The Storm King

In stark contrast to the past two weeks, when Leon looked out onto Artorion, he saw no celebrations in the streets. No great banners of victory were flying, restaurants weren’t throwing improvised feasts, and the people weren’t dancing in the streets. Songs were being sung, but instead of the victorious release of pent-up anger, fear, and frustration, they were slow, somber, and mournful. The people were almost all dressed in funerary colors—mostly black, but some, such as the Lions, wore other colors, like gold or white.

The celebrations were over, and now it was time to properly mourn their dead. Triton and Antipatra’s war had claimed many lives, from the highest-ranked in Leon’s Kingdom to the lowest, and left no one in the city untouched.

Leon himself was dressed in all black, as were his wives behind him. They didn’t wear flattering cuts, nor was their hair elaborately styled. Some of his ministers had told them that it was unbecoming of a King to participate in a funeral march, but Leon paid them no heed; it wasn’t his first, nor, he knew, would it be his last, and he wasn’t going to watch from the sidelines.

They stared out over the city from Flash Fortress, the headquarters of Leon’s military, and where the Jaguar had his office in life. Iron-Striker had been taken to the finest healers in the city after being brought back to Artorion, but the Jaguar had lain in state within the Jaguar’s Den’s deepest chamber.

And now, it was time for him to be brought to his resting place.

Leon had initially thought that he would want to be lain to rest among his Ancestors, thinking that his Tribe would either want him returned to Kataigida or given a temporary mausoleum somewhere until the Blood-Thunder Jaguar’s home plane was recovered. He’d offered the mausoleum on Westmount as the place of final rest, his offer genuine despite not thinking it would be accepted. To his surprise, however, the Jaguar elders had accepted. The Jaguar had given everything to the Kingdom and now would be interred with the Kingdom’s greatest champions.

None of Leon’s family spoke much; the occasion was too oppressive. But they were there with him, their presence a balm to his frayed mental state. The time to move the Jaguar came much too soon, but he didn’t hesitate to move for longer than it took to share a look with Elise, Valeria, Maia, and Cassandra.

And then he went to the Jaguar’s side in the heart of Flash Fortress. He was the last to arrive, but no one said a word as he entered and went to his position by the casket. The casket itself was made of sparkling black granite—almost too sparkly for such a morbid purpose, in Leon’s opinion—and the lid had been carved into the shape of a prowling jaguar, ruby eyes alert, carved muscles tense, ready to deal with any threat. His many achievements had been carved in tiny runes all around the walls of the casket, which was then heavily enchanted to ensure they would never fade—to ensure that the Jaguar’s story would never fade.

The casket was shut, the Jaguar himself no longer in view. But Leon, as he took up position on the right-hand side by the Jaguar’s head, stared down at the granite like he could see right through it. The entire room was so quiet that it seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for him to speak. Instead, he glanced at his fellow pallbearers, nodded, and grasped one of the casket’s handles.

Solomon, standing on the left, followed his example. Ipatameni, Xanthippe, and Sar, all behind him, did the same. Singer, Frode, and Kharak—the current tenth-tier Lawspeaker for the Ji Spiders—behind Solomon followed suit. It was, perhaps, a little unusual that none of the pallbearers were of the Jaguar Tribe, but it was considered a great honor for the Jaguar for so many from other Tribes to carry him to where his body would lie while his soul went to his Ancestors.

Nearby, Iron-Striker and Tillan stood waiting. Both had wanted to join, but with Leon participating, there were only seven other places available. Tillan was just unlucky in that regard, whereas Iron-Striker, despite looking steady on his feet, was still recovering. Even post-Apotheosis mages needed time to heal.

The eight pallbearers lifted the casket and led everyone else in the room out into the halls. Leon’s wives followed behind, and they were followed by Iron-Striker and Tillan, and they by almost the entire council of Jaguar elders, save a few who remained on Kataigida for the safety of the Clan.

Outside the chamber, they picked up many Chiefs and high-tiered warriors from all Ten Tribes, and then high-ranking ministers and officers. Leon saw Clear, Gaius, Anshu, and Alcander all following in their places. The only people ‘missing’ were those from the Dragon Clans, who had all, including Serana, chosen not to ‘intrude’ on his people’s mourning.

When they exited the fortress, their procession was joined by dignitaries and vassals. Miuna was still present, as were all those who’d come from other cities in the Far West to pay their respects now that the war was over. Khosrow—the son of the last Queen of Queenfall—was there, having finally led the few survivors of his city’s destruction out of hiding. The leaders of Alhamachim, Hosragan, Sentudon, Shatufan, Elegan, and Culain, all in similar though less dire circumstances as Prince Khosrow, were present. Prince Numa was also there, though his cousin, Loia, was not.

More and more people were picked up as their procession made its way through the city, sticking to the main thoroughfares. The city’s people turned out in enormous crowds barely held back by the Tempest Knights that lined the road. The air was filled with the sound of wailing and people tearing their own clothes, the loud display of mourning simply part of the ceremony.

Despite the size of Artorion, it didn’t take nearly as long as Leon had expected to travel on foot to reach Perch Fortress and reach Westmount. From there, they necessarily slowed down as they had to navigate stairs and narrower paths to reach the mausoleum at the top of one of Westmount’s nine peaks. There, Red and the Paladins awaited, alongside an honor guard of officers.

The casket was laid down at the mouth of the mausoleum. Speeches were said, and Leon was vaguely aware of saying a few words to the assembled crowd, but he didn’t remember much. The casket held most of his attention.

Finally, it was borne deeper into the mausoleum by the Harts who maintained it, carrying the Jaguar deep into the mountain, where his body would rest forevermore.

---

“… though I’d much prefer to stay longer…” Miuna said with a longing look at Leon.

“You have your duties, and I have mine,” Leon responded. “Not even Kings can spend all day with his friends, no matter how much he may wish to.”

The Ocean Princess smiled sadly. “That is true.” She glanced at her waiting group of attendants, led by A’Rei, who looked infinitely more eager to leave Westmount than Miuna did.

The Princess then turned back to Leon. “My father has heard about everything that happened. He sends his congratulations on becoming a thirteenth-tier Anax.”

Leon cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t surprised that Miuna had waited until she was leaving to say this, likely having consciously held her tongue until the single most dramatic moment possible. Still, while he didn’t feel like an Anax, he was grateful for the official acknowledgment from the Ocean King that he was one.

“Pass on my thanks to your father,” he said politely. “You and your family are welcome in my lands whenever you wish to visit.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Miuna responded. She hesitated a moment longer, her amber eyes flickering between her waiting palanquin and Leon, not once hitching on the handful of attendants maintaining the wards that were keeping her from the view of anyone who might not only be watching but also be able to pierce Westmount’s veil of privacy wards. “He will want to meet you, eventually.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Leon’s smile strained, and it took a monumental amount of effort for him not to glance over his shoulder at his wives. He needed to project confidence even if he considered Miuna a friend. A visit from the Ocean King, after all, was no matter between friends, but an official visit that could have dire political consequences.

“I’ve heard so much about him that I find myself eager to meet him, myself,” Leon said.

“He’ll be glad to hear that,” Miuna replied. “Expect him to reach out for a meeting sometime… within the next millennium.”

Leon blinked in surprise and then let himself relax.

‘Right. Immortal. What’s a few centuries to a man like him?’

“Try not to look too pleased,” Miuna remarked.

“Right, right, sorry,” Leon replied, letting the formality of the goodbye drop. Miuna immediately took advantage of the situation to dart in and give him a hug as tight as it was brief. Then, with a rapidly reddening face, she all but skipped to her palanquin, which A’Rei hastily sealed against prying eyes—her glare sent Leon’s way making it clear whose gazes she considered ‘prying’.

And then, Miuna and her party were off, back to deal with the affairs of the Ocean Lords—and, Miuna had assured Leon several days ago, to arrange for Triton’s former lands and vassal Lords to pay the war indemnities that Miuna had declared they owe.

While her stay had been relatively brief, lasting less than a month, Leon felt his heart fall a little more now that she was gone. Xaphan was gone, the Jaguar was with his Ancestors, and now Miuna had to leave.

He found himself understanding perhaps just a little bit more why so many immortals tended to end their lives rather than die in other ways, though he doubted he’d ever take the option himself. Fortunately for him, he still had many friends and a large family. Others, he knew, were not so lucky.

---

“… it is only right!” Archelaus insisted, the same conviction that had brought him to Artorion not even two months after Leon defeated Alderion easily audible in his voice.

“It is an opportunity that ought not to be passed on,” Clear said, his lips twitching up as Leon resisted the urge to roll his eyes in consternation.

“First off,” Leon growled, pointing at the tau, “do try not to look so amused…”

“I make no promises,” Clear replied, his informal reply coming with the safety that a private meeting between the three of them gave.

“Second off,” Leon pressed on after a light grimace, “if these other Lords don’t want to acknowledge me as their Anax, why should I go and conquer them?”

“Is that… not the goal?” Archelaus asked, confusion forming what seemed like a thousand wrinkles on his brow. “To reclaim your Clan’s title and restore glory and harmony to the Storm Lands?”

‘I think maybe you and I have different ideas of how my Clan went about things…’ Leon held his tongue despite wanting to say just that. Archelaus, after all, remembered his ancient Clan, while Leon was many generations removed from it. If Archelaus wanted to describe his Ancestors’ rule over the Storm Lands as ‘harmonious’ and ‘glorious’, Leon didn’t want to argue.

“It is…” Leon hissed. He held up a hand to keep from being interrupted before he could make his point. “However. However. You’re asking me to essentially go on the warpath. To conquer Despots and Basileis who reject this title that others pushed upon me.” He spared Archelaus a brief, if scathing, glare. “I am not the normal tier to receive such an… honor. That creates expectations that I do not want to let down. But I am still much reduced compared to even a year ago. How can I spare the manpower and material for further conquest when I have so much of a Kingdom to rebuild? When I have already settled on expansion into the planes as my next step toward reclaiming that ancient title?”

“I don’t think either of us,” Clear said before Archelaus could present another argument, “is advocating for immediately conquering lands to the east. We know the losses that have been incurred so far. But… must conquest be bloody? I had thought you knew better than that…”

Left unspoken was that Leon’s ambition, tempered by a relative lack of brutality, was why Clear followed him. Leon could certainly be brutal when he needed to be, but if he were slaughtering entire cities, let alone planes, without cause, he knew that Clear would leave him without a word. This was hardly the only reason why he allowed Clear and his diplomats to range ahead of his fleets and bring as many planar powers into his Kingdom diplomatically as he could, but it was a reason.

Leon grinned somewhat sarcastically. “If you think that some of these recalcitrant Lords would accept me without needing me to… prove my strength upon the walls of their citadels, then by all means! Do as you will! But know that, for now, my focus is on reconstruction and getting ready for further pushes into Rhea, both to defend and consolidate what we’ve gained, and to bring new planes into my Kingdom.”

“Power in the planes must be balanced by power in the Nexus,” Archelaus stated sagely. “Though I had trouble with the rest of Ramin’s Despots, now that you’ve defeated Alderion in single combat, I believe that you will be accepting their fealty soon without you or your army ever leaving Artorion! As for the rest of Alderion’s Basileis… that will be trickier…”

“I will help,” Clear said, though there had never been doubt that he would. “We can coordinate with Icarius to see who would be more willing to bow and who are more hostile.”

“No man knows the hearts of others as well as merchants,” Archelaus said with no small amount of resignation. When his eyes returned to Leon, he lowered his head a moment and said, “The Storm Lands have been riven by war, instability, and weakness for too long. When your Clan wore its ancient crown, we were powerful, feared, respected. It will take another Thunderbird Clan Storm King to ensure that we become what we once were, again.”

Leon smiled, though he had to force himself to relax and let a more natural smile out than let it be doubting and sarcastic. “Your faith in me shames me, as I do not believe I’ve earned it.”

“You have,” Archelaus assured him. Then, after a pause, he added, “Or you will.”

Leon softly snorted and turned away. He was willing to let those other Lords be, but if Clear and Archelaus believed they could be brought to Artorion to give him their fealty without going to war… then he had no reason to refuse them even trying.

He hoped they were right. While he doubted his power would be challenged in the near term, allowing him to rebuild and reconstitute his forces, as the memory of Alderion faded, those same Lords would start trying to test him in centuries to come. As much as he simply didn’t want to expend energy on it now, pacifying them sooner rather than later was a good thing to do.

So, it wasn’t with a heavy heart that he watched Clear and Archelaus leave the room, quietly discussing between themselves which of the Lords now lacking a Lord above them could be most easily persuaded to Leon and Artorion’s side…

---

Leon saw nothing less than panic and regret in his newest guest, but despite that, he felt elated at seeing him arrive.

“Leon!” Gwarim boomed, leaping from the ramp to his ark before it had even fully landed. He reached Leon, standing a fair distance away from Gwarim’s ark’s landing pad. “I missed it all, didn’t I? I have been the worst friend imaginable! To have stood with you against Basileus Triton would have been an honor, but it gladdens my heart to see that you not only survived but broke that saltwater fuck like a rotten fish!”

“It was a hard fight,” Leon said, smiling as Gwarim ignored Leon’s Paladins and Tempest Knights and strode forward, clapping him on the shoulder.

“One that would’ve been easier with friends,” Gwarim said apologetically. “I would have been here earlier, but I was in the planes when I heard of what had happened. I was in the process of assembling a fleet to come and join you when I then heard that Anax Alderion was on his way! I left my fleet behind to fly here myself as quickly as I could, only to then hear from Archelaus that you killed Alderion in single combat! My friend, I will, for the rest of my life, regret not having been here to see all of that, and to fight alongside you!”

“There is nothing to apologize for, nor to regret,” Leon said as he clapped Gwarim’s shoulder back and started steering him toward a transport waiting to take them to Westmount. “Just having a friend here is more than enough.”

“Hmph,” Gwarim grumbled. “I can at least help with reconstruction. I doubt you’ll need it, but I hope you accept it, if only to allow me to wash away some of this dishonor.”

“I won’t turn it down,” Leon said gratefully. “Truly, I do not deserve such a good friend as you.”

“You flatter, but a truly good friend wouldn’t have let his friends stand alone.”

Though Leon tried to break them out of that cycle, the larger man simply wouldn’t let it go—at least until Leon broke out some ambrosia and some of the strongest wine he had. By the time they reached the bottom of those bottles, they were both feeling considerably better than they had been.

Leon, basking in that warmth, almost three months after killing Triton, finally felt the last of that anxiety melt away. Reconstruction was proceeding quickly, plans were being drawn up for both the Nexus and the planes, and he had his friends and family with him. Much had been lost, but they were healing, moving on, and planning for the future.

And soon, perhaps even sooner than he thought, the time would come to seize that future…

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!