The elders sat in silence, their stone chairs forming rows of perfect circles around the ancient meeting ground.

  In the middle, the man descended slowly, violet energy dissipating around him as his feet touched the ground. He wore a gray robe, his face painted with intricate skull designs, and a crown of polished bones rested upon his brow. A manica and galerus of red pulsing bone protected his right arm and shoulder, the ancient armor crafted from segmented plates, the red pulsing making the armor appear almost alive. Obsidian had been folded into the bone using techniques that created dark veining throughout the armor. The other half of his body bore runic drawings that pulsed with ethereal energy. On his lower half, he wore simple leather pants and white leather boots with a reinforced bone tip.

  Despite his intimidating presence, he possessed an extremely young face that made him appear no older than a teenager. Long, free-flowing hair reached halfway down his broad and muscular back. At his belt hung a red pulsing bone sword with runic symbols that seemed to whisper.

  Elder Drifting Cloud leaned forward slightly from behind Elder Feather and whispered, “Elder Feather, I heard some rumors about him and that armor and weapon of his. Is it true that old man killed demons and had the elves forge him that armor and sword from their bones?”

  Elder Feather simply nodded, then whispered softly, “Weapon yes, but the armor might be a mix of Titanspawn bones. I’m not sure.”

  “I’m glad to see all of you took the summons seriously,” the man said, his youthful voice carrying ancient authority.

  “Elder Feather of the Sky Children Aeroquill Tribe, Elder Blaze of the Fire Heart Emberquill Tribe, Elder Rockspitter of the Rockpounding Terraquill Tribe, Elder Wethands of the Knockout Aquaquill Tribe, Elder Stormbreaker of the Wind Blade Aeroquill Clan, Elder Skullfucked of the Wraithbone Netherquill Tribe—a cousin tribe so unlike the others that you didn’t have much choice but to come here.” He gave a teasing grin before continuing.

  “Elder Lionbane,” he continued, gesturing to a striking woman with a lean, toned build who was marked by old battle scars that traced her arms. Her dark hair flowed with wild waves. “A rare Somaquill master with no tribe, yet honored guest of the Berserk Tribe. Welcome—I’ve heard much about you lately, particularly your ability to enhance your body’s power with your quill. And all I’ve heard has been most impressive.”

  “Elder Songwrite of the Lullaby Zitherquill Tribe, I do hope to hear your music and witness the beautiful illusions your quill creates,” he acknowledged a kindly-looking older man whose gentle smile and twinkling eyes gave him the appearance of a sweet elderly man beloved by children. A beautifully crafted zither rested across his lap.

  “Elder Zaka of the newly established Crackling Stormquill Tribe.” The young woman he indicated appeared to be barely out of her teens, with bright yellow hair woven through with thin copper wires and silver threads. Metal jewelry adorned her arms and neck—copper bangles, silver rings, and a wire-wrapped torque that occasionally sparked with tiny arcs of electricity. “Congratulations on taking the ninth main seat. Your tribe is only a hundred years old, and you yourself are a young and talented woman, reaching the status of elder at only thirty—very impressive! If I were two hundred and fifty years younger, I might have tried flirting with you,” he added with a casual chuckle.

  “Those called one by one are among the nine strongest tribes of the Stormy Isles. Tradition dictates I acknowledge them first. The rest of you, however, are powerful in your own right, and I thank you for coming, it has been many years since such a meeting was required.”

  The nine elders and dozens of others behind them rose in unison, their voices joining in formal greeting: “We greet the Netherking Grand Elder Whispering Shadows, bane of Titanspawns, slayer of mad demons, friend of wise demons, brother to spirits, near pseudo-god state, king of all Netherquill tribes, son of the Shadeborn Tribe, the mightiest of the Quill in the Stormy Isles. It is we who are honored to meet you!”

  The Netherking gave a nod to the formal greeting, then, with a casual snap of his fingers, violet energy swirled outward from his hand. The ethereal energy condensed and solidified into an ornate chair that rotated slowly, allowing him to turn and address different sections of the circle as he spoke.

  “Now that formalities are complete, let us discuss why we are all here. Most of you have seen the signs, and for those who haven’t, you have heard of them from those who have or from me in my letters. After all, that is why you have all come, isn’t it? The independent tribes of the Stormy Isles.” He waved his hands high and closed his fist, drawing nods and soft agreements from the prideful elders.

  “While not all tribes of the Isles have come, those who have represent a large portion of its power.”

  He rotated slightly in his chair to face the Terraquill elder. “The Rockpounding Tribe reported tremors from the deep places, tremors that are only spoken of in myths and legends long lost in the record of history—disturbances that rise from the deepest ocean trenches. From humanity’s most ancient of enemies.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The chair turned toward the Aquaquill representatives. “The Knockout Tribe and other great weavers of water have felt massive shifts in the deep currents, changes that according to them, speak of something vast stirring in places where no current should reach… Places that our ancestors sealed away something most sinister.”

  His next rotation brought him to face Elder Blaze. “The Fire Heart Tribe has witnessed increased volcanic activity across multiple islands—not from natural cycles, I’ve been told, but from pressures that suggest something immense is moving beneath the seafloor.”

  His gaze fell upon Elder Feather. “Elder Blaze has a long time friendship with Elder Feather and reported his concerns to the Sky Children. Those reports prompted them to send their Skywalkers on extensive reconnaissance missions. What they discovered confirmed our worst fears.”

  His gaze shifted toward Elder Skullfucked. “And as our Netherquill brothers know spirits across all tribes have grown agitated, fearful of something ancient that should remain sleeping. Many aggressive and great spirits, ah what you might call demons have also come out from the depths of their realm to whisper into the ears of the Netherquill tempting us with promises. Now while this sort of behavior is normal, here is the part that isn’t… the deals have been somewhat reasonable, if we are comparing them to the normal deals that are offered that is.”

  The Netherking’s chair completed its rotation. “The signs grow stronger with each passing day. The Belujum stirs."

  Heavy silence spread across the gathering, the weight of that ancient name pressing down on them all like an approaching storm. The very air seemed to thicken, and even the wind fell still around the sacred meeting ground.

  From somewhere in the back rows, a voice called out uncertainly, “Are you certain?”

  Elder Feather’s grip tightened on her staff, her knuckles white against the weathered wood. “Our Skywalkers confirmed it through their reconnaissance. While I was mostly certain of what was witnessed it wasn’t complete certainty, so I gave their findings as well as my own concerns to Grand Elder Whispering Shadows for his analysis.” Her voice carried the sharp bite of a cutting wind. “Unless you think our Skywalkers are incompetent, or that the Netherking’s wisdom is lacking?”

  “As certain as one can be when dealing with forces that predate the gods themselves,” the Netherking replied, his youthful features grave. “The question is no longer if it will awaken, but when—and whether we will be ready.”

  Elder Zaka crackled electric energy between her fingertips, her eyes sharp and calculating. She was hardened by the many trials she faced to raise herself and her tribe in these harsh lands, for the Stormy Isles were filled with many threats.

  “I’ve heard the legends, yet forgive me for sounding impertinent, but is it truly that powerful?” she asked, her voice filled with measured confidence. With confidence and talent, one can reach great heights for themselves, yet to do the same for one’s own tribe or any organization under them requires wisdom and intelligence.

  To make a tribe as young as hers one of the top in the Stormy Isles would require both. One could argue it was her predecessors’ work; however, if Zaka was arrogant, then she would have destroyed their carefully laid out plans. If they were wise and intelligent, they never would have allowed her to become the tribe leader, for as strong as she was, for an individual to face an organization was not a trivial thing.

  Zaka continued, “We are all united, so is it truly necessary?”

  The Netherking’s expression grew thoughtful, his ethereal chair rotating slowly as he considered her words. “Tell me, Elder Zaka, have you ever faced a Titanspawn?”

  “No,” she replied, electricity still crackling between her fingertips.

  The Netherking nodded slowly. “Look around at the faces of your fellow elders.”

  Zaka’s sharp eyes swept the gathering, and her confident demeanor faltered slightly. The assembled elders wore expressions of grim solemnity, shadows of old pain and hard-won wisdom etched into their weathered features.

  Elder Blaze cleared his throat, his voice heavy with memory. “I faced a Titanspawn chieftain when I was younger, with the previous leader of my tribe.” He gestured toward Elder Rockspitter. “She was there too, with her predecessor. Both our leaders were killed by that creature.” His jaw tightened. “We barely managed to kill it together, and that was just a chieftain—a creature that possessed merely a fragment of the Belujum’s power. I am not much stronger now than my predecessor was back then.”

  The weight of his words settled over the gathering like a shroud.

  The Netherking’s chair rotated back to Elder Zaka. “Your confidence serves you well, and unity is indeed our greatest strength. Yet the Belujum is no ordinary foe—it predates our tribes, our islands, perhaps even our understanding of power itself.” His voice grew quieter. “Still, there may be a way. Long ago, there was one who united all Netherquill tribes—a man known as Algorto, who earned the title King of the Netherquills.”

  He paused, letting the historical weight settle over them. “He created a powerful relic to pass to his son, but when the heir showed signs of corruption and evil, Algorto sent it away rather than see it misused. This relic—the Eye of Algorto—can summon his contracted spirit. A spirit that might be powerful enough to give us the edge we need.”

  Elder Feather leaned forward intently. “And where is this Eye now?”

  “Lost,” the Netherking admitted. “But not beyond finding, if we act swiftly and with purpose. However, we cannot send our most powerful warriors on this quest—not with Validus watching our every move. He must not learn of the Eye’s existence, or all will be lost.”

  “So we will send those who are on trial to become the elite of their respective tribes,” the Netherking declared, his violet eyes gleaming with resolve. “Young enough to avoid Validus’s suspicion, skilled enough to survive the quest.” His gaze swept across the assembled elders. “The fate of the Stormy Isles may well rest in the hands of our newest generation.”