Jiran willed the portal to close and watched as bending space devoured the beautiful image of Mayalyn standing within the cave of her people. With her gone, the weight of responsibility pressed in on his shoulders. The People, Timberlings, Forkara, and the empire were about to be involved in a battle so dangerous that even the Mother Timberling had sung with wariness. There were so many preparations to make; so many things that only he could resolve. Unfortunately, there was only one of him and he couldn’t be in two places at once.

As if I’ll let a little problem like that stop me. I might not be able to be in two places at once, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do more than one thing at a time!

Jiran rushed back to the center of the valley and his eagerly waiting line of Timberlings. Despite the enormity of the tasks ahead of him, his emotions were finally stable once more. As he dropped to the ground, eager, expectant eyes followed his every move. The sight didn’t unnerve him as it would have only a few days ago. Instead, it filled him with determination. He would definitely live up to their expectations and do everything in his power to make sure they survived. And in the process, show them how to grow strong enough that they could continue thriving in a world that no longer protected them as cattle.

Jiran raised his voice, “Come forward three at a time!”

A woman nearby gasped, “Three, how can that be? This is a sight I truly wish to see!” With his message heard, he blocked sound and motioned them forward.

These three looked strong, the glint in their eyes speaking of a desire to do whatever was necessary. Jiran’s aura gathered their weapons and with supreme focus, he reinforced their bows at once. He then stuck their spears in the ground so he wouldn’t have to hold them in the air. Reinforcing them all at the same time was difficult, but because he was making each weapon exactly the same, he was able to succeed. After finishing, he sandwiched the three women with his aura and worked on their bark. Since they were different sizes, and their bark was arranged in varied patterns, it was far more difficult than the weapons and he was sweating by the time he finished.

He checked his timer and grimaced, “Just as I thought,” He mumbled while setting the insensate women to the side. He didn’t immediately call the next three forward, his thoughts racing.

Reinforcing all three had taken him two minutes and forty seconds. Previously, it took him two minutes to complete a single reinforcing of two weapons and one Timberling. He knew there were just over one hundred and twenty thousand Timberlings total; many of which were children, birthers—which he assumed were mothers, and elderly. If he assumed that thirty percent of the total population would be willing to fight, that would be roughly thirty-six thousand. Not everyone had both a bow and a spear, which gave around a ten-second variance per person. At his previous speed, it would take him nearly fifty days to prepare so many. Even equipping and reinforcing three Timberlings at once would still take him over twenty days of working twenty-four hours a day.

Obviously, that was unacceptable. Especially since he still needed to deal with the Forkara and take time to increase his own strength. He had also promised to supply the People with weapons in three hours. He had worked on enough Timberlings that he felt intimately familiar with the process. Now, he needed to increase his speed by a factor of one hundred if he wanted to achieve all his plans within a reasonable amount of time. The only question was: How?

Movement from a direction he had been eagerly checking since he first began working caught his eye. Knife finally sat up and a bead of warmth spread through Jiran’s chest as she shook her head, sending silvery hair and auburn leaves flying. Beside her, his new suit of black armor duly reflected the light that filtered through the thick boughs above.

That’s exactly what I need. And it has to be easy enough that even an idiot like her can use it. Alright, it’s time to really get things started.

image [https://i.imgur.com/LlXURdW.png]

Jiran closed the lid of the most recent formation he had constructed. He turned around, Enthralling Touch dipping into the mana of a thousand Timberlings and pulling it into the formation box through the specially designed hand holds on the top of the lid. The mana was eagerly absorbed, filling the layers of graphene in the otherwise hollow sections that acted as a mana battery inside the large rectangular box.

A prickling on his skin caused him to sharply glare at the clouds far to the east. Knife poked him in the side with her finger, an easy smile on her lips, “I like that look in your eyes, I wonder, what will be your next surprise? Is it finally beginning, is that why you’re grinning?”

“That’s right,” Jiran nodded, matching her smile with an exasperated shake of his head. Knife had been glued to his side since she woke up. At first, she had been annoyed that he had restored her arm, claiming it was supposed to be a scar to remind her of the consequences of failing to follow his orders. After he pointed out how he didn’t need a crippled follower, she quickly changed her tune.

He had to admit that she was proving incredibly useful. She now followed his every word to the letter without question and without hesitation. She also had a deep voice that carried well for her small frame and any Timberling who heard it snapped to obey. With her organizing the now twenty lines and directing the process of recharging everyone’s mana with density from the transcended, they just might make it in time for the deadline he had set.

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“They were a little slower than I thought, but this is a good time. I’ll leave you in charge here, once the Matrons return, please direct them to stay. When I get back, I’ll want to talk to everyone at once.”

“Yes, Great Spirit,” Knife crossed her arms over her chest in the salute the Timberlings had adopted from the Forkara.

Jiran made his way to Niya’s line and waited patiently for her to finish transferring the mana from a bud—the youthful, male Timberlings. As the boy wandered off to find a transcended to sup from, she craned her neck to look up at him, “What?” She grumbled, clearly bored from doing the repetitive task for several hours.

“They’re making their move. Are you almost done?”

“Yup! These crystals take a ton of mana but I’ve only got two left.”

“When you finish, you know—”

“Yeah yeah,” She waved her wrist dismissively, “You don’t have to keep repeating yourself, I know what to do.”

Jiran shook his head with a scowl, letting just enough anger into his expression and voice to let her know he was deadly serious, “If something goes wrong on your end, hundreds of thousands could die needlessly. Please take this more seriously.”

Niya sighed and nodded, “You’re right. Sorry. It’s just hard to imagine that things could be that bad in the empire when I haven’t seen it for myself. You’re sure that prophecy wasn’t just trying to manipulate you?”

“I’m sure, it wasn’t a prophecy by that point. She was really there and she wasn’t lying. A King has come to play. My unique ability has been thrumming for the last few hours, too. This is really happening and it’s bad.”

“I’ll make sure to bring the People over as planned before I take the crystals,” Niya gave him a reassuring smile.

“Thanks, Niya. You’re the only one I can rely on for this,” Jiran squeezed her shoulder gently.

She brushed off his hand while turning away from him in embarrassment, “Alright, alright. Enough with the mushy stuff, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Bye, Niya. I’ll see you on the battlefield. Don’t get yourself killed or I’ll go on a rampage and make a big mess which I’ll then revive you to clean up, got it?”

“Hah!” She laughed and gave him a toothy grin.

They waved, and Jiran took to the skies.

Dokkuun of the Gnashing Wound Clan

The four elders of the Rising Sky Faction flapped their wings restlessly, kicking up huge gusts of wind that did almost nothing to keep them airborne. At their tier, only a well-used aura had the strength to hold them off the ground. That knowledge did nothing to keep them from beating their wings, as instinct was a powerful force, and feeling the air pushed by their sensitive feathers felt far too good to ever stop.

“Do you truly believe Senior Brother Guardian bears the curse of the unspoken?” Rhahakk questioned incredulously.

Dokkuun nodded firmly, “His attributes are much lower than ours and we all felt his concentration was lower than ours as well. He's nearly two tiers below us, yet he could easily overpower us. There's only one explanation for that.”

Frakkoa—the oldest of the four—fingered the short blade in his pocket that their new benefactor had gifted him just before leaving. “Our path is set, and the moment to leap from the roost has come.”

The other three elders nodded, their gaze drawn to the twenty, tier seven figures rapidly approaching from above. There were two groups separated by nearly a kilometer, though they all came at the same time, making it clear what side they favored.

The smaller group of eight were those only loosely allied with the Storm Claw and would be unlikely to directly assist if there was a battle. Dokkuun recognized each of them, their long standing neutrality made it no surprise that they would be sitting out in the upcoming confrontation.

The leader of the Storm Claw Clan and the Divine Faction—Raahak—flew at the front of the larger group of twelve elders. He was much younger than Dokkuun and the other elders, with only a dash of salty white in his long hair and immaculately trimmed beard. He was huge for a Forkara. With every movement, bulging muscles popped out from between the plates of the thick, black and silver metal armor he wore. Decorative feathers adorned his shoulders and arms, a perfect match for the several pieces of glistening jewelry around his neck. Those decorations were utterly overwhelmed by the resplendent golden crown on his head.

The butts of two spears protruded from behind his shoulders; they were his signature weapons and all who saw them trembled in fear that he may draw them. Those two weapons were said to have been created in ages past by a tier nine before the sundering of the Forkara. Not once since his rise to the head of the Storm Claw had his enemies seen him draw both spears and live to tell the tale. Not only that, the crown was also an ancient relic said to make its wearer invincible. Dokkuun frowned, recognizing most of the jewelry he wore from old texts.

Dokkuun huffed, recalling the rumors naming him The Spear God. A warrior who rose from nothing with overwhelming might, dominating every clan that dared to stand against him, taking their spoils as his own while gathering allies. In the last hundred years, none had come so close to uniting the head clans as this demon with wings.

Raahak’s face contorted into a disgusted grimace as he stopped his advance. He looked down at Dokkuun and the other elders dismissively, his gaze quickly moving to scour the landscape. He spotted the pile of tier seven corpses Jiran had left from his previous hunt and he nodded to one of his subservient clan heads who flew down to investigate.

A wave of the elders hand indicated they were indeed tier seven beasts and Rahakk spat in Dokkuun’s direction, his lips pulling back in a snarl, “Whatever pitiful trap the four of you have set, it’s useless against me. Tell me where the thief is and I’ll let you fly. This is your only chance to live, don’t waste it.”

Dokkuun laughed loudly, holding his stomach as he threw his head back. He stopped as suddenly as he started, his eyes narrowing, “If only you weren’t a spoiled brat with no honor, you might have actually succeeded.”

Raahak’s muscles bulged and veins popped out across his forehead. The ten elders at his back gasped at the insults and even Dokkuun’s brothers raised their brows in appreciation at the perfectly delivered barbs. Everyone present knew Raahak was anything but spoiled. To discredit his past, his honor, and his future goals of uniting the Forkara in a single line was beyond unpardonable.

“So be it, I gave you a chance, you old relics. Throw them into the fog so we may dine while listening to their screams.” Of the eleven elders who had chosen to directly join the conflict on Raahak’s side, eight dove toward Dokkuun and his brothers, eager for blood.