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“When you say, ‘the land of the dead’,” Marcus hesitantly began, “what exactly do you mean by that?”

The newcomer gave him an almost pitying look. “It means what it means,” he said. “This is my land, and I am dead.”

“Can you explain how we got here?” Gaius asked.

“By walking,” the newcomer answered.

Gaius frowned but didn’t press the issue.

Leon jumped back into the conversation in his stead, asking, “Might we have your name?”

“You might, I can’t know that,” the newcomer replied with a cheeky grin.

“Is there any question we can ask that you will answer in spirit as well as in letter?” Marcus testily inquired.

“There’s only one way to find out,” the newcomer replied. “Ask me questions and I will ask you questions in turn. One for one. I will begin. My question is the same as the last I asked: why have you come to this place?”

Without missing a beat this time, Leon stood a little straighter, subtly adjusted his rather simple clothing, and projected just a little more of his aura—enough to be, by his standards, impressive, but not overbearing.

“I am Leon Raime,” he said. “I am the last living descendent of the Thunderbird. I have come seeking support to rebuild my Clan.”

The newcomer’s smile thinned and his demeanor cooled. “The form this ‘support’ takes, I’ve heard, is to restore you to the old lands and titles that your forebears, well, bore. Is this accurate?”

“It is,” Leon admitted. “But that’s not all. The Ancestral Harts have been stuck on Aeterna for just as long as my family has. I would have us all depart this plane to reclaim what we once had.”

The newcomer scowled slightly. “Why? Is what we have here not enough? Revanchism, in my experience, leads only to more death and suffering.”

“As opposed to now, when the Ten Tribes are locked in perpetual war with the Empires? How many have died over the past eighty-thousand years due to those conflicts?”

“Twenty billion, six hundred and thirty-seven million, nine hundred and nineteen thousand, two hundred and six,” the newcomer immediately said, taking Leon by surprise. “Just from war in the past eighty-thousand years. Would you like to know how many died following your Clan in more remote wars?”

“Many more than that, I take it?” Leon asked.

The newcomer smiled, though there was no warmth in the expression. “Many more. And you would return us to that state. Following the Thunderbird Clan, we have never known peace, and the tombs of our greatest mages have always overflowed.”

Leon went quiet for a moment as he contemplated the newcomer’s words as well as the newcomer himself. There was something off about him, and not just his self-proclaimed status as a dead man and his complete lack of aura. Leon wanted to know what that was.

As Leon paused, Marcus picked up the slack. “So what? War is a fact of life and prosecuting it with honor and duty brings glory to oneself and one’s kin. Is it not the greatest glory in the world to die fighting for a cause one believes in?”

“For some,” the newcomer said, a note of bitterness in his deep, baritone voice. “For others, it is to live, to grow, and to create. It is in the things one passes on that brings the most joy and fulfillment.”

“How many of them are down here?” Marcus wondered. “And how do their numbers compare to those who gave all they had to give to ensure the prosperity of their people?”

“More than you could ever count,” the newcomer spat.

“You seem to have an accurate idea, though,” Marcus responded. He seemed like he wanted to continue, but Leon held up his hand, silently ordering him to stop.

He made no excuses for Marcus, but he did smile and say, “We do not wish to disrespect anyone’s calling, nor their burial here. I have come here to ask for the Ancestral Harts to make good on their old oaths of loyalty to my Clan and to join me in restoration. If the Ancestral Harts do not wish to take part, if they are content to simply stay here and restrict themselves to a single plane—not even as that plane’s masters—then that is their decision. But I will ask for their support all the same.”

“You would only lead them to death,” the newcomer stated.

Leon was silent for a long moment, so Marcus jumped in.

“Leon has not led us to death,” he said. “He doesn’t value war. He treats us honorably and I believe he will do the same for your people. He will work to maintain peace for all those who join him.”

Leon gave Marcus a grateful look, but it was quickly erased by the newcomer.

“And yet you intend on reclaiming what your Clan has lost? That will not come without death, and that death will be borne by those beneath him. I have seen this all before, young man, I have heard these promises many times.”

“Were those promises not kept? Gaius asked. “Was the Thunderbird Clan cruel to your people? Did they act dishonorably? Did they make unreasonable demands of you? Treat you like slaves? Force you to be party to grave crimes?”

“Look around you, boy,” the newcomer demanded, his anger clearly growing. “My people died in numbers beyond counting in the name of the Thunderbird and her descendants. In their wars, over their whims, for their amusement. The Thunderbird Clan brought us great pain.”

“A reasonable complaint,” Gaius conceded with shrug. “But I would join my voice to Marcus’: Leon treats us honorably. He does not demand we die for his amusement and he is not needlessly cruel. As far as Lords go, he is the best I’ve ever served.”

Leon had to work hard to keep the grin off his face. He would have to find a way to express his gratitude for his retainers later. “I apologize for any crimes committed against your people by mine. If what I’ve been told of those old days are true, then I can understand not wanting to return to them. What is it you want, then?”

“To live peacefully,” the newcomer responded.

“No one can live peacefully,” Leon quietly protested. “Sooner or later, that peace will be ruined. Someone will want something that you have, or some old grudge from before your time will be invoked—for none of us spring from nothing, our lineage free of carnage. That someone will then come to your home and slaughter your kin, no matter how peaceful you have been living, no matter how far away from civilization you are, no matter how much of a threat you pose.”

Leon took a deep breath to steady himself, and the newcomer didn’t take the opportunity to press him again.

“I want to live peacefully, too,” Leon continued. “But by virtue of my blood, that’s impossible. I need help, I need to band together with like-minded peoples, join their strength to my own. If I could just go off into the woods and live peacefully, I would. But that isn’t an option. I can’t live peacefully. I have to go the Nexus and rebuild the Thunderbird Clan.”

Leon paused for a long moment, giving the newcomer a chance to ask his own questions. The newcomer seemed to be pondering his words, though, and had nothing yet to ask.

“So,” Leon said after the silence stretched long enough to turn awkward, “let me ask you something if you’re not going to ask me anything. Do you consider my Clan to be your enemy?”

The newcomer frowned for a long moment and stared holes into Leon, though his gaze wasn’t as baleful as Leon might’ve expected. When he finally spoke, he simply said, “No.”

Leon cast his gaze around the graveyard, then gave the newcomer a meaningful look.

“I don’t want to fight the Thunderbird Clan,” the newcomer said. However, a moment later, a dark look crossed his face, and he took a few threatening steps toward Leon. “However, if harm befalls my people…”

As the newcomer advanced, Marcus and Gaius took a few steps forward to meet him, each drawing their weapons. Leon, however, reached out and stopped them, though neither looked any less willing to throw down if it came to that.

“Your men are loyal to you,” the newcomer stated, no emotion in his voice.

“I trust them with my life,” Leon responded.

“As I do with you,” Marcus replied. “I owe you my life anyway. I will never forget that.”

“You have my unconditional trust,” Gaius said, seeming to choose to leave it at that.

“You both honor me,” Leon responded as he turned back to the newcomer and desperately tried not to let his pride and happiness show on his face.

The newcomer sighed and took a few steps back, his expression returning to normal. “I hope such loyalty is rewarded as it deserves. A Lord who abuses his vassals will soon find himself alone.”

“They have nothing to fear from me,” Leon replied. “Neither does your Tribe. I seek their support, not to enslave them.”

“Good. An easy thing to say, but good to hear nonetheless,” the newcomer said as he took another couple steps back. He cast his gaze about the graveyard, a distant look growing in his eyes. “The Ancestral Hart,” he said. “Do you know how he got his name? The power that was passed down through his blood?”

“I confess that I don’t,” Leon replied, feeling slightly confused at the change in direction but chose not to ask yet.

“We are in tune with those who came before us,” the newcomer said. “Our memories are longer than most as a result. So many of my Clan have died in the Thunderbird’s wars that it’s hard for me to give my blessing for this… reunion.”

The newcomer paused, and Leon fixed his narrowing golden eyes upon him. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone suspicious and demanding.

The newcomer smiled sadly, but there was no surprise in his expression. “I suppose it was too much to hope the heir of the Thunderbird would let me continue like this, wasn’t it? Your Clan has ever held a disdain for subtlety.”

As he finished speaking, his body began to glow, rapidly becoming so bright that both Gaius and Marcus had to shield their eyes. Leon, however, watched in fascination as the newcomer’s body expanded and grew. Horns sprouted from his head—or rather, Leon realized as they grew, antlers—and fur sprouted from his body. His hands and feet turned to hooves as his spine bent, turning him from a biped to a quadruped. His skull lengthened and bent.

The newcomer was the Ancestral Hart. He now towered over Leon and his retainers, standing an impressive twenty feet tall with antlers that glowed with white light. His eyes, however, were black as a moonless night, and he seemed to be perpetually crying black tears.

Despite being the progenitor of one of the Ten Tribes, he hardly looked the part. He was of impressive stature, to be sure, but he looked old and decrepit. His fur was matted and patchy, his body was thin and emaciated, and much of his exposed flesh was wrinkled and looked half-rotted.

“You see me now, as I was in my final moments,” the Ancestral Hart spoke, still speaking audibly using some unidentifiable magic. “My body destroyed by my service to the Thunderbird. And now here I am, in the land of the dead, always watching over my Clan as a new Thunderbird arrives, demanding we spill our blood for him as we did for his predecessors.”

Leon frowned, then transformed himself. In a moment, he stood not quite eye-to-eye with the Hart, but still much taller than just a moment before, and in his Thunderbird form his aura grew stronger as well.

[I make no demands. I but offer my hand, in exchange for their own. If they like what I have to offer, then they will support me. If not, then I will leave them alone. It’s as simple as that.]

The Hart stared at him, its black, weeping eyes remaining locked unblinkingly upon him.

“Allowing my Clan to follow you again would only lead to this graveyard growing even faster. You would lead them to doom.”

[That’s not your decision,] Leon responded. [That is for your Tribe to decide. Not for me, not for you. For them. Whatever decision they make, whether to accept me or not, I will respect.]

The Hart seemed to ignore him, instead turning to Marcus and Gaius in turn. “You have some truly loyal vassals. That they think so highly of you is a credit to you. Rare was loyalty back when your Clan held the title of ‘Storm King’.”

[I am blessed with good friends,] Leon modestly replied. [Your Tribe could be among them.]

The Hart sighed. “I suppose this is it, then, isn’t it? My descendants have spoken much of their desires to me, both of you and of a certain ‘Thunderer’, and though I always caution them, try to steer them to the path of wisdom, it seems their memory of a time when they followed the Thunderbird in the Nexus and through the Void is more attractive than my words of caution.”

Leon cocked his head and locked eyes with the Ancestral Hart.

“I will not stand in their way,” he continued, bringing a rush of relief to Leon’s heart. “Though I will not endorse your rule, either. I will always caution my descendants against placing their trust in you too readily. And if you do not fulfill promises you make to them, I will urge them to abandon you.”

Leon notionally smiled and he replied, [Fair enough.] He transformed back into his human form.

Once he was fully dressed, Marcus asked, “Uh, out of curiosity, how do we leave this place?”

“Where even is this place?” Gaius responded.

“That is not for you to know,” the Ancestral Hart replied.

“Something to do with your inherited power, then,” Leon said. “Keep your secrets. Though I am fascinated by them, I understand wanting to keep something like that to yourself. However, I would like it if we could be shown the door. I would make haste in returning to those outside; we have much to discuss…”

The Hart sighed again. “Patience,” he murmured, “a resource ever in short supply…”

Leon heard some clicking from behind him, and when he turned, he realized it was the grave tender returning, his shoes clicking against the paved road that had returned from whence it had disappeared. When Leon turned back to the Hart, however, he found that he was gone. In his place, however, were countless more men and women, all staring at him. Unlike the brief glimpse he’d received just a few minutes ago, however, they lingered on as the grave tender approached.

Both Marcus and Gaius raised their weapons again but were quick to lower them again when Leon raised his arms to block them.

One of them, a man dressed in relatively extravagant clothes and who stood in front of the rest, said, “Our Ancestor is wise, but cautious, and his mind is clouded by the… violence of the Thunderbird’s conquest. We hold different memories of our time as honored vassals of your Ancestors. Though our Ancestor will not support you, Heir of the Thunderbird, we will.”

---

Leon breathed a sigh of relief as he walked out of the tomb, though he kept himself from being too overt about it. Marcus, however, nearly collapsed as soon as they stepped out into the light, and even Gaius’ relief was evident from the massive smile plastered on his face.

It hadn’t taken them long to return to the surface with the grave tender only leading them a few hundred feet before the stairs back to the entrance were revealed. He didn’t speak much to Leon’s group, so without much further ado, Leon led his retainers back to the land of the living, without much idea of what in the hells they had just experienced, magically speaking.

Upon exiting the tomb, he felt Maia’s relief surround him like a hot bath, while similar feelings were expressed in Valeria and Cassandra’s expressions. He cast his gaze about, noting that most of his people, while relieved, seemed more apprehensive than anything else.

Sar was the person his eyes landed upon. The man sprang to his feet when Leon exited the tomb and, after cocking his head as if listening to something again, strode forward.

“Leon Raime,” he intoned, “I have heard of the power you hold that allows us with Inherited Bloodlines to become closer to our Ancestors. Is this true?”

“If you’re speaking of transformation, then yes,” Leon said as he transformed right then and there.

Sar nearly fell over himself as he scrambled back to make room and to better take in what he was seeing. After a quick inspection, he then looked to the rest of Leon’s supporters, and there among them stood Hawks, Eagles, Jaguars, and Lions in their beast forms.

His head snapped back to Leon after taking in that sight. “Share with us that power and our support is yours,” he declared.

Without hesitation, Leon replied, [Done.]

Leon had barely finished the word before Sar was already lowering himself. He didn’t simply take a knee, however, but dropped to the ground in a full kowtow.

“The Wisdom of the Harts is yours, my King,” Sar said. “The Ancestral Harts have long held the Thunderbird in great esteem! We will not break faith now!”

And like that, the Ancestral Harts—or Sar, at least—were sworn to Leon.