The Storm King-Chapter 1296 - End of the Games

“It’s an interesting proposition,” the Jaguar said as he examined the projection of the Great Strand of Rhea.

“Moving to Atreus would be much easier, but moving against this Lorgos would take us in an entirely different direction…”

He pointed out the relevant routes—the connection points Rhea shared with Atreus were close to the Nexus, relatively speaking, whereas the strands connecting Rhea to Ionis were further out in the universe.

In a more two-dimensional sense, entering Rhea and going to Atreus would involve heading straight with a gentle right turn, sticking closer to the center of the universe.

Going to Ionis involved going hard left almost immediately and leaving the denser regions surrounding the Nexus.

Planning these routes, however, wasn’t easy; the projection Leon, the Jaguar, Sar, and Singer-in-Caves were currently examining was the Great Strand of Rhea as it existed eighty thousand years ago.

The map extracted from the ancient Thunderbird navigation wisp back on Aeterna was the most detailed they had of the actual geography of the Great Strand, but it had been mapped during a period of Nexus Reconstitution, so there was likely some divergence with how the Great Strand looked now, especially since Rhea was one of the closest Great Strands to the Nexus itself.

The projection didn’t have political information either, so the map was of limited use, but it served as a place to strategize in the broadest sense, at least.

“If I may ask,” Singer said as she idly played with her hair, “why are you asking us now?

Surely this is a question more suited for others, isn’t it?”

Her eyes flickered from the projection to Leon and back again, though Leon noted both the Jaguar and Sar exchanged a look.

“Why shouldn’t our King seek our counsel?” the Jaguar hotly asked.

Singer smiled consolingly.

“I mean no disrespect, my friend.

Of course, you, as the Kingdom’s Marshal, would be part of this conversation no matter when it took place.

I’m simply curious why now, and why us three when other parties on the ark might have something to add.”

“It’s a valid question,” Sar said as he glanced at Leon.

“I am no strategist.

What I can share is of little value.”

Leon held up a hand as the Jaguar moved to respond, and his dutiful Marshal fell silent.

“You three are the strongest mages in your respective Tribes.

That alone makes your counsel valuable.

This is not the first nor will it be the last meeting I have regarding this… dilemma, of sorts, so don’t worry about that.

I just want to know your opinions.”

Singer and Sar seemed to accept his explanation, which suited Leon just fine since it was completely true on his part.

They went back to listening to the Jaguar speak, which he continued to do after a gesture from Leon.

“Reaching Tisimone, the closest of the strands that connect Rhea to Ionis, would take nearly four hundred jumps with our current Nestorian Drives.”

“By the Ancestors…” Singer whispered.

“And Tisimone isn’t even that far!”

Indeed, it was only about one-third down the Great Strand as it extended from the Nexus.

Reaching the Elemental Planes would take thousands of jumps, perhaps even several tens of thousands, putting them so far outside of Leon’s reach that it was madness to even consider trying to reach them by ark.

“The so-called ‘river gates’ are used for a reason,” Leon whispered.

“So they are,” the Jaguar agreed.

“By my estimation, to return to the planes we conquered would take more than two thousand jumps, and that’s with the Leonine Drives we have in these ancient arks.”

Singer blinked rapidly and leaned back in her seat.

“When put like that…”

Sar, however, was more practically minded.

“So it’s quite a distance to reach Basileus Lorgos’s territory.

What about Atreus?”

The Jaguar indicated the route again, which was noticeably shorter.

“Between one hundred and one hundred twenty.”

“Roughly a quarter the distance…” Sar murmured.

“It’s distance crossed closer to the Nexus,” Leon said.

“That will mean more planes, and likely, more people.

That means both more conflict and potentially more bases and ports.”

“Do we know who owns these planes?” Singer asked.

“No,” the Jaguar immediately answered.

“In a general sense, we know that Reconstitution takes several hundred years.

The Nexus itself explodes outward almost immediately, and while the new Nexus forms around the Origin Spark, the universe is witness to a mad scramble to claim any habitable planes that form from the debris.”

“So,” Leon continued as the Jaguar paused, “that makes the areas closest to the Nexus the densest with planes, the most heavily populated, and the most dangerous.

Powerful mages will stake their claims among these new planes, while the threat from the Nexus itself can’t be understated—I’d be wary of investing in a new plane if I knew that it would only be destroyed by debris from the Nexus every hundred thousand years.”

This time, it was the Jaguar who kept going when Leon paused.

“Regardless, we don’t know who owns these planes.

We don’t know how many of these planes are populated.

We don’t know how much the Great Strand has changed since the last Reconstitution.”

“Then what do we know?” Sar asked impatiently.

“Rough directions and the situations as they’re presented,” Leon answered.

“Even after a century and a half and adding fourteen planes to our Kingdom, our resources remain limited.

It will take time for our newest additions to become productive, both in terms of manpower and material, but gaining access to their arkyards was…”

He paused for a moment before smiling self-deprecatingly.

“I’m getting sidetracked.

What’s important is that we have to choose one: focus on reclaiming old planes, or move to support a potential ally?

That is the question that I wanted to hear you answer.

And I ask all three of you to be candid, please.

There is no wrong answer, but neither will I guarantee that I’ll do as advised.

I just…

Just give me your perspective.”

“The answer is simple,” the Jaguar said, all but leaping to provide his answer.

“Focus on the old planes!

Lorgos is an established Basileus!

There is no need to antagonize him just to play nice with an Anax who struggles with his own frontiers!

What do we gain from that?

An ally who cannot provide us support, and who depends on us for support!

As you’ve said, Leon: our resources are limited, and ought not to be used aiding such an ‘ally’.”

Leon nodded, appreciating his words.

He had to admit that he hadn’t thought of Jericho as being a bad ally in that sense, though he supposed it was a perspective that was easy to see—a man who was secure in his position wouldn’t have asked Leon to essentially conquer the realm of a thirteenth-tier mage.

“How does it factor into your opinion,” Leon asked the Jaguar, “that Jericho has promised all three of these connective strands to us if we aid him in securing that flank?”

“A poisoned offering,” the Jaguar said without hesitation.

“Were they worth anything at all, he wouldn’t offer them up.

Taking these planes would be a drain on resources, not a boon.

Ignore it, ignore him, and move on.

Focus on the ancient planes.”

“I’m of a mind with good Lysander,” Sar said with a nod to the Jaguar.

“Our Ancestors inhabited those planes before us.

Outsiders crowd them now; what motives do they have to maintain our shrines and honor our dead?

The Ancestral Harts crave home, my King.”

Leon’s eyes strayed once more to the projection.

The home plane of the Ancestral Hart was in Rhea, and though it was a bit out of the way, it was still much closer to the path to Atreus than to Ionis.

He wondered if that thinking had occurred to the Jaguar as well, since the home plane of the Blood-Thunder Jaguar was also in Rhea, not too far, relatively speaking, from the Ancestral Hart’s ancestral home.

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‘He has to know,’ Leon thought, his golden eyes falling upon the Jaguar for a moment.

‘Not that I can blame him…’

As it was, Minos beckoned.

Tiryns beckoned.

Kypros was said to be caught in intense war given its abundant natural resources, so Leon wasn’t looking to immediately seek out that plane, but the other two, called out by Nestor, were the most important planes to his Clan, and he wished to bring them back under the banner of the Thunderbird Clan.

“It then falls to me to disagree,” Singer whispered.

She glanced at Leon, then the Jaguar, and finally Sar, a look of almost motherly authority crossing her features, now quite youthful compared to when Leon first met her, thanks to having achieved Apotheosis.

When her eyes found Leon again, she elaborated, “It is true that Jericho would not have asked this of you had his situation afforded him other means.

I suspect that his situation is more desperate than he may be letting on, as no King comes to another for charity, especially one who might be thought of as ‘weaker’, or less prestigious—forgive me for any offense.”

“I am thirteenth-tier, he is fourteenth,” Leon said.

“I take no offense for you stating the truth.”

Singer nodded gratefully and continued, “If his situation is bad, then would he not be more grateful to you if you should render aid?

Aid him now, and he will remember it forever.

A lifetime of gratitude from a man like him can buy many things…”

“Or it might be a show of submission,” the Jaguar speculated.

“He might demand fealty once his situation stabilizes and we remain before him, like a naïve fawn before a hungry jaguar.”

Sar raised an eyebrow but made no comment.

For his part, the Jaguar spared him an apologetic look but said no more.

“How much is gratitude worth…?” Leon wondered aloud, not so much to cast doubt on the idea as to simply raise the question.

“And how much would actually be gained?” the Jaguar added.

Leon closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

This was no true dilemma where he had a problem and was forced to choose between bad solutions—rather, it was an opportunity, one that carried certain risks and challenges of its own, and he had to choose if those risks and challenges were worth it.

“Thank you for your perspectives,” he said.

“I’d hoped it would make the choice easier, but it has only given me more to think about, if I’m honest—and I don’t mean that as criticism.”

The Jaguar and Sar again exchanged looks, leaving it to Singer to respond.

“We are at your service, Leon.

Simply call us again should you need our thoughts again.

Or if you just want to have fun.

I miss our flights.”

Leon smiled.

“Once we return to Artorion, I’ll make some time for a grand flight around the city.”

Singer smiled, and with that, the meeting was over, leaving Leon to ponder their words.

Others would add their thoughts, too, but he didn’t think they could truly add much more until these areas had been thoroughly scouted.

In that respect, he was glad that Clear Day had all but fully recovered; he’d have great need of the tau in the coming years…

---

The end of the Games came both surprisingly quickly and after an interminably long period of time for Leon.

On the one hand, his visit to Belicenion had been immensely consequential, so much so that he could practically feel the weight of history around his shoulders.

On the other hand, having been locked into Storm Herald for so long had him feeling bored and stir crazy, and the end of the Games was welcome, for it meant that he could finally, finally, leave this damned plane and this damned ark.

Artorion now called, and he was eager to return.

He’d be skipping any stops, however—one visit each to Voidshore and Khosrow’s Fane had been enough for him.

Before they could do that, however, he had to endure the closing ceremony.

From a distance.

He still wasn’t leaving Storm Herald.

The closing ceremony was a grandiose thing, so much so that he almost felt like he missed out by not attending despite the public nature of the ceremony.

A grand procession stretched almost across the entire plane as the participating Lords and all their followers, aided by the many Lumenite bands that crisscrossed the plane, traveled around the largest arenas, theaters, and other venues where the various events were held.

There, they would stop, millions and millions of people assembling into the largest arenas that Leon had ever seen, and the Sun King himself would call the winners of every event forward to receive their various prizes.

Angel feathers went to the first-place winners, Lumenite diadems to second-place, and Aurichalcum swords with rounded tips to third-place.

Other prizes, too, were given out to those who displayed great courage, determination, strength, and creativity in their events, but were knocked out early or otherwise didn’t win their events.

Leon watched one poet receive a sable cloak with golden trim, undoubtedly enchanted, though he couldn’t tell how much given his great remove from the ceremony.

He watched another athlete receive sandals of Lumenite for having saved the life of another during a weeks-long race through plains, forests, and hills, in doing so giving up his spot as a potential winner.

He saw a gladiator who’d fought an incredible duel against the winning seventh-tier gladiator receive a helm of shining Aurichalcum covered in several intricate ancient runes.

He saw dozens and dozens more in line with them, the Sun King making sure that all who deserved honor received it.

As much as Leon resented his treatment, he had to respect Anushirawan’s conduct during the Games themselves.

During the competitions, he was never anything less than eminently fair.

Once the closing ceremony was technically over, what remained was a lighter affair as all parties returned to their arks or other bases on Belicenion.

Leon’s party was jubilant and, as he’d come to expect from his people, rowdy—not only had one of his chariot teams won third-place in the races, but Adamantios had won first-place in the sixth-tier gladiator fights. His other people had done well themselves, which also demanded some kind of reward on his part.

Regardless of what the others accomplished, Adamantios and his winning chariot team were bringing back a pair of great treasures, and Leon would honor them for bringing honor and glory to his Kingdom.

“Are you ready?” Serana asked beside him.

“I’m ready to leave, yes,” he said.

She smirked.

“Not that.

My kin will want another meeting.

At least one more, if only to establish communication.

Visiting Arushae is going to be expected of you, my boy.”

“I’ll get around to it.

Eventually.”

“I…

My more recent memories of my home haven’t been enviable.

But a big part of that was because I was isolated from so many people I knew growing up.

Now that I’m free and my father has been shamed into backing down… I might like to see home again, to reconnect with some of my old friends within my Clan.”

Leon glanced at her, noting how her features had turned longing.

“We’ll work something out soon.

I… I’ll be busy when we return, you know that.”

Serana smiled back at him.

“I’ll amuse myself within your Kingdom.

Seeing what my son has built in my absence will be… an experience, but one I’m looking forward to.

And… at some point…”

Her smile faded, replaced with a melancholy that had almost fixed itself upon her face whenever she wasn’t around him.

Leon knew what she was going to say without her having to give it voice.

“We’ll visit Aeterna.

We’ll visit Father.

Before I lose myself to my next endeavor.”

Serana’s smile returned, but as he was going to say something more, the procession of his people, led by his wives, appeared on the floating arkyard via Lumenite, and he held his tongue.

He needed to get into the proper mindset, making sure to magnanimously reward his people for their great accomplishments—even those who didn’t make it far in their fights or races, for none of them lost outright, and all had honored his Kingdom.

He needed to do this especially for Adamantios, as the man was going to present Leon with the angel feather he’d won.

It was simply too valuable for him to hang onto, and it seemed to be tradition, besides.

The Aurichalcum sword that his best chariot team won, too, would be taken, though that would be placed in Artorion’s largest circus as a symbol of their glory.

He was already thinking of their proper rewards when he felt a minor spike in killing intent, seemingly aimed squarely at him, his skin crawling and chilling as the sensation washed over him.

Potent though it was, it wasn’t enough for him to feel true fear; at least, not until he considered the context.

He stood in Storm Herald’s hangar, surrounded by some of his most powerful and ardent supporters; any killing intent that reached him would have to pass through a lot of magic and magical wards…

His eyes immediately scanned his surroundings, finding no one looking particularly disagreeable.

That left the sky outside of his ark, but millions of people were returning to their arks, and so the killing intent could have come from almost anyone…

As he scanned the great hordes of people, he saw a couple familiar faces.

Some were Lords who’d witnessed his duel with Triyr.

Others he’d been introduced to during the parties he’d attended during the journey to Belicenion.

One particular figure he thought he recognized as Akeron, a man he’d been disappointed not to meet again during the Games, but he’d only gotten a split-second look before he vanished into a gigantic, but sleek and elegant ark.

Leon suppressed a shiver, the killing intent now gone, though not forgotten.

An awful feeling settled in his gut; though he now considered the Games to be a great success, he started wondering if he would still think that in the future, especially since it seemed he angered someone powerful enough for their killing intent to penetrate Storm Herald’s wards and reach him, and apparently only him, since one else in the hangar seemed to have noticed.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Leon did the only thing he could do with no more information: he faced ahead and prepared himself for whatever was to come…