Leonidas spoke with the gravity of a man who had survived centuries of war, his words landing with the weight of hard-won truth. When he finally finished, Orion understood.
"For us, my friend," Leonidas had said, his eyes clear despite the ale, "the rank of Archlord is only the beginning."
They had drunk until they were insensible, talking long into the night, the bonds of their friendship forged anew in the fires of shared experience and honest counsel. The next day, in a grand hall set aside as his private chambers, Orion sat upon a newly-carved throne and contemplated the paths that now lay before him.
First, Leonidas was right. He had to learn caution. His true body, the anchor of his soul, had to learn to evade risk.
