Chapter 26: Tumult and Summons
As the trio moved through the verdant hush of the Roverion Valley, a different kind of sound was tearing through the heart of Ielian's capital. It wasn't a melody of nature, but a roar of human fury.
The central square, usually a vibrant tapestry of commerce, was now a sea of angry faces. A mob, whipped into a frenzy, chanted a single, thunderous word: "RIOT! RIOT! RIOT!" Their collective voice shook the very cobblestones. From the shadows of a colonnade, a figure with striking blue hair watched with calm detachment. This was Riot. Not merely a participant, but the conductor, expertly channeling the crowd's raw anger toward the palace gates like a river directed toward a dam.
The palace guard scrambled into formation, their spear tips forming a hesitant, wavering line. Their faces were etched with conflict; these were not foreign invaders but their own people—shopkeepers, neighbors, familiar faces from the market.
"Hold the line! Show no mercy to anyone who tries to breach it!" Commander Kair barked, his voice strained with a panic he fought to control. "That is a direct order!"
"But, Commander," a young guard protested, his voice cracking. "They're... they're our citizens."
Kair's face purpled with rage. "If we don't crush this defiance here today, they will own this city by tomorrow! Stand your ground!"
The guards tightened their grips, a fragile wall of steel against a tidal wave of flesh. The wave crashed into them. The orderly line shattered as the human flood poured through, sweeping into the main courtyard of the palace itself.
Then, a voice rose above the din from within the mob: "Hükümran Riot is right! Do not hesitate!"
Commander Kair's blood ran cold. A Hükümran? Here?
The blue-haired figure glided forward through the parting crowd as if walking on air. His imposing presence seemed to fill the space.
"You!" Kair shouted, his hand flying to his sword hilt. "Who are you? How dare you claim the title 'Hükümran' here? Do you think King Tsur would ever allow it?"
A cold smile touched Riot's lips. He offered no reply. He simply moved. It was a blur. Kair saw only a streak before a world-shattering force exploded against his chest. The air was knocked from his lungs, his feet left the ground, and he was hurled backward like a doll, crashing into the palace's massive wooden doors with a sickening crunch. Darkness flickered at the edge of his vision.
That single blow was the spark to the powder keg. The remaining guards surged forward; the mob retaliated. The courtyard descended into a hellscape of screams, clashing metal, and the sound of breaking bones.
Commander Kair came to, his head ringing, a fiery pain blooming in his chest. The main gate was lost. The riot was now inside the palace's outer sanctum. He stumbled to his feet, pushed through the chaos, and staggered up the grand staircase toward the king's chambers.
"Open this door!" he rasped to the guards stationed there.
The doors swung inward, revealing the figure at the room's end: King Tsur, seated upon his throne. A silent, potent anger radiated from him, filling the chamber.
"M-My King..." Kair gasped, falling to one knee.
"What is the meaning of that cacophony, Kair?" Tsur asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"My King... a man called Riot... he has incited the masses. It's a rebellion."
Tsur's brow furrowed. "A rebellion?"
"And worse, sire," Kair choked out. "He calls himself... 'Hükümran'."
A lightning flash of fury ignited in Tsur's eyes. All pretense of calm evaporated. "Is that so," he growled, rising from his throne in a single, powerful motion. "Then it falls to me to deal with him personally."
His cloak billowing behind him, he strode for the door. He descended, emerging onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard... and his breath caught.
Below was a scene of carnage. Guards, rioters... they lay strewn across the stones. And in the center of this bloody pond, standing alone with his back straight and blue hair stirring in the wind, was Riot. His eyes were already lifted, meeting King Tsur's gaze.
"Greetings, King," Riot called up, his voice cold and clear. "Your throne looks a bit drafty. Allow me to clear it for you."
Far away, the roar of Roverion Valley's central waterfall drowned out all thoughts of distant capitals. Kai, Kael, and Rhen navigated the slippery path along the cliff's edge until they reached the flat stone dais at the waterfall's head.
There, shrouded in the perpetual mist, a figure sat with his back to them, deep in meditation. Beside him, thrust casually into a crevice in the rock, was a massive spear. It was not ornate, but it hummed with a palpable power that bent the light around it, glowing with an inner, aqueous blue light.
"That's him," Kael whispered, her voice a mix of reverence and dread.
Po. His hair, a deep burgundy streaked with blue, fell over broad shoulders. His frame, well over two meters tall, was a monument of muscle that seemed as formidable as the legendary weapon beside him. The Poseidon's Fang. Contrary to tavern tales, it was not gaudy, but lethally simple.
Kai felt a surge of excitement that overrode all plans for a diplomatic approach. The raw power before him demanded a raw response.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the waterfall's thunder. "Are you Po?"
The giant figure did not stir. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. They were a deep, shifting ocean blue, staring into the distance for a moment before he turned—not his body, but his awareness. He saw the three strangers. His gaze settled on the young, determined-looking boy—Kai. He assessed him: his stance, the fire in his eyes, the untamed but potent energy vibrating around him... and then, with a hint of dismissiveness, he closed his eyes again. Apparently, not worth the effort.
This casual disregard ignited something in Kai. It was a personal slight. He wanted respect not as Swain's envoy, but as himself.
"Fine then," Kai muttered, energy coalescing at his feet. "Have it your way."
"Spirit Leap!"
He launched himself, carving a white arc through the air, aimed directly at Po's back.
Po moved without opening his eyes. A flick of his wrist, and the spear tore itself from the rock, whirling through the air as if with a will of its own to intercept the attack from behind. Just in time.
Kai twisted mid-air, his fist sheathed in white energy. "Spirit Fist!"
Po angled the haft of his spear into the punch's path. The impact was met with a deafening GONG, spraying mist and sparks of energy into the air. But something astonishing happened. The white energy from Kai's fist, upon contact with the spear's metal, swirled and was absorbed, sucked into the weapon and neutralized without a trace. The attack was nullified completely.
Kai pushed off, landing in a crouch a few meters back, staring at his fist in shock. His energy... it had been devoured.
Po finally turned fully. His blue eyes now gleamed not just with curiosity, but with genuine interest. He planted his spear and rose to his full, imposing height, his shadow falling over Kai.
"That Spirit power..." Po rumbled, his voice like the deep thunder of the falls. "You... who are you?"
Kai straightened, catching his breath. "My name is Kai."
"What do you want?"
"To be your ally."
A moment of silence. Then, Po's laughter boomed, louder than the waterfall, echoing off the cliffs. "HAHAHAHA! And why would I ever agree to that?"
Kai did not smile. "There's a war coming. I was sent by King Swain."
"Swain?" Po murmured, a thoughtful frown crossing his features. Nexan's new wolf?
"Yes," Kai pressed, his resolve unwavering. "You're an Independent. So am I. We should be on the same side."
Po studied the young man again. There was a sincerity beneath the bravado, a depth to his power yet unplumbed. The warrior in Po, long dormant, stirred with interest.
"Very well," Po said at last, the mockery gone, replaced by a combatant's seriousness. "I will fight you. If you can affect me—if you can truly make this spear-arm tremble—then I will be your ally."
A light of triumph and pure excitement flashed across Kai's face. "Let's do it!"
A dangerous glint appeared in Po's eyes. The response pleased him. "How refreshing. It has been too long since I met one who finds joy in the clash. This... will be interesting."
He hefted his spear, its point aimed skyward as droplets of water began to orbit the blade. The humidity in the air thickened, the waterfall's roar seeming to grow more intense.
"Alright then," Po boomed, his voice now the thunder before the storm. "Have at you! POSEIDON'S FANG—WRATH OF THE OCEANS!"