Titanion Realm, The North.
The settlement where Lokiviria resided had been reborn. It bore a new name now—his name—just as his father's had before him.
It was no longer a mere tribal cluster. The hive had expanded exponentially, transforming into a sprawling metropolis of organic architecture and chittering life. The population boom of the insectoids was terrifying to behold, far outstripping the reproduction rates of the old Stoneheart Horde.
"Mentor," Lokiviria said, his voice clicking with the resonance of a mature apex predator. "The pieces are set. I am ready. Are you?"
Lokiviria was fully grown now. Under the Clown's tutelage, his power had skyrocketed, hitting the peak of the Legendary tier. In the eyes of the continent, such a rapid ascent was deemed impossible, a violation of natural law.
"For someone like me," the Clown replied, lounging in the shadows of Lokiviria's palace, "there is no such thing as preparation. There is only the act."
