Chapter 1383 - Irreplaceable
As momentous as Serana’s transformation was, the celebration couldn’t last forever, even if the dragons seemed keen on trying. After an hour or so, Leon and his mother made their way back down to Westmount, and the dragons followed.
Upon landing, Leon reassumed human form, but Serana stayed as a great black dragon, though she had to squeeze a bit to fit back in the private courtyard. The Great Black Dragon, however, was waiting for them almost right where he’d been standing, and he remained in human shape.
As Leon and his entourage joined him, the Great Black Dragon stated, “You were up there a while. I shouldn’t be so surprised that solving this one problem has filled all of you with such glee; taking my form is nothing less than the honor of all honors.”
Ignoring the arrogance, Leon asked, “How did you do it? What was the problem, in the end?”
“As I insinuated earlier,” the Great Black Dragon said as the other five members of the main Great Dragon Clans hurried over, “it will not work on you. I tailored specific changes to the enchantment to work with my power.” His unimpressed, almost dismissive glare passed over Fargrim, Rayos, Nyra, Ouros, and Jennifyr. “It will also work with my brothers’ bloodlines.”
“Then we can…?” Rayos whispered, overawed at the mere implication, let alone the confirmation.
“Transform as Serana has? Yes. Assuming she shares the enchantment with all of you.”
[I wouldn’t dream of holding back,] Serana said, her enormous draconic maw unfit for verbal human speech.
“As is her decision,” the Great Black Dragon reiterated, and Leon couldn’t detect even a hint of antipathy in his tone. “I would not deny my brothers’ descendants the same power I give my own.”
Fargrim once more fell to his knees, bowing to the progenitor of his bloodline. Leon had once thought his back was made of iron given what little he’d heard of his grandfather, but now he saw it curving like wet straw as Fargrim pressed his forehead to the courtyard floor.
“No greater gift has our Clans ever been given,” he said.
“And no Patriarchal knee has bent so easily as yours,” the Great Black Dragon growled indignantly, his glare sharper than Iron Pride and hotter than the brightest of Leon’s lightning bolts. “Do not bring more shame to the Clan than you already have and return to your feet.”
Fargrim did as bid, though slower than Leon thought he would’ve. The other Patriarchs remained quiet, and without them speaking, everyone else went quiet—save for Leon.
“So… this enchantment won’t work for me?” It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would still try his patience. At this point, however, just knowing that his extended family was able to get around this problem that he hadn’t been able to help them with was enough. At least, for the moment.
“No,” the Great Black Dragon confirmed. “You share too much with the other one.” His lips curled slightly, though it was a far more muted reaction than Leon would’ve expected him to present when speaking of the Thunderbird.
“What was the problem, then, specifically?” Leon repeated. “How did you finally solve it?”
“The enchantment,” the Great Black Dragon began, “was designed to work on only a single bloodline, and one that had lain dormant for generations. Using it on yourself brought out significant side-effects, and adapting it for more controlled use involved rewriting and even cutting out entire sections of the enchantment.”
Leon nodded along, having studied all versions of the transformation enchantment enough to be well familiar with the differences between them.
“We Divine Beasts are closer to the universe than those that Ascend,” the Great Black Dragon continued. “Our powers are different, born in a time when the universe was still malleable enough to allow them. These divine powers were harder to pass down to our human offspring than those of the Ascended, since the Ascended powers followed the established rules of a universe fully formed. Those powers interfered significantly with the operation of the enchantment, and so I had to rewrite the enchantment with those changes in mind. Every Divine Beast bloodline will have to have similar rewrites. The transformation enchantment will be unique for every one. Ascended Beasts can share the same one they all use, however.”
“When did you figure that out?” Leon asked. “All those times you told me that I needed to be ‘more like a dragon’… was that you just speculating, or did you have the answer then?”
“A foolish question. You should be more concerned with assuming my form than with questioning me.”
“And yet here I am, my words spoken and not taken back. Will you answer?”
“I have nothing to answer for.”
Leon scowled, but noticing the rest of the dragons looking particularly conflicted with him openly questioning one of their progenitors, he decided to let the matter rest. He still had the Ancestor Gem, and it wasn’t like the Great Black Dragon was going anywhere…
“Then…” he whispered through gritted teeth, “why don’t you share this new enchantment with me?”
“Your other bloodline will present similar interference,” the Great Black Dragon stated. “You’ll require some other solution.”
Silence, thick as heavily-enchanted privacy curtains, yet feeling as fragile as thin ice just below freezing, fell. Leon remained quiet for long seconds, not wanting to lose his cool in front of his de facto allies, leaving it to Rayos to hesitantly break.
“Leon, my everdark great-nephew… would it be unseemly to ask how this is possible?”
Leon glanced at the Great Gold Dragon Patriarch, not surprised that Nyra hadn’t given him any specifics before this day. Her calls home were always brief and infrequent.
“I found an artifact years ago,” Leon stated. “I call it the ‘Ancestor Gem’. It’s currently filled with my power, and a complex enchantment, assembled around an ancient rune, allows me to summon my Ancestors through it. We haven’t had much success trying to get it to work with other bloodlines, though. I theorized that the gem ‘locks’ on a single person’s ancestry, and won’t ‘unlock’ until that person’s death and the remaining power within the gem is expended. We’ve had even less luck in copying the gem. It seems there’s something about this gem in particular that’s integral to the function of the enchantment. Not even thunder wood amber, which is nearly limitless in shaping potential, can be substituted.”
“That is quite the conundrum,” Rayos said as he shared a meaningful look with Ouros. “Would you consent to allowing us to study it? We won’t damage it in any way, but we are fifteenth-tier mages, and our insights into the ancient runes are deep.”
Stolen novel; please report.
It didn’t take Leon long to come to a decision. While the Ancestor Gem was of extreme importance to him, even if it were lost, he could still communicate with his Ancestors in his soul realm. The loss would be felt more on their part rather than his. Still, he opened his mouth to accept when a courier came tearing into the courtyard, only to be intercepted quickly by a Tempest Knight.
“My King!” the young officer shouted—an Eagle, going by the subtle markings on his uniform that Leon allowed his Tribal vassals to wear. “We’ve found the Chancellor and Marshal!”
---
Fast as lightning, his movement coming with a clap of thunder, Leon appeared above the small camp that the valley surveyors had built. And it was small, as salvaging the eastern valleys was much less important than even the western valleys, let alone anything else that would take resources away from reconstruction and resettlement. Four large tents, six smaller tents, and a small portable compartment similar in style to Leon’s old portable villa, all built on rocky ground that an earth mage had only roughly leveled.
The enchantments on the tents weren’t much, allowing Leon to see that both of his missing High Ministers had been taken to one of the larger tents, where healers were seeing to one, and the other was given the dignity of an opaque black shroud.
Leon, followed closely by his Paladins and a squad of Tempest Knights, landed hard amidst the tents, and sparing the shocked surveyors no time, Leon darted into the healer’s tent.
His appearance startled them, but most continued tending to their patient. Their leader, however, approached him.
“Your Majesty,” he said, genuflecting deeply.
Leon stared at the figure under the shroud, blood roaring in his ears, thumping in his head and neck. He could hardly speak for the lump in his throat. An arm had slipped, perhaps in his landing, and was visible hanging off the bed. Golden skin, covered in dark spots—indicators of closeness to their Ancestor, if the Tribal stories were true.
Leon circled to the figure’s head and pulled the shroud back enough to see the head of his Marshal. His face had been mangled in his last battle, but Leon still recognized the Jaguar of the West, the first man among the Ten Tribes to hail Leon as his King, and one of his staunchest supporters ever since then.
“I… heard they were found together,” Leon hoarsely stated.
“We were…” an equally hoarse voice sounded from between the other healers. Struggling to rise despite the insistence of the healers attending him, Iron-Striker nonetheless pushed them aside. His aura was dreadfully thin, and his skin was waxy and pale. Leon’s Chancellor looked like he had a foot in the grave, but he was still a post-Apotheosis mage, and that meant that recovery was all but guaranteed, especially now that he was conscious.
“What happened?” Leon asked as he went to Iron-Striker’s bedside. The healers finally made room, recognizing that it was now time to talk rather than rest, as much as they wanted it to be otherwise.
Iron-Striker’s eyes slid past Leon, landing on the still figure of the Jaguar. “Triton…” he croaked. “He attacked. Lysander and I attempted to stop him. He… was about to kill me. Lysander threw himself in front of the spear. He… he was killed instantly. I lived. Barely.”
Leon’s hand shivered, and he wished that Triton were still alive so that he could kill the man again—properly, rather than with death power.
“The Chancellor was likely dreadfully injured,” the lead healer said. “The ice lodged in his chest pierced his heart, but not deep enough to destroy it. The connection with his soul realm was likely damaged, and the spear remaining in his chest likely prevented immediate recovery. He awoke almost the moment we managed to get the last of the ice out.”
“Are there… any obstacles to recovery?” Leon asked. “I assume an injury like this won’t be easily healed?”
The eighth-tier healer sighed. “I wish I could say, my King. I admit that I’m rather unfamiliar with post-Apotheosis mages. And, since I’m from Culain, I’m also less familiar than I’d like to be with bearers of Inherited Bloodlines. However, all I know tells me that there is nothing that a post-Apotheosis mage can’t recover from, given enough time. Especially those over the twelfth-tier.”
Leon nodded slowly. At the twelfth-tier, a mage’s mind was more in their magic body than in their physical body. This meant that mages at that tier or higher could quite literally lose their head, and they’d survive. Only heart injuries could permanently kill those mages—anything that could sever their connection between soul realm and body. For eleventh-tier mages like Iron-Striker, that wasn’t quite the case, but Leon knew from experience that eleventh-tier mages could survive horrific injuries and make full recoveries.
“No expenses will be spared,” Leon declared. “We’ll get you back on your feet before you know it.”
Iron-Striker stared at the Jaguar a moment longer. “Give us the tent, if you would… I’m feeling rather… crowded…”
The healers and Paladins looked to Leon first, and when he nodded, they acquiesced and left. Only Anzu stayed, and even then, just long enough to toss down a couple of privacy spells to keep their words between them alone. He closed the tent flap behind him, leaving Leon and Iron-Striker in peace.
The Chancellor then seemed to slump into his bed, and Leon’s heart dropped for a moment—he’d almost thought that Iron-Striker had died right then and there.
“Why did he take the hit?” Iron-Striker asked, his eyes closing first. “I keep asking myself that. Even after more than a century—nearly two—it was always clear to me that he only tolerated my presence because you allowed me to stay. If Lysander had the choice, then he would have either had me executed or exiled to Bear lands the day that the Elder Council voted to make you our King.”
“The Jaguar was always an honorable man, one driven by what he thought his duty was,” Leon said. “A family can squabble but unite when their neighbors attack. A family and their neighbors can then unite when another city attacks. Both cities can unite when another Kingdom attacks. When the Kingdoms stop fighting, then the cities squabble. When the cities stop, then the neighbors squabble. When the neighbors stop, the family goes back to squabbling. It is how it is.”
Iron-Striker hardly moved, and Leon thought him unsatisfied by the answer. “He thought me a traitor,” he said. “He once thought I was a man pursuing only my own ambition, at the expense of all the other Tribes.”
“He knew that wasn’t the case,” Leon argued.
“He never forgave me for taking the title of ‘Thunderer’. That was made clear enough to me. And then… in an instant… he was gone… Dead, saving my life… I… I confess that I resented him. There never was a more vindictive man. But he was honorable and loyal.”
“He was far more than that,” Leon said. “He would smile if he knew that Triton is dead.”
“He would smile more knowing that his people are safe,” Iron-Striker added. “I should’ve put in more effort to make peace with him. But we were content with our stations, interacting through messengers and only when needed.”
Leon remained quiet, unsure what he could say in that moment, or if anything at all could be said.
“Immortality,” he said with an audible scoff. “It’s easy to think there’s always time, isn’t it? And then, in the blink of an eye, someone is lost, and everything that you could’ve said or done differently… I should’ve shielded him.”
“And I should’ve been here and killed Triton before any of this started,” Leon countered. “I understand the regret, my friend. But you sound like you’re spiraling.”
“Am I? Maybe. Either way… I’m starting to see why the leading cause of death for immortals is their own hands. How can a man live under a mountain of accumulated loss and regret?”
As he finished speaking, Iron-Striker slumped again, and his eyes flickered. Leon heard his breathing grow shallow and, in a moment, realized that his Chancellor had fallen unconscious. He almost panicked until a quick scan of Iron-Striker’s aura indicated that he was about as fine as he’d been for their entire conversation, but his fatigue just caught up with him.
“Rest,” Leon said despite the man’s inability to hear him. “I’ll get you back to Artorion. Both of you.”
With that, Leon burned the privacy spells and exited the tent. As the healers surged back in, Leon caught the lead healer’s hand.
“Make sure he lives,” he demanded. “Move him as soon as he’s ready. I’ll send Clear Day to help if needed.”
“We… appreciate the gesture, Your Majesty,” the healer stated. “I believe the Chancellor will be ready to move by tomorrow afternoon. Until then, I ask only that he’s allowed to rest.”
Leon nodded and let the man get back to work. Then, he sighed and walked off to the edge of the camp, his Paladins and Tempest Knights following at a relative distance. Only Anzu stayed close by.
“He was irreplaceable,” Leon said to his brother.
“Everyone is,” Anzu responded.
Leon hummed. A truism, perhaps, but it was hardly what he wanted to hear. He’d hoped they’d both be recovered alive, somehow. Even when so much time passed for that to be all but impossible, he’d still quietly hoped. Now, he’d have to find some way to replace someone who was irreplaceable, someone who wasn’t just a steadfast supporter, but also a friend.
‘Another one lost,’ he thought, other faces flashing through his mind. His father. Trajan. Julius. Minerva. Torfinn. Exallos Aetos. Menander. Now, the Jaguar. None were replaceable, not truly.
He knew they wouldn’t be the last.