The Storm King

As the raelon’s final breath rattled across the dunes, Tiraeses, still covered in blood, roared incoherently in savage triumph and launched himself at the creature’s corpse. Leon followed, though he kept his elation at the successful hunt under wraps. To defeat such a large and powerful creature was thrilling, but the manic way that Tiraeses threw himself at the monster, not to mention the injuries he’d sustained, concerned Leon.

Tiraeses reached the raelon first and began battering its corpse with fists of light. Without the monster’s magic to protect it, its body was torn asunder by Tiraeses’ strikes. Leon had to be careful with his approach lest he be covered in black blood and chunks of monstrously mutated meat.

Something he found rather distressing was that despite Tiraeses’ furious violence, the greater being done to the raelon’s corpse was from the darkness magic saturating the environment—black translucent clouds gathered about the dead monster and ate away at its exposed flesh like acid.

“Tiraeses!” Leon called out, but the monk either ignored or didn’t hear him. Instead, he kept shouting and leveling terrible blows upon their defeated foe.

[I daresay this man has lost his mind,] Xaphan whispered.

[Killing a creature such as this is no small feat,] the Thunderbird replied, [but this is a bit much.]

[Are you familiar with such beasts?] Leon asked his Ancestor.New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novelenglish.net . ꜰirᴇ.nᴇt

[Not this one specifically,] the Thunderbird said, [but the Primal Gods and Devils were known to twist living beings to suit specific purposes. Or even if they simply felt like it.]

Leon’s thoughts momentarily turned to Krith’is and the results of its work—Jormun’s transformation into a Great Horned Serpent, and his own Thunderbird forms. [That doesn’t surprise me with the Primal Gods; they seemed rather well-versed in light magic, weren’t they? And light magic’s greatest strength is influencing the body…]

[Primal Gods utilized every magical element,] the Thunderbird corrected. [Light is something they certainly leaned into, but the Primal Gods held no reservations about using any element they thought would aid them in their goals.]

[Was it the same for the Primal Devils?]

[Generally yes, but when it came to darkness magic, I doubt even the Shadow Kings of Khosrow’s Law know more than the Primal Devils did about darkness and the way it affects the mind. However, to mutate something to better fulfill desired purposes, the Primal Gods and Devils differed, with the Gods preferring to use light to twist the body and the Devils using darkness to twist the mind. The end result is often the same—the perversion of both mind and body—but the actual methods were worlds apart. You can sense the darkness here, can’t you? This entire plane has been tainted by the power of a Primal Devil.]

[I’ll keep our lightning close, then,] Leon said.

[Ambrose did give me something I can use to leave, yes,] Leon confirmed.

[Waste no time in using it.]

Leon frowned, deep unease settling into the pit of his stomach. If the Thunderbird herself thought he shouldn’t stay, then… He’d been gone for only a matter of a few hours, and he’d hardly seen most of the plane yet. And yet, his only job was to investigate the plane, and he’d done that; it was a swamp of darkness conjured by a Primal Devil.

Besides, ten mages had been sent before him, one from each of the other planes of the Divine Graveyard. While Leon knew nothing about the other Grave Wardens, he couldn’t imagine that all ten of them sent their mages without methods for returning home, and yet all ten had gone missing. An ill portent for him, to be sure, and he didn’t think anyone would blame him for leaving at this point, if only to avoid a similar fate. The Grave Wardens were also apparently assuming the worst already and preparing to destroy Arkhnavi in nine months…

[I’ll think about it,] Leon finally replied to the Thunderbird. [I won’t overstay my welcome and I’ll keep the silver twig close.]

[There it is,] Xaphan responded with an unsurprised tone. [We just got done praising your caution, Leon, and here you are continuing to risk your life. Well fucking done, I say.]

[Xaphan, you’re sending me mixed messages.]

[The tiny, flickering match doesn’t have your best interests at heart; pay him no mind. See to yourself first and foremost—everyone else on this plane is dead and won’t appreciate your sacrifice. Leave, and let the Grave Wardens clean up their own mess.]

Leon sighed, but as he was formulating his response, Tiraeses finally cried out one final time and ended his manic assault upon the raelon’s corpse. He stood there, hit feet submerged in the dusty dunes, his eyes wide and wild, light still glowing around his knuckles. But his face slowly morphed into one of muted despair, and the monk collapsed to his knees.

“It’s over…” he whispered. “The misshaped crime against the gods has met its end… My brothers have been av—” He cut himself off, a look of horror crossing his face as he squeezed his eyes and mouth shut.

Leon waited a moment for him to recover, but after a few agonizingly long seconds, he asked, “Tiraeses, what’s wrong?”

Tiraeses knelt in the dust for another few seconds before taking a deep breath, visibly summoning his courage, and muttering, “Blood must be the last resort, and spilled not for its own sake. Revel not in violence, for it only destroys. Seek justice, not vengeance…” Finally, Tiraeses opened his eyes and turned slightly toward Leon. “I apologize, Leon, Mad Thelior took my senses for a moment. The gods teach us to value hospitality, and yet I’ve put on such a shameful display for you, my honored guest.”

“Your generosity only shames me further,” Tiraeses whispered as he forced himself back to his feet. “The Red-Eyed One has taken many of my brothers thanks to this creature, and now that it’s followed them… I don’t know how to handle myself. Seventy years I’ve lived here, long past the ruin of this land. Hope left me long ago.”

The monk fell silent, and Leon didn’t want to break it, so he stood there with Tiraeses for several minutes as the man processed the death of the raelon.

Finally, he quietly suggested, “Let’s head back to my sanctuary. Allow me to show you some proper hospitality before we set out on our journey.”

“You’re still going to help me? To make our way to the center of the plane?”

Tiraeses gave him an almost incredulous look. “I gave my word: aid me in felling the raelon, and I would be your guide. You have fulfilled your part beyond anything I could’ve hoped for. To go back on my word would condemn me in the eyes of the gods.”

Leon smiled a little awkwardly and decided to accept the invitation. He supposed a day or two to rest and get a better lay of the land would aid him in deciding how to proceed.

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“Just one thing,” Leon said before they left. “What should we do about the corpse? Any useful materials to be salvaged from within it?”

“Nothing of value could possibly come from such a devilish creature,” Tiraeses scornfully stated. “I would say that its only use at this point is to give to Amatin, Lady of the Land, but it seems the devils want to take even that away…” He gestured back at the remains of the raelon, and Leon noticed that the rate at which the darkness seemed to be ‘eating’ the corpse had increased. At the rate it was going, the raelon’s corpse wouldn’t even last until they left—though he thought that maybe a monster core might be found within it. Still, he didn’t need it and decided to go with Tiraeses’ assessment.

Together, the two left the raelon to decompose. Tiraeses led Leon back to the mountains and one of the entrances to his monastery. Both were silent the whole way back, save for a moment when Leon expressed some concern over Tiraeses’ injuries. The ninth-tier light mage, however, had healed completely by the time they descended beneath the surface of the stony mountains.

---

The night spent in the monastery was one Leon largely spent alone. He spoke with Xaphan and the Thunderbird at some length about the specific kind of power they sensed outside, though no real conclusions were reached. Tiraeses, meanwhile, wanted some time alone. Given it was likely to be his last in the place he’d called home, Leon decided to not press the man for any pressing information. He knew all too well how emotionally crushing it was to leave home, never to return, and Tiraeses had spent more time in the monastery than Leon had in existence, so he imagined leaving was that much worse for the old monk.

To his gratitude, though, Tiraeses did after several hours give Leon access to the rooms where the monastery’s enchantments had been inscribed. The monk reasoned, “This place shall soon only exist in Mulitan, Lord of Memory’s domain. There is no point in remaining secretive about its defenses.”

The enchantment control room was remarkably different from what Leon was experienced in dealing with. For starters, the massive room was divided into several dozen interconnected hallways, and the ground, ceiling, and walls were covered in millions of runes. But that wasn’t all; the room utilized three-dimensional enchantments, with long lines of runes of light weaving through the air, snaking around corners, and connecting enchantments in different halls to each other.

For a while, Leon was a bit confused as he knew the monastery also included at least one ancient rune in its warding scheme, but it took him some time to actually find it, and when he did, he was quite impressed with how it had been utilized.

The rune, complex enough that Leon knew it was a very specific rune with a narrow function, sat in the center of a runic circle made from modern runes. The circle amplified and spread the ancient rune’s power, compensating, Leon supposed, for the lack of conscious will directing the rune—or, perhaps, allowing anyone to use the rune without much effort. He wasn’t able to say much, but he spent a large amount of time taking copious notes and trying to copy as much of the monastery’s enchantment scheme as he could. He could tell it had been made by a master; an idea which was only reinforced when he discovered other ancient runes included in the warding scheme, each one just as seamlessly integrated as the first.

When Tiraeses—who had left Leon to his examinations while he mourned in peace—came to check in on him, Leon asked who the enchanter in question was.

“Laylen,” Tiraeses answered fondly, a look of deep nostalgia crossing his face. “A quiet man, but blessed beyond most others by Wise Farangeun. He rarely spoke, and when he did, I often felt like I had to pray to Wise Farangeun with all my heart just to understand a fraction of what Laylen had to say—but when he spoke, his voice carried more passion than most others have for their spouses.”

Leon smirked. Such obsession he could understand. Were he neither a King nor a husband, he could easily see himself devoting himself wholeheartedly to the art of enchanting in a similar manner.

“By Mulitan, Lord of Memory, I remember him sleeping down here more than once. Rare was he seen outside of these halls, constantly tinkering with all of this.”

“Do you mind me asking what he was trying to do?” Leon asked. “A lot of these enchantments are complex or bespoke enough that I can hardly tell what they’re supposed to do; their functions are hardly mundane utility…”

Tiraeses’ expression fell a fraction. “There are many things I would ask of Mandious, Lord of All in Heaven, and one of them is to know what Laylen had been doing down here. I wish I knew.”

Leon sighed. Of all the enchantments in the halls, he’d only managed to identify—with the Thunderbird’s help—the one that had kept him out of the monastery in the first place, while there were at least half a dozen others spread throughout the vast web of enchantments. Leon copied them all down though, and he hoped that upon returning home, Nestor would be able to help him in deciphering them.

“One time,” Tiraeses continued, “I was forced to come down here after Laylen hadn’t been seen for three days straight. I found him arguing with himself over the best place to inscribe a new rune. ‘Right here!’ ‘No, a tenth of an inch to the right!’ ‘Idiot, it should be one one-hundredth of an inch to the right!’ He did that often: argue with himself aloud. It seemed to help him to vocalize his thoughts.”

Tiraeses’ voice caught in his throat and his eyes became rather misty. He blinked several times and cleared his throat. “Apologies, I don’t mean to lose myself in the land of Mulitan, Lord of Memory.”

“No, please, I’m your guest. I’d love to hear more of the people who lived here, if you’re willing to share.”

Tiraeses slowly smiled. He took a deep breath as his eyes slid away from Leon and settled on nothing in particular. “I remember Azliep, who loved to fish. He was more known by the fishermen of our local watershed than he was even by us! If ever there was a fisherman who couldn’t catch enough to feed his family, Azliep would work hard to help him provide, even if it meant he returned to our sanctuary late.

Leon nodded sagely. “I’ve known some petty politicians in my time,” he agreed. “Those who would throw thousands to their deaths out of pride and vanity.”

Tiraeses stuttered and paused. For a moment, he’d looked thrilled to speak of his brothers, but now, his expression was sliding back into deep sorrow.

“That’s… quite a view to have,” Leon said with a grin. “I’m not surprised he was here instead of continuing to serve his King. I don’t know how I would handle someone like that in my court…”

Leon laughed, though he supposed he ought to have told Tiraeses exactly who he was before this moment. When he’d told the man his story, he’d focused mostly on his encounters with Ambrose and Krith’is, he hadn’t long dwelled on his other adventures, or where they’d left him.

“No, no,” he said with a wave of his hand, “Please, don’t get too formal with me, I’m a long way from my court and I have little patience for such ceremony anyway.”

“Humility is a great virtue…” Tiraeses murmured, his smile growing slightly.

“So some say,” Leon replied. “Others would say that a King ought to be at least a little arrogant. A King can’t be seen as weak or vulnerable, after all, else his enemies might try to take advantage of him.”

“I’ve seen some truly shit monarchs,” Leon conceded. “But others… others have been quite good. Or at least had good intentions and the will to follow through on those intentions. I try to be the latter, though I was crowned less than a year ago, so I think it’s a little early to say how well I’ve done.”

“If you’re willing to come here just to see what has happened…” Tiraeses whispered. He went quiet for a long moment, and after looking around, his eyes remaining unfocused and not lingering long on anything in the halls, he simply said, “I will leave you to study Laylen’s work. I pray to Mulitan, Lord of Memory, that it never be forgotten. There are other things in this sanctuary that I must preserve, too.”

Without another word, Tiraeses departed the halls, and Leon didn’t try to stop him. Leon wasn’t sure what was on his mind, but given all that had happened in the past day, on top of seventy years of apparent isolation, he wasn’t going to deny Tiraeses some desired privacy. Instead, he turned his attention back to the enchantments. He was sure they were going to speak at least once more anyway, if only to get on the same page about where to go once they left the monastery.

And, as ideas rushed through Leon’s head after studying the enchantments, how they might repel the darkness magic that filled the air outside…