"Agreed," Orion said. "But on one condition. Whatever ocean territories the rfolk claim during the war, the Dragonflight will not lay a finger on them once the dust settles."
Orion was confident in his own military might. Whether on land or at sea, he knew he could carve out a massive expanse of territory in the new world. What he absolutely refused to tolerate was a future where the dragons monopolized the oceans.
"Giant King, you worry too much," Pyraxis Bloodfla replied smoothly. "In the world to co, neither the land nor the sea will be sothing the Dragonflight or the Stoneheart Horde can hold exclusively. All we can do is seize the largest slice possible, watch each other's backs, and protect our share of the spoils."
It was a profound statent, steeped in foresight and a chilling anticipation of the chaos ahead.
Orion locked eyes with the dragon demigod, reassessing this ally who had so eagerly co to the table. "Lord Pyraxis Bloodfla, I am honored to have the friendship of the dragons. You might not believe it, but I have a very old dragon friend of my own—one I trust with my life."
With those words, Orion officially cented the alliance with the Dragonflight.
Following that, Evander, the human demigod, and Kairon, the Siren demigod, both exchanged brief telepathic ssages with Orion. Neither offered a deep, binding pact like the dragons; they rely established protocols for mutual reinforcent in the event of an attack.
Half a day later, the summit concluded. The five demigods standing at the absolute pinnacle of the Titanion Realm vanished into the void.
Back within the citadel walls, Seraphina had practically lted into Orion's embrace and showed no intention of leaving. Her breathtaking eyes gazed up at him, entirely devoid of their usual battle-hardened edge. Instead, they were twin hooks—lures designed to snag a man's heart and stoke the fire in his blood.
Orion leaned down. Seraphina offered a token sigh of resistance before eagerly lting into the kiss.
…
"Did they say anything to you?"
Much later, Seraphina lay draped across Orion's lap. Dressed in nothing but a whisper of silk, she used the armrest of the throne to prop up her feet and the Giant King as her personal pillow, humming a haunting, wordless lody from the ocean depths.
"They were all inviting over, you know. Swearing they could protect ," she teased, trailing a finger over the rough stubble on Orion's jawline as if admiring a priceless artifact. "Aren't you terrified I might run off with one of them?"
Orion scoffed, his giant's pride flaring exactly as she knew it would. "I'm stronger. They couldn't protect you the way I can."
Seraphina threw her head back and laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the empty hall. "You certainly are strong, my love..."
…
Two days later, Pellam the Courier found himself waking up from a bender that had utterly erased his mory of the previous night.
He had been carried ho by his two thralls after getting blackout drunk at the Silent Goblet, where he'd made the mistake of sampling a newly brewed, magically infused spirit.
Life had been relatively comfortable for Pellam lately. He had actively participated in the previous inter-dinsional war and the recent purges against the Swarm, racking up a hefty sum of military rits. He was hoarding every last one of them, desperate to exchange them for a Lord's Stone. His thirst to break into the Legendary level consud him.
As Orion's personal courier, Pellam commanded a fair amount of respect. In the old days up North, he had served as the ssenger for Lord Arcas. Now, he served the Giant King.
However, with the continent fully unified, his job had largely lost its purpose. He had gone to the Silent Goblet to drink and brood over whether he should request a transfer to one of the newly minted legions, hoping to resu his courier duties across entirely new dinsions.
"Ugh... my head is splitting," Pellam groaned.
After sleeping for two days straight, the alcohol had finally released its grip. Yet, when he opened his eyes, he was t with pitch blackness.
He blindly reached into his Gryphon-maw pouch, pulling out a magical luminescent crystal to light the room. Among the high-ranking officials of the Stoneheart Horde, primitive flesh-pouches like his were considered archaic and tasteless. The Horde's vaults were filled with far more elegant and practical spatial rings. But Pellam was far too stingy to spend his rits on a luxury item.
"Woolsey! Get in here and tell how long I've been out!"
Woolsey was his satyr thrall, belonging to a race renowned for their docile nature.
"Master, you have been asleep for two full days," the satyr bleated nervously from the doorway.
Two days. Not terrible, all things considered.
"Did anything major happen? Anyone co looking for ?" Pellam asked out of sheer habit. He wasn't expecting much; these days, the capital city of the Stoneheart Horde was a fortress of peace.
"No one ca looking, Master. And no grand events occurred," Woolsey replied, hesitating. "But... things are a bit strange today."
"Strange how?" Pellam pushed himself out of bed, pacing the room as he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind.
"Master, it is high noon. But the sun hasn't risen."
Pellam stopped dead in his tracks. "High noon? And it's still dark?"
"Yes, Master."
A chill ran down Pellam's spine. He had lived a colorful, perilous life, and his instincts were screaming at him.
"Have there been any reports of fighters at the Warden tier or higher clashing nearby?"
The satyr shook his head, looking bewildered.
"Did His Majesty issue any new decrees?"
"None, Master."
Pellam knew imdiately that sothing was catastrophically wrong. He threw open his bedroom window and looked up at the sky.
There were no stars. There were no clouds. It was just an oppressive, suffocating darkness that seed to swallow the light itself. Without another word, Pellam grabbed his cloak and rushed out the door. He needed to find his contacts and figure out what in the hells was happening to the world.
…
High up on a brilliantly illuminated balcony of the citadel, Orion stepped out from the royal bedchambers, accompanied by Lilith.
Standing behind him in the harsh magical light were Lysinthia, Sylvana, Lycanor, and Ava. They all stared silently into the blackened heavens.
"So, the sun failed to rise," Orion murmured, his voice devoid of surprise.
He had felt the foundational shifts of the world days ago. Back then, there had been no physical manifestations. Now, the darkness had co to claim the sky.
Orion tore his gaze from the void and looked over his shoulder at Lilith. "Any signs of unrest in the Horde?"
"The phenonon is still too recent to cause widespread panic," Lilith reported crisply. "It will take a little more ti before the general populace realizes the severity of it."
In a world governed by supernatural power, half a day without sunlight wasn't imdiately terrifying to the common folk. Any random fighter at the Legendary level could eclipse the sun over a city for a week if they threw a bad enough temper tantrum.
"Keep a suffocating grip on the Horde's internal security," Orion commanded, his tone dropping to a glacial chill. "If anyone dares to spread sedition or incite panic, execute them on the spot. Tis of crisis are the best tis to burn out the hidden rot."
He was confident in his strength, but against the insidious, unknown threat of the Swarm, paranoia was a virtue. He knew without a doubt that there were sleeper agents lurking within the Stoneheart Horde—traitors subjected to alien parasitic grafting, biding their ti. He would not give them the chance to strike.
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