The Storm King

The Imperial Palace in Thunderhaven was once a place of light and music, the glittering crown of the Sunlit Empire. Its enchantments ensured that it seemed perpetually bathed in sunlight, and its extensive gardens evoked a certain cultivated utopia that had even in millennia past won the admiration of the Sacred Golden Empire, despite Evergold’s preference for wilder aesthetics.

During the past few years, however, it had become a darker and much drearier place, and not just figuratively—many of the enchanters that maintained the palace’s enchantments resigned their posts, and the palace’s seneschal had trouble hiring replacements. As a result, those enchanters remaining were forced to prioritize more practical enchantments over aesthetic ones, leading to the palace losing its almost ethereal lighting and the withering of much of the palace’s gardens.

Nothing more than a cosmetic difference, but many in Thunderhaven had taken it as a sign that all was not well in the palace itself. These cosmetic differences couldn’t be ignored, even if stories of the Sunlit Emperor’s purges and the executions of many of his top advisors rarely reached the ears of the people.

The day after Argos was taken, however, made even these dark days seem glowing. A palpable sense of fear filled the upper ranks of the palace’s elite, something even the lowest servants could pick up on. The thought of bringing this news to the Sunlit Emperor was so blood-chilling that it took more than a day for someone to finally bring the Emperor the news of this defeat.

That someone then proved everyone’s fears true when he had to be carried out of the Emperor’s chambers in pieces.

Metellus, the Emperor’s current favorite and who had replaced the purged Deucalion following the old general’s attempted coup, had wanted to give the Emperor a few hours to calm down after receiving the news, but he was forced to attend the Emperor when he demanded a meeting of the war cabinet.

It didn’t take long for everyone to show up—more than half of the chairs were empty since the officers who’d once sat in them were now dead, either on the Sword or from their failed coup. They all stood when the Emperor arrived.

Their tenth-tier Emperor burst into the room himself, not waiting for any servants to open a door for him. He was dressed in his usual finery, with the sole exception of the golden mask he’d taken to wearing recently.

“I placed all of you in charge of my armies,” he furiously began before anyone could even offer any polite greetings, “and I’m rewarded with nothing but failure and loss?! Argos fell without a fight! What do you cockless seed-swallowers have to say for yourselves?!”

Eyes turned in Metellus’ direction, which he resented greatly. He’d remember this later if they ever needed his aid. For the moment though, his attention had to be focused on the irate Emperor who was inundating the council room with stomach-churning killing intent.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Metellus said as serious a smile as he could manage under the pressure of the Emperor’s wrathful aura. “Our Most Illustrious Sovereign, the Lord of the Storm… My colleagues and I were just going to be discussing what response we ought to levy against our enemy for such bold action, but of course, we will defer to what our highest Lord wishes for us to do!”

His words had enough of an effect that he could feel the pressure settling on his shoulders lighten by a hair.

“We are ever your servants, and should your servants prove themselves incompetent, I shall make it a top priority to remove them! My Great and Honorable Liege need only give the order and it shall be carried out without a moment’s hesitation! For no order given by my Perfect Emperor can ever be incorrect!”

He laid it on thick for he knew that the loss of Argos was a crushing blow. He was a bit off-kilter and desperate to placate the Emperor long enough for him to manage the situation.

“Very well, then,” the Sunlit Emperor growled, his aura lessening even more as he took a seat at the head of the table, though his killing intent remained thick and ever-present. “Since all of you are the ‘experts’, and I am only your humble Emperor, what have you to say about this latest development?”

Metellus balked at speaking again. With a tiny sliver of power, he called upon the element of darkness and ordered another man in the room to begin the more detailed briefing.

That man, one of the lowest officers sitting at the table, paled, but after a stern look from Metellus, rose from his seat to begin.

“Your Imperial Majesty…” he whispered, his voice somehow stable despite the instability of his seventh-tier aura. “A massive Sky Devil force arrived in the skies over Argos some time ago… In response, the Commander… surrendered the city without a fight… He abandoned his duty and gave the city over to the savages across the sea!”

Lightning erupted from the Sunlit Emperor’s hands, scorching the polished wooden table they sat around, but thankfully spared anyone anything other than a quick shock or two. It took a moment for the officer to steady himself and continue his briefing.

“Uh… in… We’ve received some w-word that another, larger force of S-Sky Devils is on their way. It’s, uh… the entire garrison of the city was taken prisoner, save for a few thousand troops loaned by the Sentinels…”

“So…” the Emperor growled louder than Metellus assumed he meant to, “Keeper has betrayed me, too…”

The briefing officer seemed to think it best to leave that comment unaddressed, as did Metellus.

“It’s… well, um… A-As far as we can, uh… tell… everything east of the Black Cloud Mountains has been lost to us… All units… or all that we can get in contact with… are falling back to the E-Empire proper…”

Metellus scowled, having not heard that part yet.

The southern border of the Sunlit Empire was the Black Cloud Mountains. Argos was almost directly east of the mountain range, acting as the unofficial capital for the region known as the Azure Plains. From its place at the mouth of Devil’s Blood River, it could dominate just about everything in the region—not that there was much, it had to be said. The Azure Plains were rocky and rather dry, being dominated mostly by swathes of blue grass and twisting, knobby trees with dull blue leaves that lived for thousands of years yet rarely grew larger than twenty feet tall. Few people could scratch out a living in the Azure Plains, with what few settlements that existed forming mostly around strong defensible locations occupied by Sunlit or Sentinel forces.

And those defensible positions were now, it seemed, being deserted.

“Cowards and renegades…” the Emperor spat. To Metellus, he growled, “I want every one of those who deserted their posts to be found and crucified!”

Metellus scoffed internally. He doubted most of those soldiers would be found. Those staffing the bases in question were mostly lower-quality units with poor morale or loyalty. They had probably disappeared already.

But he didn’t let any of that doubt show on his face as he smiled at his Emperor and declared with confidence, “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty! They’ll line the road from here to Argos and show the people what happens when they abandon their Empire and their Emperor!”

The Sunlit Emperor tilted his head slightly in acceptance, though Metellus at least made a note to try and at least grab some of the deserters and string them up, if only to be able to truthfully say that he tried. Besides, their desertion imperiled his position, and they had to be punished for that, if possible.

“Your Imperial Majesty…” Cyrus, one of the other generals in the room, hesitantly began.

He was a weaselly man with a weaselly countenance, but at the eighth-tier, he was quite strong and influential. He hadn’t given Metellus any problems and even seemed more than willing to just let things go, and so had survived Metellus’ purge. But now…

“Is there…” he continued with great trepidation, “is there no other way we might… end this conflict?”

Every eye in the room stared at the general, and Metellus could see him start to sweat under such intense scrutiny.

“Speak… more plainly,” the Sunlit Emperor rumbled.

Cyrus took a deep breath, steadied himself, and said, “If no one else is going to say it, then I shall. This war has not been going well for us at all. Now the Sky Devils have landed upon the mainland and all of our allies have abandoned us. Our forces in the Azure Plains are deserting en masse, and we are in no position to launch any kind of offensive against the Sky Devils at this time. The bulk of our fleets may have escaped seizure by the simple virtue of protecting the Pegasi States, but most of our armies are doing the same, leaving us vulnerable here at home.

“So… what I mean to ask this council and my wisest and most esteemed Emperor, is whether or not we ought to at least consider holding some kind of negotiation with the enemy, if only to buy us time to—”

The Sunlit Emperor slammed his fist down upon the table again, causing nearly half of the table to be incinerated with a single bolt of lightning. Some of those in the room were even stunned by the accompanying thunder.

“The Sky Devils have plagued us for generations,” the Sunlit Emperor snarled. “They have slaughtered countless citizens of my Empire. And their ‘King’, Leon Raime, has personally insulted me on multiple occasions! You would have me bow and scrape to that cheap upstart?! To that arrogant brat who reaches beyond his station for things that do not belong to him?! You would have me suck the cock that pisses on me?!”

Before anyone could so much as register what was about to happen, Sunlit sprang to his feet, conjured a lightning bolt, and impaled Cyrus upon it. So powerful was the strike that the entire palace shook, and the massive cracks spread throughout the entire wing of the palace the conference room was in. The ceiling began to sag, telling Metellus—once he’d recovered from being blasted backward and having his entire body squeezed by the sound of the Emperor’s thunder—that its collapse was imminent.

But more importantly, he supposed, was that Cyrus had been reduced to a black stain on the cracked marble floor, indistinguishable from the rest of the lightning burns that filled the room.

“I will NOT!” Sunlit roared at the ground where Cyrus had just stood. “I will NOT! Never! When those dogs come, I will have them put in chains and hanged from the tallest towers in the city! I will feed their corpses to wild animals! They will know no peace in this life or the next! I am an Emperor! I will not present myself, crown in hand, to a savage who calls himself a King! Such insanity!”

He paused in his rant and finally seemed to take in his surroundings, including the ruined conference room.

He took a deep breath and straightened himself out. Much more calmly, he said, “We will resist this invasion. Call upon the Keeper again. It’s time he finally fulfilled his obligations. We will march against the enemy as soon as our forces have properly mustered.”

Without another word, the Emperor turned and left the room, leaving Metellus feeling more than a little enraged. He’d worked hard for his position, but the Sunlit Emperor was making it increasingly difficult to maintain any kind of semblance of normality.

In truth, Metellus actually supported Cyrus’ idea. It was the best move since many of their Empire’s stronger and more experienced formations were still south of the Black Cloud Mountains, and bringing them north wasn’t going to be easy, especially since Argos was now outside of their control and they lacked transport arks.

In short, they needed time. They needed as much time as they could get their hands on.

So Metellus immediately began giving orders. They had to reinforce the defensive line along the border with the Azure Plains. They couldn’t allow the Sky Devils to enter the Empire under any circumstances, and they absolutely had to pull their armies back from the south.

To do anything less would lead the Emperor to believe that Metellus wasn’t doing his job. His position, wealth, and most importantly, his life would be endangered should he gain the Emperor’s ire.

As he hurried the generals out of the soon-to-collapse conference room, Metellus sighed in frustration. There had to be some way he could buy some time, some way he could possibly ensure his survival even if the worst came to pass, some way to avoid taking responsibility for any potential defeat, some way to keep the Emperor’s eye off him until he could salvage the situation…

And an idea came to him. It would be dangerous, but the longer Metellus contemplated the problem, the fewer options he saw. So he hardened his heart and committed to what he saw to be his only option for survival…

---

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he listened to the argument in front of him. It had been going in circles for a while now, and he was deeply regretting letting those involved decide for themselves.

“… deposing our Imperial dynasty has never been done before!” Apollonios insisted. “It’s unprecedented!”

“You almost sound like you want our current Emperor to stay in power!” Arcaion responded.

“That’s not the case,” Apollonios shot back. “But we need to find someone at least tangentially connected to the Imperial line to raise to the throne!”

“And why should we continue with the same dynasty?” Arcaion asked. “Why not go with someone new?”

“Someone like you?” Apollonios asked sarcastically. “I value our friendship but that’s going a bit too far…”

“I wasn’t advocating for myself,” Arcaion claimed. “Maybe we don’t even need an Emperor after this is all done? Should we not work to gain support by appealing to the people instead?”

“That’s only going to end with the High Commanders taking control. We need an Emperor to reign in internal factions and to respond quickly to potential threats!”

Leon felt his eyes start to cross as they started making points they’d made several times already, but he was gently brought back to reality by Gaius standing at his shoulder.

“Leon,” he whispered with neither Apollonios nor Arcaion even noticing he’d arrived. “We’ve received a visitor. Someone from Thunderhaven—or so they claim.”

Leon’s eyes widened for a moment.

‘A peace offer? That can’t be it, it’s far too soon for that. And Sunlit would probably kill anyone who tried… right…?’

He stood up and addressed the two arguing prisoners-of-war—and possibly his allies if they could actually agree on anything. “Are you two making progress?”

“We are,” Arcaion responded confidently despite inflicting a circular argument upon Leon for the past half hour.

“We will reach an accord soon,” Apollonios added.

“And you’ll remain allies afterward?” Leon asked. “I won’t return and have to scrape one of you off the walls?”

The two shared a look and a shrug before Arcaion said, “Disagreement and debate is healthy, Your Majesty. We’ll work through this and decide upon a course of action in a matter of time.”

“Do so as quickly as you can,” Leon said. “Our reinforcements are close, and the longer we stay here, the more time we give Sunlit to respond. Case in point, I have something to handle…”

With that, he left the two to their own devices. They’d been occupying Argos for only a few days, and the main invasion force moving across the Argonaut Sea was due to arrive in only a few more. After that, Leon was considering ferrying over some like-minded Sunlit prisoners-of-war who might be willing to follow Arcaion into battle against the Sunlit Emperor.

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it—for now, he had a visitor to see to.

He, Gaius, and his escort of Tempest Knights made their way out of the secured barracks where Arcaion and Apollonios had been held and back to the city’s citadel. Once there, Leon met up with some of the Tribal elders and the rest of his retinue before heading to the citadel’s main hall, where this visitor was apparently waiting. The Sunlit Emperor had once held a party in this very hall that he’d invited Leon to following the Ten Tribes’ sacking of the city.

As he and his people spilled into the hall, he found the visitor by the hall’s main hearth, closely watched by a number of Tempest Knights. The visitor was tall and reasonably handsome with brown hair and eyes, and the aura of a sixth-tier mage. He looked about middle-aged and dressed in a fairly subdued fashion, though still in a military uniform. Judging by the markings on his uniform and his aura, Leon estimated him to be a mid-level officer; perhaps an adjutant to a senior military leader, or someone else who was expendable.

No matter what, he felt like he could rule out this visitor being the head of an official peace delegation, especially since he came alone.

As Leon was announced, the man straightened up even further and gave Leon his full attention. Leon said nothing as he sat on the throne at the far end of the hall and his people flanked him, staring at the visitor with oftentimes undisguised contempt.

But Leon just said in a neutral and almost weary tone, “All right, who are you and why have you come? I don’t suppose your Emperor has decided to just give up and off himself, has he?”

The visitor only grinned and said, “No. But I have come to discuss peace…”