The Storm King

Hundreds of Lances fired their deadly payloads into the Stormwall, bombarding the mountains and the valley beyond. The defense Lances within fired back and several small Diluvian arks were shot down. The bridge officers in Terris’ palace-ark scrambled about, doing their best to keep everyone coordinated, but the casualties they were taking panicked more than a few.

“Coral Ash has fallen, my Lord!” someone shouted.

’A heavy price,’ Sarjell thought, ‘but a necessary one.’

The bombardment was an extreme order on his part, but it was necessary. There were too many questions and unknowns regarding the heretics beyond the Stormwall that leaving them alive was simply out of the question. They had to eliminate them as quickly as they could, and since they had reinforcements coming anyway, Sarjell decided to make a risky play.

“Keep up the attack!” Sarjell sternly ordered, his steady voice giving some of those panicking a bit of steel in their spines. “Keep up evasive maneuvers and track where those shots are coming from!”

Staying high enough to fire Lances over the mountains meant that the Diluvian arks were within the firing arcs of the heretics’ Lances. Casualties were simply part of the game. Once a hole had been blasted sufficiently wide in the heretics’ defenses, then they could move in and deal with them once and for all.

To that end, while Sarjell had the bombardment commence from all sides of the valley, most of the Lancefire was concentrated in the south. And by his estimation, several defense Lances had already been hit, reducing the volume of returning fire. They’d already lost a few smaller arks from that return fire, but such was the price of speed.

‘Not like they’re my forces,’ Sarjell callously thought. ‘Let them die gloriously for the good of the Ocean Lords.’

As those thoughts ran through his head, a light cruiser, right after firing a salvo of half a dozen Lances into the Stormwall, was hit with more than twice as many answering shots. Its defenses were overwhelmed, and holes were punched into its hull. Internal explosions followed a moment later, and the shark-shaped ark went down in flames.

Sarjell rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that, 2nd Fin, I am not blind. Continue the bombardment. Track where those shots are coming from and return fire with all prejudice.”

The junior officer in question frowned and relayed his order through the ark’s comms, but offered no argument.

‘Good,’ Sarjell thought. ‘Seems Terris has his men whipped into decent shape.’

He smugly grinned, noting that after their most recent salvo, the volume of returning fire had decreased once again, though two more arks were shot down after Scaled Fury. They were taking severe casualties, but progress was progress. They’d bring their heretical enemy to heel soon enough. All they had to do now was keep up the pressure, and they’d either surrender if they were smart, or die to a man.

Either way was fine in Sarjell’s opinion.

---

Eight towers had been shot down, and many exploding boulders of chunks of deadly ice had fallen within the Artor Valley. A few even hit Artorion herself, though with so many of their people involved with the defense, the city was largely deserted.

‘Small comforts,’ the Jaguar thought with bitter anger.

It was clear enough to see what was happening—the enemy was concentrating their attacks on the south to punch through Thunderman defenses. Despite some building fatigue from joining Leon’s last assault on enemy arks and the worry in his heart at the assault’s result, the Jaguar continued commanding the Thundermen’s response.

Enemy arks were being shot down now that they’d come back into range, but they were losing defense capabilities themselves. Too much more of this and they’d be defenseless against the enemy onslaught. If enough towers and sections of the wall were destroyed, even the misty veil itself might be compromised. Thankfully, redundancies were added for just such a situation, but if a large enough section of the wall was destroyed…

‘We need to take out as much of their offensive potential as possible,’ the Jaguar quickly realized.

“Alter targets from their smaller arks to the larger ones,” he ordered.

The enemy frigates and destroyers were easier to shoot down, naturally, but they had comparatively few weapons next to the heavier cruisers, the largest of which had more than a dozen Lances to a side. The oversized Lances in the enemy destroyers were problematic, but in reducing the volume of incoming fire as quickly as he could, the Jaguar needed to prioritize these larger platforms first.

Their Lances were coordinated to shoot down one of their larger cruisers, but no cheer went up in the control room. They were still outnumbered, and the enemy didn’t seem at all disturbed by their losses. It seemed they were committed to this brute force approach. When another defense tower was destroyed, followed by a second, then a third, the Jaguar realized that the enemy was tracking their shots and becoming more accurate as a result.

Their static defenses were being destroyed, and they had no way to quickly repair or replace their destroyed Lances.

With a deep sigh, the Jaguar realized that this battle was now down to how much death their enemy could stomach, for the Thundermen were fighting for the survival of their new home and would never surrender. 𝑅�

Another heavy cruiser went up in flames just as the southern Talon was rocked with several direct hits. Towers and walls collapsed as the lights and control consoles flickered before power was successfully rerouted by the wisps and giants monitoring the fortress’ power supply.

With a sigh, the Jaguar thought, ‘Nothing for it, just have to keep fighting. Just have to kill enough of you to get you to back off…’

---

Dark.

Cold.

As Leon returned to something that resembled awareness, these were his only two sensations. He could see nothing, hear nothing, touch nothing. He felt like a disembodied spirit floating in the deepest, blackest abyss in the universe. All he could perceive was darkness, and all he could feel was an awful, creeping chill that advanced slowly but inexorably through his seemingly nonexistent body.

Yet, strangely, he felt neither concern nor panic. He felt like he was dreaming, like he was disconnected from the chill and the dark that surrounded him.

In this strange dream, he couldn’t quite remember what he’d been doing, but he had the faintest impression that it had been important.

He floated in that abyss for what felt simultaneously like an eternity and the most fleeting moment. At some point, the chill seemed to recede, though he’d been paying so little attention to it that he barely noticed.

Shapes began to resolve in the dark. Stacked logs, stone bricks, a timber palisade.

He smiled; even in his current state, it wasn’t hard to recognize his childhood home, ephemeral and cast in darkness as it was. Though no light was cast upon it, he read the runes upon the central obelisk as clearly as he would’ve if it were illuminated by Aeterna’s sun. The enchantments that not only protected him in his youth but also turned the compound into a decent training ground were rather crude in his more skilled and knowledgeable estimation, but his father had carved them with a sense of elegance and comfort that no other enchantment could replicate.

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“Little lion.” A familiar voice behind him, close, comforting.

He turned and saw his father, dark hair loose and messy from a recent training session, a smile on his face. He was sitting on one of the boulders he used for weight training. Not too far away lay the smaller stone weights that Leon had used in his earliest years.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Seems like you’d have other business to see to.”

Leon grinned, a brief thought of fish-like arks and a valley flashing through his mind. “I…” he whispered in momentary confusion. “It’s good to see you, Father.”

Artorias rolled his eyes. “Getting formal on me, huh? Get over here, little lion.” He patted the boulder next to him invitingly, and Leon practically skipped over, leaping onto the boulder to sit next to his father.

There they sat in silence. Many questions sat on the tip of Leon’s tongue, begging to be asked, but the words wouldn’t form. He simply sat there next to his father in the dark facsimile of his childhood home. The darkness hung so thickly that the palisade could barely be seen, and the walls of the shacks wavered slightly, as if he were viewing them from behind a layer of water.

“Are you going to give up?” Artorias asked.

Leon looked at his father and almost jumped backward when he saw his father’s dark eyes staring back at him, sparkling with green lightning.

“It’s a simple question, kid. No need to spend so much time thinking it over. Have you reached your limit? Is this it? Time to surrender?”

Leon scowled deeply. Though he couldn’t quite picture what his father spoke of, he thought he knew. It was important, the vague thoughts contributing to a building sense of unease and haste that demanded he get up and… do something, though he didn’t know what.

Still, the specifics didn’t matter too much, for his answer would be the same regardless of the context.

“No,” he said. “Not even close.”

“Heavy is the cost,” Artorias replied, the green lightning in his eyes intensifying until it practically spilled forth. “Lives could be spared. All you have to do is to concede defeat. Leave that valley. What is a home if all who would live there are dead?”

Leon scoffed. “My people are not vagrants.” He paused, images of the Artor Valley filling his head. He was defending the valley, wasn’t he? Though his mind struggled to find purchase in these thoughts, he added, “We are… not so easily run off.”

“Is that why you stopped to fight him?” Artorias asked. “Your acceptance of that duel left you with bits of his weapon crawling through your body toward your heart.”

Leon grunted, not quite sure what his father was talking about—at least, not consciously. He opened his mouth and the words flowed almost without thought or conscious input.

“I had to fight him. If drastic steps aren’t taken, then my people will be stuck in the valley and whittled down. Is it not a King’s duty to do whatever he can to end a crisis? Should I have retreated instead, hoping that opportunities might continue to arise?”

“A chance might have come,” Artorias pointed out. “Either way, now you’re here, unable to act to save your people. How do you see your decision now?”

Leon frowned. He raised his hand and his fingers lightly brushed against his abdomen, lingering around the places where… an ice dragon, he thought, had sank its black fangs into him. His armor had been almost useless in stopping it. He remembered the agony of his flesh parting before the ice, and the wrath that filled him as he retaliated against the one who’d inflicted the wounds.

“Is the result all I am to be judged by?” he bitterly asked.

“How much does your intent matter when you rule a Kingdom?” Artorias pushed. “I’m sure you don’t intend for anyone to starve, but how much does that intent matter to one with an empty belly?”

“The intent does matter,” Leon shot back, his irritation rising. “Is a person ‘good’ if they do good without intending to do good? How can I be a good King if I don’t lead? If I don’t intend to do right by my people? Should I just rely on luck that whatever my whims wind up being keep everyone safe and happy?”

“Are you a good King if you let your intentions get the better of you?” Artorias countered. “If you let them lead you to foolishness?”

“I do what I feel I must, I make no excuses for that,” Leon growled.

“If someone disagrees with you,” Artorias said as he leaned in, the green lightning now almost obscuring his entire face, “is that how you respond? No concessions, no attempt at mutual dialogue?”

Leon sprang to his feet as holes opened in his abdomen and blood spilled forth. A flash of silver-blue lightning flashed through the darkness above, and with it came memories that had been hovering at the edge of his awareness. An ice dragon sinking its fangs into him. A duel with Despot Terris. His ambushes, his family, the situation his people now faced in the Artor Valley.

“What are you?” he demanded as he squared up with whatever was wearing the face of his father.

‘Artorias’ laughed and stood up. Lightning again flashed through the sky, hundreds of bolts all at once that nearly blinded Leon. Lightning of every color arced through the sky, though the dark shroud over his childhood home wasn’t lifted in the slightest. In fact, with so much light, Leon now saw it for what it was: an illusion born of darkness, little more than wispy shadow in familiar shapes.

“You have lost a duel,” his ‘father’ stated almost mockingly. “Your people are in danger, now, with your absence. What are you going to do about it? How will you respond?”

Irritation marred Leon’s features. “I will fight for my people,” he vowed. “Even if it costs me my life, I will not stop until my Clan’s place is restored and all those who have supported me have been raised!”

“Would you do anything to see that future come to pass?” ‘Artorias’ asked, though his face was now completely lost behind green lightning.

“I—” Leon began before he cut himself off. He set his expression into one of determination and defiance.

“Would you surrender, bow your head, if it meant that your people survived?” the figure masquerading as Artorias pressed.

“No,” Leon declared. “We are not slaves. We are not vagrants to be run off by whoever dislikes us! I am a King of warriors, and those who bring war to us will be answered in kind! They will never run us away from the place we’ve taken as our new home!”

The figure before him became more and more obscured until it eventually resembled nothing more than a human-shaped bolt of green lightning.

“Such pride,” it said appreciatively as the shadowy facsimile of Leon’s childhood home dissolved away, replaced only by more flashes of multi-colored lightning. “Enough to never submit. The pride of a King! How long has it been, since I last saw one of your mettle?! Now, boy, tell me… Your pride, how deep does it run?”

Leon relaxed slightly but still stood defiantly in front of this thing. He had an inkling of what it might be, but he didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, he simply asked, “Can you help me?”

“Can I? Will you demand it, or are you asking me for help?”

Leon folded his arms. “I am not so proud as to refuse the help of someone, or something offering it to me. Or too proud to ask for it when needed. But I will never beg for it. I ask you now for help. Give it or not, I will not bow my head to you.”

The lightning above doubled, but Leon steadfastly kept his eyes open even as it felt like his retinas were being seared by the lightning storm.

The figure-shaped bolt laughed again. “Your Ancestors demanded. Most of them, anyway. One did not. You remind me of her. Tell me why you ask me for help, boy.”

“For survival,” Leon quickly answered. “For power. Most of all… for knowledge. Teach me. Show me. Please.”

The bolt laughed raucously. “Ahh, survival. Power. Knowledge.” The bolt leaned in again, and though the green lightning didn’t dim, Leon felt no strain on his eyes from the light it emitted, nor did he feel any heat. “You have ice cutting its way through your body. Others are trying to heal you, but they have no idea what power they’re dealing with. But you have the power to save yourself. Do so, and call to me. I will answer.”

As quickly as extinguishing a candle, all the lightning in this abyss vanished, the human-shaped bolt no exception. Leon was plunged into darkness, and he became aware again of the slowly spreading chill throughout his body. It was pushing deeper, seeking his heart, seeking his soul realm. He could vaguely feel healing magic trying to stop these ice shards from cutting deeper, but to no avail. If he did nothing to save himself, he only had hours left to live.

He clicked his tongue and called upon his power. He wasn’t yet ready to depart from the land of the living, he had far too much to do, first.

Silver-blue lightning answered his call, flashing through his body returning heat and light to the black abyss he found himself in. His power banished the cold, striking the ice shards buried in his torso and causing them to melt away.

And then Leon opened his eyes. He lay in a demolished bed, a shield of light around him. Scared and startled healers were on the other side, while Clear Day looked upon him with great concern from where he maintained the white light barrier. His family was there, too, their expressions making Clear Day’s look uncaring and apathetic.

Leon raised a hand, though not in greeting. Now that he was awake and aware again, he was able to see what was going on around the valley; there simply wasn’t time for a greeting. Instead, he did as he was requested, calling out to the human-shaped bolt of lightning—to the Iron Needle.

Miles to the west, brilliant green lightning flashed within the misty veil, and Iron Pride shot into the sky. Barely a moment later, the wall of Leon’s bedroom practically exploded as Iron Pride came crashing through. It slammed into Leon’s hand, and he almost failed to catch it. But his fingers clasped the hilt tightly, and lightning poured from the weapon and into his body. Energy filled him, his wounds closed, and he pushed himself to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he announced to the startled and somewhat terrified room. “It seems there’s now a battle to be won…”

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