The Storm King

Chapter 679: Concerns of the Mighty

Anastasios sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror. He was dressed incredibly well, with resplendent robes dyed deep crimson and a sash across one shoulder and down to his waist colored in bright royal purple. His clothing was trimmed with gold and embroidered with vines and many-colored flowers. Around his head rested a diadem—not the sort that his grandson wore as he sat upon the throne of Ilion, but one that was paradoxically both simpler and far more majestic, for it was little more than a simple band of gold, but enchanted to almost resemble a circlet of solid light. It was etched with fine flowing, organic patterns, which gave just a little bit of texture to the light it emitted.

It was a fantastic ensemble, but he could hardly stand it. The situation called for such finery, however, and the simple sandals he wore beneath his robes rather than the gorgeous boots lined with fox fur that the Imperial stylists had laid out for him was the sole rebellion he could conscientiously take. He would’ve much preferred to be clad in just a tunic—he’d gotten his fill of finery when he was still the Emperor, but now that he was old and largely retired from public life, he found that he had a taste for simpler things.

Still, when meeting with his counterparts to the north, east, and south, there were certain ceremonies that couldn’t be ignored—at least, not by him. It was rare that he ever envied the stark and spartan Sentinels to the east, but in the moments before one of these gatherings began, he always found himself mildly jealous of the Keeper. The man had never seemed to be happy with the powers and responsibilities granted to him, but he at least never had to worry about silk or silkgrass, robes or togas, and which piece of jewelry out of a gigantic pile of gold to wear.

Anastasios straightened out his sash, took one last look at himself in the mirror, sighed one last time, and then walked out of his apartments where several dozen men and women awaited him. Without a word, they followed him through the palace of Ilion, passing out of his relatively private wing of the palace, through several other buildings, and finally arrived at their destination: a large building, and the first couple of floors weren’t all that special to behold, being little more than a large stone box—it was as beautiful as the rest of the palace, but didn’t stand out too much. Its top floor, however, was another story.

The building’s top floor had the appearance of a temple, with a series of columns running along its outer edge and not a single wall in sight. The columns held up a magnificent pyramidical roof, decorated with gold and rubies, and with a golden idol of Sen, Messenger of the Gods, acting as the pyramid’s cap.

There was only a single piece of furniture in this open room: a throne of polished, glowing silver that sat in the center of a large circle carved into the marble floor. Three more circles, without thrones, were spread out in a circle in front of the throne.

Anastasios made his way up to this room, his escorts stopping just below. He was the only person allowed up to this last floor, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he left his escorts behind. He quickly sat down in the throne, slouched a little bit, and collected his thoughts. This was to be quite possibly the most consequential meeting in a thousand years, and it was all because of a single boy who no one had thought would arrive for decades more. He wished he could keep Leon’s arrival secret, but there was no way the others didn’t already know of the boy’s arrival a year ago, so there was no use in denying it. He hadn’t exactly been quiet, either, being named one of the Hands of the Director of Heaven’s Eye.

Anastasios could already feel a headache coming on, but he forced himself to ignore it.

A pulse of magic spread throughout the room, and the rest of the palace, easily visible between the room’s columns, faded away, as if the room had been completely enveloped by a cloud, fluffy and white, but completely opaque. The enchantments within the room had activated, all-but separating this room from the rest of Aeterna. The conversation he was to have with his counterparts couldn’t in any practical way be made any more secure or private.

Knowing that the meeting was about to begin, Anastasios sat up a little straighter and took on an imperious air. The other three circles began to glow, and resolving themselves in light, three more thrones appeared within, each one of similar size to his own, though not all of the same grandiosity.

To the north—on his left—appeared what looked like a wide, squat tree. It artfully twisted around into a beautiful seat, its leaves glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, casting its occupant in a myriad of different lights. The gray-haired woman who sat upon this throne was adorned in a bright green silkgrass dress, cut low in front. It was long, stretching down to her ankles, but slit on both sides all the way to her hips. It lacked sleeves, with the woman’s arms instead covered in golden arm bands studded with emeralds, while about her neck was affixed a torc of gold, a single huge emerald that glowed with magical light resting against her neck.

Anastasios smiled when the Grand Druid appeared. He’d always found her to be beautiful, and while her age was growing more and more visible with every year that passed, she was still quite radiant to his eyes. She gave him a respectful nod as she appeared, her deep red eyes sparkling like the finest of rubies. He returned a smile to her, but she remained otherwise cold and aloof—quite different to how he knew her to be in the flesh, but as was the case with him and his clothing, there were certain expectations of those in their positions in situations like these, and she had to play the part.

To the south—Anastasios’ right—appeared the most unpredictable member of their august group: the Sunlit Emperor himself. He was young, only a few centuries old—a veritable magical savant to have reached this level when he did. Anastasios supposed that his mother, the previous monarch of the Sunlit Empire, spared no expenses in making sure her son was ready to take over before she died—something he supposed he ought to start thinking about, now that he was getting up there in years. It had only been a century or so since she’d died, leaving Anastasios as the eldest of their group.

The Sunlit Emperor still possessed all the looks of his youth, with smooth, hairless cheeks, somewhat long golden-brown hair that seemed somehow messy, yet without a single hair out of place, as if the messy look was intentional. He wore glistening silver armor, so gilded and overdesigned that there was no possible way it was practical in battle unless it was so heavily enchanted that it was practically solid magic—which, Anastasios had to concede, was quite possibly the case. It featured massive shoulder pauldrons larger than the Emperor’s entire head, and a comically oversized codpiece, which the Emperor seemed trying to emphasize further with how he sat upon his throne. The throne itself was obscene; it was made of solid gold but had been carved into the shape of half a dozen nude women making a seat out of their bodies, rendered in lifelike detail. Absolutely everything was shown, with the golden statues posed provocatively, some of their legs partially spread, and with garnets glowing a bright, eye-catching pink in place of nipples. When the Emperor appeared in the projection, he was absent-mindedly palming one of these statues’ golden breasts and didn’t stop even after it became irrefutably clear that he knew he could be seen.

Finally, to the west—directly across from Anastasios—came perhaps the most fearsome member of their group, though he hardly appeared as such on first glance. He was a bald man, dressed in what Anastasios could only describe as a brown burlap sack. It fitted him poorly, as if made by the most novice of tailors, though given how big and heavily muscled he was, Anastasios supposed it would take the greatest tailor a hundred days to make something that fit him just right.

This man, the Keeper of the Sentinels, appeared seated upon a simple stone stool that looked to have been roughly carved out of a single boulder. By all appearances, he seemed to be a man of little means and few material concerns, emphasized by the fact that he sat leaned over, his elbows propped up on his knees, his chin in his hands, and his eyes closed in thought, but Anastasios knew that such a supposition was the furthest thing from the truth. He was terrifically strong, and with his earth magic, could’ve fashioned himself a much grander throne than the one he sat upon with little more than a thought if he so chose.

But he didn’t, and he barely even twitched to acknowledge that his projection had activated, beginning their meeting.

“It’s good to see you all in health,” Anastasios intoned, his deep voice carried by magic to each of his counterparts in their own respective Empires, in their own respective ceremonial long-range communication chambers.

Anastasios shrugged and responded, “Very well, kid, we can skip the usual updates—I’m sure we’re all well aware of just how each other’s Empires are doing, anyway. As well as I’m sure you are all aware that Leon Raime came south last year.”

The Grand Druid gave a look of muted surprise, but it wasn’t great enough for Anastasios to think she hadn’t already known this before the meeting—she was more surprised that he was bringing it up like this, he supposed.

“Good,” the Sunlit Emperor declared with a smile. “Such a man shouldn’t be locked away in the savage north, not after all the progress he’s made in these past six years. I mean, eighth-tier at the age of twenty-two? Impressive, I say, and deserving of far more than exile with savages.”

“Worrisome, more like,” The Grand Druid shot back as she glared at the Sunlit Emperor. Her gaze softened slightly as she glanced toward Anastasios, though, and she continued, “What are we to make of this boy, this descendent of our oldest enemy, taking up residence in your Empire?”

“Nothing,” Anastasios replied. “He’s not with us. He’s with Heaven’s Eye in Occulara. He hasn’t left that city in months, though, not since the Director decided to take him on.”

The Keeper finally spoke, growling in a deep baritone yet not opening his eyes, “If the Director is choosing to shelter this child, stained as he is by the sins of his forefathers, then Heaven’s Eye is without virtue and lacks memory. All born of that blood must be purged.”

“You seem quite eager,” Anastasios quipped. “Are you in such a hurry to go against the command of the one above us?”

The Keeper finally opened his eyes, though only a crack. Instead of revealing his pupils, bright white light streamed forth, as if his eye sockets held a pair of stars instead of eyeballs. He said nothing, as Anastasios knew he would. It had only been a few years since the Grave Warden had formally revealed himself to them, before vanishing back to his island again, but the power he displayed to them had made it abundantly clear that they served at his pleasure, not the other way around. If he wanted them to do something, there was only one choice if they wanted their Empires to remain safe. The Keeper might be tempted to go against those threats on principle, but so long as Leon Raime stayed out of Sentinel land, Anastasios doubted his eastern counterpart would take any proactive action.

“That boy should come south,” the Sunlit Emperor said in the short pause that followed Anastasios’ remark. “He would do well among those who would appreciate the power he wields.”

“Trying to poach a young talented boy?” the Grand Druid drily asked.

“Trying to nurture a young talented boy,” the Sunlit Emperor shot back. “Trying to save him from being used as a pawn by the two of you.”

“I’m sure you are,” the Grand Druid replied. Her expression hardened for a moment as she turned toward Anastasios. “Leon Raime must not be allowed to go south. If he should come into contact with the Sky Devils—”

“The Sky Devils are contained!” the Sunlit Emperor shouted indignantly. “There is no chance at all that he’d even see one of those creatures, let alone speak with one.”

Anastasios held up his hand, silently asking for peace between them before they started going at each other’s throats. “The Sky Devils have been quiet lately, haven’t they?” he asked.

“They have,” the Sunlit Emperor said.

“That’s both good and worrying to hear,” Anastasios responded. “They’ve never been quiet for long. The only times I can recall when they’ve halted their raids was when they were preparing for something big. An assault on the Shield, or a long journey through the wild waters south of their Hell to get around our patrols and assault some of the weaker protectorates. We should take all precautions that we can.”

“I agree,” the Grand Druid added. “I’ll speak with my daughter. She can move our fleets to the Sword. Even a single dread ship slipping past our lines cannot be tolerated.”

“I’ll have my grandson step up patrols in the Straits of Keraunos, too,” Anastasios said. Both then turned their gazes toward the Sunlit Emperor. Their fleets were small, having little access to the sea. Any proper containment would have to have the cooperation of the Sunlit Empire, as while Argos was at least nominally under joint control of all four of their Empires, it was the Sunlit Empire in practice that held it, and their fleets were the larger than the other three’s combined.

“Very well,” the Sunlit Emperor said.

“What timing this is,” the Keeper then said, drawing the attention of the other three. “First, the scion of our oppressors returns, and now worrying signs from the Sky Devil’s Hell. I sense peace may soon be shattered…”

“No need for all that doom and gloom, old man,” the Sunlit Emperor rebuked. “The Sky Devils have remained trapped in their Hell for, what? Sixty thousand years? More?”

“They lacked a Prince of the blood,” the Keeper explained patiently. “Their structure makes coordination difficult. They fight each other almost as much as they fight us. If they’re able to unify behind someone like Leon Raime, then they’ll own the Argonaut Sea. Given what I’ve learned of this boy, it wouldn’t be that difficult, either: he seems to channel the power in his blood far better than any of his predecessors. He is a monster and should be treated as such.”

“He is not a monster,” Anastasios protested. “I actually found him rather subdued and humble.”

Anastasios, still smiling, glared at the Sunlit Emperor, but the younger man wasn’t done.

The Grand Druid glared at the Sunlit Emperor again. “We’re not all selfish cretins,” she spat. “But leave it to those who are to only see the world through that lens.”

“We’re getting a little off-topic,” Anastasios growled. “I informed you of Leon Raime’s arrival. He’s proven he isn’t a threat.”

“He’s proven the opposite,” the Keeper disagreed. “He’s proven that he’s a monster, and if we don’t take steps to deal with him, then he’ll devour us all, and our plane will descend back into tyranny.”

“Let’s not get carried away, here,” Anastasios protested. He took a deep breath and stared directly at the Keeper. “What would it take to soothe your nerves over this boy?”

The Keeper was silent for a long moment, eventually stating, “In truth, nothing, for no peace can ever be achieved so long as anyone of that bloodline yet breathes. He will forever remain an enemy, no matter how modest and moderate you believe him to be. Above all, he must stay away from the Argonaut Sea at all costs. Keep the Sky Devils confined and keep them away from the one who carries the blood that they can unite behind. Without him, the Sky Devils are nothing more than a nuisance.”

“I’ve seen more than enough already,” the Keeper replied, even toned, and Anastasios shuddered.

Eight hundred years ago, when he and the Keeper were both only a few centuries old, their predecessors had organized a huge raid upon the Sky Devil’s Hell, intending to end their threat once and for all. They assembled their fleets at the Sword, an island west of their Hell that the Empires had taken over many millennia ago to keep an eye on the Sky Devils and to stage any invasions or defensive actions from. The might of all four Empires then broke through their misty veil and crashed down upon the western shores of the Sky Devil’s Hell, thousands of ships in all. It was quite possibly the greatest act of unity the Empires had shown since the actions of the Brilliant Eleven.

It was also the greatest disaster in Imperial history. Their invasion force was met with bad weather as they landed—which seemed natural, until the Sky Devils fell from the storm clouds and wreaked havoc within the Imperial Fleets. They were fought off, and the Imperial armies landed on the Hell itself, but they only managed to seize a few coastal cities before the Sky Devils fought them to a standstill and threw them back off the island. Anastasios, even all these years later, could still remember the bodies piled high, the stench of death, and the howling war cries of the Sky Devils as they gleefully threw themselves upon Imperial Lances, and proved themselves greater than even those fearsome weapons.

More than a million Imperial soldiers died in that invasion, and more than two thousand ships were lost. The remainder of the force, Anastasios and the Keeper included, had to limp home with barely