there is no other choice. To rest with the Ancestors is an honor, but it is one that many of this ark’s crew would be happy to avoid.”

The Jaguar sighed in resignation. “We… will await your return eagerly, Leon.”

“We won’t be long,” Leon said with what he hoped was a comforting smile.

He only had to wait another minute or so for his wives to join them, their preparations finally complete. He was glad to see them presenting a united front as they’d done on Voidshore: dressed entirely in blue and silver dresses, the shining white snow lion coats that he’d given to them as wedding gifts draped about their shoulders in a style that he’d noticed was becoming popular among those in his Kingdom who wore furs—their arms weren’t in the sleeves, but the coats themselves were outright secured to the backs of the dresses, letting them seem almost like cloaks.

Behind them came his Paladins: Alix, Anna, Daryun, and Zhang, all dressed in shining armor, blue and silver silkgrass cloaks spilling from their shoulders and blue sashes with faint silver lightning bolts wrapping around their waists and torsos. The additions gave their battle armor something of a ceremonial bent, though having forged their armor himself, Leon knew that all of it was perfectly functional.

He smiled as his ladies walked over, Elise taking one of his arms and Cassandra taking the other. Their fingers lightly squeezed the sleeves of his own snow lion coat, which he wore in the standard manner, beneath which was a fine blue and silver tunic and trousers. He eschewed almost all decorations for his clothing, letting the fine materials and tailoring speak for it rather than covering his attire in lightning bolts and Thunderbirds.

“Ready, my handsome husband?” Elise asked.

“You look ready,” Cassandra said as she openly ogled him, her head leaning slightly to let her eyes rake over his backside.

“As do all of you,” Leon replied as he returned the admiring looks. All of his ladies were quite conservatively dressed, but their dresses still clung to them in just the right way to show off their beauty.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Valeria pointed out.

[He’s ready,] Maia declared. [We’re ready.] She nodded confidently, and when Leon returned it, they gave a few last-minute instructions to their attendants and advisors, then made to depart Storm Herald. Sasan wanted to show off the central temple, and Leon was ready to see it.

---

Their arrival at the temple was a shade anticlimactic. The monks they met, all wearing brown robes, treated them with distant respect, neither hurrying to accommodate them nor showing them any kind of hostility. Not a single Black Robe could be seen anywhere in the city—and Leon had blanketed the fane in his magic senses from the moment he stepped off Storm Herald, and he was confident that he’d have found one by now if they were active in the streets. Still, it wasn’t until they were shown through the obsidian halls of the outer temple and met Mhar at the shining white arches that led into the courtyards surrounding the central temple that Leon started to relax in that search.

“Leon, my savior,” Mhar said warmly. “Welcome to Khosrow’s Fane—the true fane.”

“Good to see you, too, Mhar,” Leon said, additional greetings following his statement. Mhar was gracious and respectful, and though he remained fully armored, the smile on his face was as genuine as it could be, as far as Leon could tell.

“… that the mausoleum?” Elise finished asking as Mhar finally turned to escort them beyond the arches and into the gleaming courtyards, the rest of the Brown Robes having left them to their business.

“There is no true mausoleum here,” Mhar said, repeating what Archelaus had told Leon upon their arrival. “Few people ever see inside the temple itself, and fewer still are allowed to access the deepest chambers. Rumor has it that Khosrow himself can be found within, which led to the locals calling the temple his mausoleum.”

“Is that true?” Cassandra asked as Leon closely inspecting the imposing edifice. “Is Khosrow in there?”

Mhar chuckled. “This place is no tomb. Calling this temple a ‘mausoleum’ is mostly just a trick played on tourists by enterprising guides and locals looking to fleece some khosrids out of visiting pilgrims. No, this fane was built to honor Khosrow for his contributions to humanity, not to act as his literal resting place.”

“How did he die?” Leon asked Mhar, his outward smile pleasant and curious, but his inner smile was much sharper.

“I hope you’re not assuming I’m privy to ancient secrets,” Mhar said with a polite laugh. “Khosrow disappeared at the end of the war, his work finished.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“It’s assumed he died,” Leon pressed as his eyes once again swept over the gigantic white and gold agate temple, his gaze lingering on the wide, triangular pediment above the columns flanking the entrance. On it was carved reliefs showing Khosrow’s various triumphs, notably showing Khosrow himself standing in the center with a raised sword, along with a quadrupedal Primal God and a nebulous Primal Devil fallen beside him. Further down the entablature, he spied the reliefs showing the fall of seven dragons and a lightning-wreathed raptor fleeing in terror from the forces of the Great Lord.

“It was long ago,” Mhar said as he reached the wide steps and began walking up towards the enormous Aurichalcum doors. “A figure like Khosrow… everyone has a story of what happened after the war. Some say he retired, others say that he died in the fighting. Others still claim that he rests in the center of the universe’s Origin Spark and will rise again in humanity’s moment of greatest need.”

Leon chuckled a moment, but his expression froze as he thought of Planerend and where that thing might be. No verifiable hint to its whereabouts in two centuries was concerning—a being of that much power could do immense damage to the universe. The possibility had been raised of Planerend supporting Xaphan’s rival Amon in the Elemental Plane of Fire, but it was nothing more than conjecture. Still, Leon had sent a message raising the possibility to Ambrose, though Ambrose hadn’t replied.

’A time of mankind’s greatest need…’ Leon thought as they reached the summit of the stairs and finally stood before the glimmering temple. ‘Hopefully Khosrow’s return won’t be needed. Fucker shoulder be long dead, though, given he stood against the Thunderbird.’

As Mhar approached the enormous Aurichalcum doors, they ponderously swung inward, giving Leon his first look at the interior of the temple. Whereas the exterior was gleaming white everywhere, from the agate the temple had been built from to the marble and jade fountains scattered around the courtyards, the interior was awash in color. Polychromatic marble wove intricate patterns across the floor, while some kind of golden stone had been fashioned into two lines of golden columns. A gallery ran around the length of the temple, but aside from that, the temple appeared to be one large room.

An enormous statue of Khosrow himself sat in the back of the temple, his head easily reaching forty feet high even while seated. His throne was one enormous ruby which had been cut to perfection, while the statue itself was glittering golden Aurichalcum. In one hand, Khosrow held a golden scroll, while in the other, he held the hilt of a silver sword, which leaned against one of the ruby armrests.

The statue itself was the very image of the ideal elder: thickly bearded with long hair cascading down Khosrow’s back, while sapphire eyes glinted within the Aurichalcum. The statue was clothed in long white robes which left much of the heavily built upper body bare, while his arms were thickly muscled.

Surrounding the columns were intricate and colorful moving projections depicting the various events of the war, notably separated into struggles on the left and triumphs on the right. Additionally, runes spiraled through the air like moving stars, though Leon couldn’t quite focus on them long enough to try and figure out what they were doing.

Finally, almost lost within the light and color of the temple, was Sasan himself, gazing up at the statue of Khosrow with a thoughtful look, one of his hands stroking his trimmed beard. Beside him stood another mage, this one of terrific power, too much for Leon to identify. He was dressed all in yellow much like Sasan, though his clothes were more elaborately decorated with what looked like waves or gusts of wind embroidered in gold barely visible all over his clothes. He was tall and classically handsome, with short blond hair and a moustache that was tied and braided beneath his chin. He was lighter-skinned than Leon, almost to the point of looking like he had porcelain skin. Finally, at his waist hung a long, slightly curved saber, while what little Leon could see of his hands indicated that he trained quite extensively.

Sasan turned a moment after Leon entered, his face lighting up with a smile. “Ah! Leon and his family! Forgive me, I almost lost track of the time! Thank you for meeting me here!”

“It’s our pleasure,” Leon responded as he, his wives, and his Paladins walked further in, while Mhar remained at the doors. They remained open, soothing some of Leon’s quiet concerns.

Sasan whispered something to the man beside him, then said more loudly, “A good friend of mine arrived here mere hours ago, and after I told him of what happened yesterday, he insisted on meeting all of you! So, please allow me to intro—”

“I’ll introduce myself if you don’t mind,” the man said in low, dulcet tones, just enough gravel in his voice to lend him gravitas. “I am Akeron, Anax of most-venerable Naxon.”

“Among many other titles,” Sasan stated with a wry grin.

“None of which are relevant,” Akeron said with an exasperated glare. “If we delve into them, we’d be here all day.”

“Perhaps. But there is one that I believe my young friend here would be interested in…” Sasan leveled such a serious look at Leon that it was as if he were about to spill all the secrets of the Great Lord himself with the next breath. “Akeron here is the finest swordsman in all of the Gale Lands. I have seen him cleave mountains in twain with as much ease as I’ve seen him trim that frayed rope he calls facial hair!”

A smile had been working over Akeron’s face until Sasan finished his introduction, at which point his expression turned to one of mild pain, though he only sighed in response.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Leon said with genuine enthusiasm. Being regarded as the best swordsman in an Elemental Land by Sasan, someone the Thunderbird had estimated to be one of the most powerful mages in the universe, meant quite a bit. He was strongly tempted to challenge the man to a friendly spar just to see that skill for himself, but he managed to hold himself back.

Instead of levying a challenge, Leon set about introductions of his own, starting with his wives and then moving onto his Paladins—the latter of whom seemed to be just a little shaky on their feet amidst the auras of such powerful mages. They comported themselves well, however.

Once introductions were over, Sasan turned back to the enormous statue of Khosrow and said, “Thank you again for meeting me here. This temple has always been one of my favorite places to visit, if only to remind myself how Khosrow is remembered. Such a man, such a legend… how much of it do you think is true?”

“Hmm?” Leon asked as he and his ladies took up a position to Sasan’s right while Akeron remained on the left.

“Such a question out of the blue,” Akeron said with a grin, “you should know better, old friend.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll give a bit more context, then. Look around you, my young friends. You see all around you the ancient glories won in battle, as well as the challenges that mankind faced in its struggle to free itself and make us all masters of the universe.” He pointed to one of the struggles about halfway down the long temple. “That depicts the Battle of Chillstone. Supposedly, five million men and women fell there, costing the Primal Gods only two dozen angels and one of their number.” He pointed to another projected struggle showing human figures being chased down and devoured by dragons. “And there is the treachery of the Great Dragons, turning against mankind even after Kavad, one of Khosrow’s sons, brokered a non-aggression pact with them.”

Sasan turned back to Leon and asked seriously, “All of these struggles. And over there, the triumphs achieved, all built on blood and death. But how much of it is mere legend, and how much of it is fact?”

“Wouldn’t this temple be built to ensure the truth was passed down?” Leon asked, not quite believing his own words.

“Hardly,” Cassandra said before anyone else could respond. “If this place was built to glorify Khosrow and humanity, then that’s what it would do: glorify them. I’m sure most of these stories are exaggerated at the least, and that’s not even touching on stories that are not on these walls and columns.”

“My thoughts align with yours, Strategissa,” Sasan said. “Choices were made about how to depict these stories, weren’t they? Can they be trusted?”

“Choices were also made,” Akeron pointed out, “to show off the threats that mankind faced. Being honest about failures is a trustworthy trait.”

“Perhaps,” Sasan said in the knowing tone of one who’d debated the topic many times before. “But there is also value in showing off the threat, isn’t there?”

“Make the enemy look more monstrous,” Valeria stated. “Justify your violence.”

“Quite succinctly put, fair Valeria. That is what I mean, Leon; that is what I’m asking you.”

“I’d say that they can’t be trusted,” Leon definitively intoned. “They’re stories, legends. Myths. How long after Khosrow’s death was this fane built? How much of history had time consumed by then?”

“Another great point,” Sasan said. He turned and pointedly stared at the face of Khosrow’s statue. “We can’t even trust that the carver—master though he had to be—got Khosrow’s likeness right. Did he truly look like that? Or was he uglier? Did he have a bulbous nose? Or were his features even more chiseled back in his time than they are on that statue? Such a figure of veneration will be exaggerated, won’t he?”

“You’re listing reasons why none of this can be trusted,” Leon pointed out.

“True,” Sasan conceded. A glance at Akeron had the other man sighing again as Sasan said, “Akeron and I were in the middle of a discussion that you might be able to shed some light on—or perhaps I should say you could give your perspective, if you’d indulge me.” Leon nodded, and Sasan asked, “Given what you know about Khosrow—if anything at all—if he were here right now, able to look out into the universe and see how the world he built fares now, what would he think? What would he say?”