The summoning beneath Stormhaven's throne room pulsed with raw energy, ancient sigils flickering like heartbeat echoes across the etched obsidian. The runes glowed in rhythmic pulses, almost as though alive, responding to Riko's presence. The air crackled as he stepped into the center, his cloak brushing against the arcane lines, each footfall drawing a soft whisper from the floor. This wasn't just ritual—it was declaration. A forging.
The chamber had been cleared, prepared with meticulous detail. Not even the smallest mote of dust escaped the cleaning runes etched into the corners. This was a sacred space now, no longer merely a throne room, but a birthing ground of empire. The usual guards stood stationed beyond the great doors, tension drawn into their shoulders despite the distance. They could not hear the power rising, but they could feel it.
Araka watched from the western archway, arms crossed, her golden eyes reflecting every shimmer of light. Her presence radiated quiet reverence, tempered by discipline. Niris stood near the ritual braziers, her palms glowing softly as she maintained the ambient balance of the space with fluid, deliberate gestures. Every twist of her fingers seemed to adjust the room's spiritual pressure like tuning a great unseen instrument. Even the flickering torches seemed to pause, as if the room itself held its breath. The moment was not merely ceremonial. It was historic.
The system's voice whispered through his mind, a perfect blend of code and reverence:
[Summoning Initiated.][Allocating Tier 1 Summons: 10 Air | 10 Earth]
Riko raised his right hand. "Proceed."
The circle erupted with motion.
Ten pillars of wind surged upward, spiraling skyward with silver-blue light cascading like rainfall. The air shimmered with kinetic energy, forming silhouettes mid-spin as figures began to emerge—sleek, agile warriors wrapped in air itself. Their arrival carried the scent of ozone and storm. Glider harnesses etched with Stormhaven's crest manifested across their shoulders. Their cloaks flowed without breeze, responding only to the command of presence. Each figure dropped to one knee as their form solidified, heads bowed in disciplined silence. They did not waver. They did not flinch.
Then came the ground.
The outer ring cracked with low thunder as stone parted and columns of gold-and-green light pulsed upward. The rumble was not violent but foundational, like mountains waking from slumber. Ten broad figures rose—earthbenders forged in posture and pride, their armor thick but functional, built for durability and force. Lines of geomantic script glowed faintly along their bracers and shoulder guards, and when they moved, the ground murmured in response. Earth settled and rose beneath them, accepting their presence like kin.
Their entry was slower but resolute, deliberate in every motion, like the steady thrum of a drumbeat in a storm. Dust coiled in their wake, yet none dared stir it. Their steps did not tremble—they informed the stone that they were born of it.
The light dimmed, revealing twenty fully formed warriors. They knelt in two perfect rows before their king—twenty oaths forged in silence, their loyalty already etched by power and design. The chamber seemed to pulse with their presence. It was no longer just stone and rune. It was becoming a cathedral of dominance.
Riko stepped forward, his boots echoing faintly on the stone. His eyes moved from one face to the next, noting the posture, the stillness, the absolute obedience written into their stance. Their expressions were unreadable. But he didn't need their faces—he could feel their readiness. These were not blank slates. They were blades waiting to be drawn.
Each one held promise. Each one was a future waiting to be commanded. His legacy was not built in stone and fire alone—it was built in flesh. In loyalty.
"Garrok."
The name echoed with weight.
From the eastern passage, the great earthbender stepped through the arch, armor dusted with stone and wear, his presence vast and grounding. He walked like bedrock shaped by war. The very floor seemed to calm beneath his boots. He didn't speak. He simply saluted, the kind of salute given not to a commander—but to a cause. To a vision worth crafting.
Riko turned to the ten earthbound warriors and gestured. "They are yours. Temper them like iron. Forge them into the roots of Stormhaven. The walls we build are only as strong as those who stand beside them."
Garrok's eyes scanned the group like a craftsman examining raw ore. He approached and drove his foot into the center of the floor. The circle responded with a pulse of power. A harmonic hum trembled through the stone.
As one, the ten earthbenders slammed their fists into the ground, pressing their fists to the stone. The bond was made—a bond between superior and subordinate, not born of affection, but of function. They were his now. Unshakable. They would bleed for the walls of Stormhaven before they ever let them fall.
Riko then turned to the airbenders. They had not moved, not flinched. Their forms were taut with readiness, like coiled wind waiting to break loose. Where the earthbenders were weight, these were tension—held breath, ready to cut.
"Zehn commands the skies, but until he returns, you will learn the storm from within. Araka will break your instincts. Niris will hone your balance. You will not fly until your steps are silent, your breath disciplined, your will sharper than the wind."
Still silent, the ten airbenders lifted their heads in unified understanding. Their gazes gleamed beneath the low light, already aligned with purpose. They were storms in human form, and they knew it.
The system pulsed again—quietly, like a heartbeat.
[Bond Integrity: 100%.][King's Inheritance Sync: Pending…][Awaiting final dispersal…]
Riko stepped back, the ring of power humming beneath his boots. For a moment, the chamber felt heavier—not with burden, but with momentum. With possibility. With destiny finally beginning to shape itself in stone and wind.
"Dismissed."
The airbenders followed Araka toward the eastern terraces, where currents were harsh and unforgiving, designed to shape instinct into precision. The earthbenders fell into rank behind Garrok, their footsteps rumbling toward the subterranean halls where Stormhaven's spine would be forged in silence and sweat.
And Riko?
He stood alone once more, staring at the still-glowing circle. Its lines dimmed slowly, fading like breath on glass. He could still hear them—each step of the earthbenders, each flicker of wind from the airborn. His reach now extended further than before. His throne no longer stood on stone alone.
He had summoned soldiers.
But what he was truly calling forth... was legacy.
A legacy strong enough to carry the weight of conquest.
A legacy sharp enough to pierce heaven.
And soon, the world would kneel before it.