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In the end, Leon accepted the swearing of about three dozen elders and Chiefs of the Hart Tribe, with the promise that within a week, the rest of the Tribe’s leadership would arrive to finalize the affair.

It was a marked departure from how he and his party had been received, and after receiving the oaths of those leaders in the city, Leon met privately with Sar to have a frank discussion. To ensure that his newest vassal wouldn’t feel too intimidated or incentivized to lie to save his own reputation, Leon met with him alone despite the Jaguar and Xanthippe being quite vocal about wanting to question their fellow elder as well.

Sar led Leon to his home, a rather rustic place a little to the north of the city’s outskirts along a small tributary of the river system that flowed through the northern reaches of the island. It wasn’t large, but had enough space for a man to raise a small family if he wanted to—and Leon saw signs that Sar had raised a family here at some point, though he seemed to live in it alone now. Other than that, it was a simple timber estate with a small pavilion surrounded by four small buildings on all sides, with access to the river and a small fishing dock. The interior was sparsely furnished, making the children’s toys and other such signs of a family stand out even more.

“You have a beautiful home,” Leon said as Sar invited him into the dining room, a rather small room for the man’s stature. He noticed that there weren’t any servants to go along with the lack of creature comforts, which he found strange for a man of such status as Sar, the Hart Tribe’s only ninth-tier mage.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Sar replied as he went to a small bar on one side of the room. “Anything?”

“No, thank you. And you can dispense with the style when we’re in private.”

Sar nodded as he poured himself a cup of water. As with everything else in his home, the cup was carved of wood and lacked any decoration. It was a purely utilitarian object and not designed to decorate or show off wealth.

Leon had taken a seat in the center of the long table rather than at one of the ends, and Sar decided to sit next to him. Once he did, Leon simply sat back and enjoyed the atmosphere for a long, silent moment which Sar seemed equally reluctant to break.

But break it they had to, and Leon decided to just get it over with.

“What is your people’s tomb?” he finally asked.

“It is the resting place of our Ancestors,” Sar replied. “A place where we commune with those who came before, that their wisdom might be imparted upon those of us yet living.”

“I… I have been in strange places before, in temples that have teleported me to other locations, in prisons that used spatial magic to navigate around instead of stairs and halls… Your tomb didn’t feel like any place I’ve ever been to before. It was like I was transported somewhere completely different, yet there wasn’t a hint of magic at play that I could detect. How was this done?”

Sar took a long sip as a contemplative look crossed his face. Eventually, he lowered the cup and said, “I can’t say. The power of my Tribe was used in its construction. Its secrets are only for us.”

Leon sighed. “Disappointing, but I understand. We all have our secret powers, don’t we?”

Sar nodded.

“While I was down there,” Leon continued, “I spoke with your Honored Ancestor. He said many things that concerned me that I’d like to discuss with you, but first I would like for you to explain all of this from your perspective.”

Sar took only a moment to think before answering, “My Tribe’s council met once we received word of your arrival on the island. When the Jaguar Tribe made the formal announcement, most of us wanted to immediately head to Raikos to swear ourselves to you. Our Ancestor argued against it.”

“You speak with your Ancestor regularly?” Leon asked.

“We do,” Sar confirmed.

Leon’s eyes widened in surprise and he leaned back in thought. His impression was that progenitors of Inherited Bloodlines rarely spoke with their descendants outside of their more immediate heirs. Children, grandchildren, maybe great-grandchildren, but after those generations, the Ascended Beast would grow more and more aloof and reserved. The Thunderbird herself hadn’t spoken to anyone of her bloodline for millennia before Leon, and she only began interacting with him in earnest once he was the last bearer of her power.

“That’s… incredible,” Leon whispered. “Your Ancestor is the first I’ve heard of to be so willing to offer counsel to his descendants…”

Sar sagely nodded.

“It was because of your Ancestor’s will that you did not seek me out?” Leon asked.

Again, Sar nodded, though this time with more reluctance and regret.

“What was the reasoning he gave you, if I might ask?”

“Death,” Sar explained. “He wished us to remain free of the Thunderbird’s wars.”

“Did he get any more specific than that?”

“I went down to the tomb myself to speak with him,” Sar explained. “I wished for our Tribe to recognize its natural King. My Ancestor showed me how many had died in the Thunderbird’s service. I was not convinced, but none in my Tribe can disregard the words of our Ancestor.”

Leon nodded. “Why were you not convinced? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for your Tribe’s loyalty even after all this time, but I found your Ancestor’s reasons for avoiding me… compelling enough. In supporting me, you are taking my enemies as your enemies. And I have enemies, believe me.”

“We have enemies, too,” Sar said. “Only one bloodline can unite the Ten Tribes: yours. United, we can ensure our survival and prosperity. We can return to better times. To restore our King is to restore ourselves. None of the Tribes can survive—or thrive—on their own.”

Sar paused a moment, but Leon didn’t say anything, sensing that the elder still had more to say.

“… My Tribe,” the elder eventually said, “prides itself on staying true to our Ancestors. The truth is that while our Honored Ancestor chafed under the Thunderbird’s service, our bloodline did not. We could walk through planes with ease, and were made masters of a plane of our own. We suffered some in the service of your Clan, but no more or less than anyone else, and we received all due rewards for our loyal service. By the words of other Ancestors, your bloodline was always true to mine. We remember, and we shall be true to you.”

Leon couldn’t stop himself from grinning, though his expression was tempered by a certain degree of melancholy at just how much had been lost that his Ancestors had built, along with more than just a certain degree of recrimination in himself for rejecting what remained of his Clan on this plane for so long. Pride and anger after his experiences in Nestor’s lab had gotten in his way, and he couldn’t let that happen again.

“You’ll have to tell me of those times sometime,” Leon quietly said. “I’m afraid I don’t know much of my Clan’s history. Even much of House Raime’s history over these past eighty-thousand years has been lost to time.”

“To not know one’s Ancestors is to be alone in the world,” Sar sadly stated. “With our blood, no Hart is alone.”

“I wish more Ascended Beasts felt that way,” Leon whispered. “Then none of us would be alone.”

Sar nodded again and the two fell silent for a long time.

“Thank you,” Leon eventually repeated, signaling the end of their conversation. There were other things for them to discuss, but he decided that they could wait until the other Tribal leaders were present. With a fifth Tribe to account for, there would have to be a lot of work done to ensure that they were all on the same page and that their forces could work together if the need for them arose.

However, just because Leon was finished didn’t mean Sar was.

“Leon—if I may call you that,” Sar said hesitantly.

Leon waved for him to continue.

Sar frowned, then said, “The matter of your wife…”

Leon grimaced.

“It… it does not sit well with me to see her on Kataigida.”

“She is here as a sign of goodwill, a sign of commitment to peace that her Empire has made,” Leon stated as neutrally as he could. “I bring many enemies with me that you’ll have to share now that you’ve sworn yourself to me. But I also want to ensure that the list of your current enemies decreases first. Much blood has been shed over the years, and for what gain? The Ten Tribes were, until very recently, still stuck on Kataigida. The Empires lacked the ability to invade in meaningful numbers. The Sword has been retaken, yes, but will it hold for long? Can it be held for decades? Centuries? Will you invade the mainland and attempt to destroy the Empires? Do the Ten Tribes have the capacity to do that? Can they occupy that territory? Ensure that any victory lasts? The Empires outnumber the Ten Tribes greatly and the single greatest reason they haven’t managed to conquer Kataigida is because of the sea between you and them.

“Even if all of that is possible, how much death must be sown to accomplish it? I’m rambling a bit, but I hope you get my point. Do you think that continuing to fight this war is for the best when a path to peace is open to you?”

“No,” Sar bluntly replied. “The Ancestral Harts desire peace above all else. It is the… Empires that I don’t trust. It is the Empires that have constantly harassed us for the past eighty millennia. I do not believe that they’ll keep this peace.”

“They don’t have to—not for long, anyway,” Leon said. “I hope to take us all back to the Nexus as soon as possible. We will leave this plane and the Empires can do their own thing. Although, I will say that I only have such guarantees of peace from the Sacred Golden Empire and the Ilian Empire. The Sunlit Empire and the Sentinels will be… problematic, and I can’t speak for what they’ll do once all this finally shakes out.”

“If they prove violent…”

“Then we will respond in… appropriate manner,” Leon said as he flexed his aura and laced it with killing intent.

Sar didn’t smile, but he did nod in agreement. “The Harts desire peace. By your leave, I will speak with Cassandra and judge for myself how committed to this plan she is.”

“You have my leave; I’ll tell her to expect you.”

“Gratitude.”

On that note, Leon and Sar spent a few more minutes just enjoying the vibe of his home before bringing their meeting to an end. They had finished their private business; now it was time to deal with the more public concerns.

---

Being a King was a highly public position. Leon knew that intuitively, but he hadn’t paid much attention to it even after this long on Kataigida. He’d shown himself off on his arrival in Raimondas and he’d made something of a show when he went to the Hawks, but generally, he kept himself out of the limelight, leaving it to his Tribes to deal with the public on their terms. As a newcomer, he didn’t even know what he ought to do in public, at least for the moment.

On their way back to the gathering hall, however, Sar suggested that they take a slower and more public route so that the people of the Hart Tribe could see the man who would be their new King.

It was a surreal experience; Sar flew them into the city and they landed in a public square. For all that the Hart Tribe was the smallest on the island, Raithellion was a crowded enough city that they had a large audience.

Leon had been expecting fear, awe, or some combination of the two. What he didn’t expect was some whispering amongst the people as all eyes turned first to Sar, and then to him, where they stayed. Sar loudly introduced him, and Leon found himself surrounded by cheering Harts, many coming right up to him to wish him well.

Were these people anyone of note, Leon might’ve taken it as sarcastic, but these were common people, second-tier at the strongest. Common people, cheering for him, surrounding him, acting like he was a man worthy of veneration.

He didn’t quite know how to take it, but along their walk down one of the city’s main streets, Sar put it into better perspective.

“Many in the Tribes have longed for a return to the old days. With the return of our ancient Royal bloodline, it is as if the universe itself is giving us a sign that we are about to return to that golden age. It would be strange for our people not to celebrate.”

Leon smiled and with that in mind, accepted the adoration of the people at face value. It wasn’t him they were celebrating, after all, but the idea of their rightful King returning to his throne.

Still, it raised his spirits such that he was practically bouncing when they returned to the gathering hall, a smile practically on his face that practically split it in half.

Waiting for them in the gathering hall were Leon’s retinue and all his supporters. Most were off quietly talking amongst themselves with the few Harts in the city spread out amongst them, but as he and Sar entered, the chatting stopped, and they assembled around the central dais to hear what they had to say.

“Sar and I had a productive chat,” Leon said to them all. “But now we have other business to turn to.”

He nodded to the Jaguar as Sar took his seat on one of the front benches around the central dais.

“By the estimates I’ve heard, the Hart Tribe has an army about one and a half million strong,” the spotted man said.

“That includes our reserves and all those who bear our bloodline,” one of the five eighth-tier Hart elders said. “Some of our best are already deployed alongside the other Tribes in the fleets and on the Sword. If we had to, we could deploy a quarter of a million. Any more than that would require solving long logistical hurdles.”

The Jaguar seemed to deflate with every word. A quarter of a million was a vast number, Leon understood that, but it was tiny compared to those the Jaguars could muster—even the Bears, apparently in deep demographic decline if Menander could be believed, had an army measured in the millions.

The Harts wouldn’t be contributing that greatly to his military potential, but he knew that when he arrived. Their more valuable contribution was elsewhere.

“Let’s set aside military matters for the moment,” Leon said. “We can have a more in-depth discussion later when more Hart elders are here. For now, I’m more concerned about the Elder Council. We’re planning on calling it after visiting the Ravens-of-Hail-Hall. Once it’s assembled, the matter of my Kingship is to be voted upon.”

“The Thunderer will likely make his case then, too,” Ipatameni said.

“If ever he will make a play for the throne, it’ll be then,” the Jaguar growled. “He’ll set himself up as a rival claimant, in opposition to all our traditions. No King can rule the Ten Tribes other than one of Thunderbird blood!”

Many elders stomped their feet in agreement, but Leon didn’t share their sentiments.

“If he fails,” the Jaguar continued, “he may order the army he’s built to attack us to seize the power he could not cajole away from us!”

“The Thunderer has always struck me as an honorable man,” he protested. “While we disagree, I can’t see him ordering violence upon anyone if he doesn’t get his way. Hells, I can’t even see him laying claim to a crown. I’d be quite shocked if he tried for anything other than simply maintaining the status quo.”

“You’ve gotten a wrong read on him, Your Majesty,” the Jaguar said. “He is planning violence, that much is in no doubt. The Booming Brown Bears wouldn’t be amassing their army on our border without his go-ahead. If his power is threatened, he’ll start a civil war. We must be ready. Everything must be in place before your accession to ensure that he is smoothly and peacefully removed from power!”

Leon smiled. He still disagreed, but planning for the worst wasn’t a bad idea. Still…

“As I said, we’ll discuss those matters when more Harts are present to add to the discussion,” he sternly replied, and the Jaguar bowed his head and went silent. “For now, I want to know what the Elder Council will look like.”

“There is an office in Stormhollow,” Singer-in-Caves explained. “A ceremonial post named the ‘Ax-Bringer”. The Ax-Bringer’s only job is to deliver news that a Tribe has called a meeting of the council. When we decide it’s time, we will inform him that it’s time to send out the news, and in at most a month, all of the Elders and most of the Chiefs of the Ten Tribes will assemble in Stormhollow to debate and vote on these matters.”

Leon nodded along. “And the voting? Does every Tribe get only one vote?”

“Votes are apportioned by the number of elders present,” Singer explained. “Thus it’s paramount that we assemble as many elders as possible beforehand.”

“That’ll be a problem,” Leon said as he gave her a concerned look, which he shared with Xanthippe.

“My Lions have already been informed such a vote may be called,” Xanthippe quickly stated. “They are ready to return to Kataigida whenever needed to participate before returning to the Sword.”

“The same with my Tribe,” Singer said.

“With so many elders leaving the Sword, is there no threat of Imperial attack?” Leon wondered.

“Of course there is, but our ships and arks will be patrolling and our Chiefs who command the Clans present on the Sword will hold the line,” the Jaguar explained. “Protocols are in place for times like these. Our forces aren’t dependent only on our elders being present.”

Leon nodded. “Good. But it also means that the Thunderer’s people are more incentivized to call the council early, aren’t they, if many of our elders aren’t present on the island?”

“Neither are many of theirs,” Singer pointed out. “The Bison remain on the Sword as well, and with the Ravens undecided, calling the council too early could backfire. They won’t call the elders unless they were supremely confident in their position, and I don’t see any reason for them to be.”

Leon nodded again, his concerns mollified for the moment. “Good. Good. All that’s left, then, is to focus on the Ravens. I haven’t heard anything from them in my time on Kataigida. I can’t imagine that they haven’t heard I’m here, so the only explanation remaining is that they don’t care that I’m here. That doesn’t bode well.”

“The Ravens’ memories are almost as long as ours,” Sar said. “They will join us.”

“Their elders probably got too into some project of theirs and lost track of everything else around them,” Ipatameni responded.

Leon sighed. He was ready to meet the enchantment masters of Kataigida—very excited, as it was—and he could only hope that their meeting would be as straightforward as everyone was predicting. But after so much success getting five Tribes into his corner, he was just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. The Thunderer couldn’t just be sitting around waiting on him to talk to the Tribes, could he?

Leon wasn’t sure, but as excited as he was with the Harts now on his side and the Ravens next on his plate, he couldn’t crush the kernel of unease that settled in his stomach and kept him from feeling too secure in what he’d accomplished so far.

It was almost over. One more Tribe left, and then whatever happened at the Elder Council would happen. He would be King, and maybe his first act would be to fight a civil war.

‘Just one more Tribe left…’