Kamas.
The forest sea was deathly silent.
Sickly, straw-yellow world-trees speared into the sky, dwarfing any hive spire, their crowns blotting out almost all sunlight.
Boom.
The Lion vaulted from bough to bough with his jump pack, climbing ever higher until he steadied himself upon the tallest branch and gazed into the distance.
Yet all he saw was an endless ocean of trees; the sky itself was veiled by an unknown mist.
Even the air was wrong—no scent of jungle, only rot.
It stank, the world itself slipping into decay and putrescence.
It curdled the gut.
"This world has suffered some kind of wrongness—everything is changing," the Lion thought.
In his scant remaining memories, he had never seen a place so strange.
After watching a while and finding no answers, he stepped off the towering bough.
He fell like a shell from the heavens, only feathering the jump pack at the end to bleed speed.
A clean landing.
The whole sequence was grand and imposing—like a mighty, war-winged angel descending.
He knew how to present himself, how to bend the will of others.
How to win their fealty.
Elder Sutiko of the forest tribe peered up, tense, and only when he saw the Guardian return did he finally breathe again.
He had feared their Guardian might leave and cease to ward the tribe.
"Great and merciful Emperor, Your loyal servant gives thanks for Your grace in sending us a new Guardian to save us lost lambs," Sutiko prayed in halting High Gothic, his manner devout.
He was a faithful believer in the Emperor.
Before the Blood Moon and the Disaster, his family, it was said, had been nobility on this world, holding the rites of sacrifice.
All of it had turned to ash.
All were cast out as refugees into the forest sea; cities were swallowed, civilization razed; many born beneath these trees could not even read.
From what scriptures and fragments remained, the elder had gleaned a few glimmers of former days.
"What is this 'God-Emperor'?" the Lion asked, as if he had heard Sutiko's prayer.
"He is the Emperor, the holy, undying Lord of Mankind, a great divinity, the Almighty Father. He is the sun that burns forever; His golden radiance pierces the fog; His sacred will illumines the world's darkness…" Sutiko's eyes grew fervent as he all but chanted, "We feeble souls stand by His grace and breathe by His sacrifice. He shelters us all!"
The elder's piety drew only the Guardian's displeasure.
"Hnh. A charlatan playing at godhood. There are no gods," the Lion said, that familiar name tugging at something in him as he snorted. "And if he could 'shelter' this world, you would not be reduced to this. An impotent wretch merits no worship."
He had never believed in gods; that was superstition, the same as the witless cults that ensnare fools.
"Guardian, my lord, you mustn't—" Sutiko blurted, anxious to halt the desecration of the all-knowing, all-powerful One.
But the lion's gaze, imperious and predatory, silenced him at once.
"From now on, I do not wish to hear that name again," the Lion said, brooking no contradiction, as if handing down a command that could not be gainsaid. "Do not whimper for divine mercy—grip the weapon in your hand. I have indeed sworn to save you, but I save only those who will fight for their own fate, not cowards who wait for alms."
He had no reverence for a so-called God-Emperor or any 'divinity.'
And if such tricksters who make sport of life did exist, and dared descend into this world, dared stand before him—
He would teach them, with his fists, what a true warrior is.
He finished, crushed a venomous crawler that had hoped to strike from the shadows, and walked toward the tribe.
Head bowed, Sutiko hurried after; before this Guardian he could form no thought of dissent.
The man was a born leader.
"By the way—this 'Guardian' you spoke of. What manner of man is he?" the Lion asked without looking back. From the prayer, he had caught that there was more than one 'Guardian.'
Sutiko described the other Guardian: a mighty being from the stars, black armor with silver edging, a holy sword emblazoned on his chest and left shoulder.
Before the Lion's arrival, Kamas had only one Guardian.
Now there were two.
Both were towering of frame, their armor hard and winged, and both slew the warped abominations with ease.
"Since the world's end, that Guardian has saved many tribes. He is an angel of the—" Sutiko nearly said the proscribed name again and swallowed it. With the Guardian present, it was safest to keep such prayers in his heart.
"This world has not ended," the Lion said, shaking his head, certain. "We stand upon its soil, do we not?"
He recalled the grove where he woke—a place unlike the warped forest sea around it, vivid and teeming with life, too real by far.
He did not believe in gods, but what had happened before waking was peculiar—a tangle of chaotic dreams, perhaps.
"It is only a figure of speech, my lord," Sutiko answered awkwardly. "Before the sky cracked and the… bastards fell upon us, our world was nothing like this. Kamas was beautiful and bountiful, until they twisted everything—beast, tree, even the sky. You've seen it."
"Whatever they are, I will destroy them—all that threatens us," the Lion said, calm and utterly sure.
He feared no battle; indeed, since waking he had felt stronger than before.
Something caged inside him pressed at the bars—some native instinct.
He learned more of this world's plight: the warped abominations, the maddening energies that unmade men's minds.
And, weeks ago, the ground had shuddered in rolling convulsions, and thunder rolled from beyond the forest sea.
People were afraid.
"Change is coming for this world. I must act," the Lion said, sensing danger drawing near.
But a single blade could not hew an empire from chaos.
Next, he would gather the scattered humans of the forest sea, build a greater stronghold, raise and train an army, and scour this world of peril.
"I… have done this before," he thought, as tattered visions flickered: he leading knights through a jungle world, purging every threat among the trees; and other scenes—multitudes kneeling before him.
"Perhaps I was once a warlord—or an emperor?"
He had no doubt about himself: a will born to command, a gift to lead.
He would be king of this world and deliver its people.
Nothing would bar his path.
Soon he and the elder followed the remnants of an old roadway back to the encampment.
Here the trees grew with ravenous speed, devouring every trace of civilization: quick-dry cement, even vast masses of metalwork.
Only the occasional rusty remnant spoke of a world that had once known cities.
And beyond the forest sea—what lay there?
He found himself eager; beyond lay enemies—or prey—the ones who had ruined this world.
They skirted a colossal tree and squeezed through a rocky defile, arriving at the tribe's gate.
Nearly a thousand souls huddled here.
Shabby tents of reed, bark, and grasses jammed together in rags of order.
For all the people, there was no singing, no laughter; even necessary speech had been pared to the bone.
When anyone dared speak, it was in a whisper.
Even the children made no noise, heads bowed as they sat or tiptoed through camp.
All feared a loud sound might draw the predators, the warped hunters, and doom them all.
The Lion frowned.
Instinct told him that if this continued, souls and flesh alike would wither.
These people had survived—but could not imagine a future.
They were waiting to die.
"What are you doing, cowering here?" the Lion's gaze raked the adults shrinking in their tents.
In a hush, Sutiko murmured, "My lord Guardian, the abominations have grown more numerous. Few dare go afield—food can hardly be found."
Only a handful of hunters still dared leave to forage.
Then the Lion's voice cracked like thunder over the dead camp, heavy and searing as a burning oath: "You think silence will buy you life? No. No one lives like this. This is only a slower death."
He strode to the camp's center; black armor traced with green glinted in the firelight like a sword driven through the dark.
His eyes passed over every numb face, voice low and iron: "Cowards—heads down, skulking in shadow, quivering like prey—is this the life you choose? Is this the future you bequeath your children?"
He pointed at the pinched, silent children. "Look at them. They should run, laugh, fight—not cringe like lambs to slaughter, starving as they waste away. You cling to life in fear, but fear has never spared you; it gnaws your soul bit by bit, until the last ember of defiance, the last hope to live, gutters out."
His voice climbed to a war-cry that shook the heart. "Today—that ends."
He dropped to one knee, drove his sword into the soil, and met each gaze at eye level, conviction blazing. "I—your Guardian—swear this: I will not lead lambs to the block. I will save you by forging you into the knife that strikes our foe. You may keep your silence and die crouching, or—"
He surged to his feet, blade stabbing at the heavens in a peal of thunder. "Stand. Stand, grip your weapons, and cut a path with me in blood, so the monsters learn this truth: Humanity does not yield. We win in battle or die with honor, but we will not live like this, gnawing fear."
His eyes swept them one last time. "Now—who will fight at my side?"
Silence fell upon the tribe.
No voices rose—but in those numb eyes, a light took.
Hope took flame.
One by one, more and more stood.
They clenched their wooden spears, faces set toward the Guardian—their leader.
Seeing it, the Lion smiled.
He had known it would be so; only such humans deserve to be saved.
—
Not long after, the tribe was transformed: more barricades were raised, and the bones of many a predator bleached at the periphery.
More souls were rescued and folded in.
Their number swelled to nearly three thousand.
Children shared sour-smelling strips of beast-jerky, laughing beneath the trees; older ones practiced chops with heavy staves.
From the tribe's depths rang the hammer-song of a smithy; they were shaping salvaged steel into weapons and armor.
The Guardian led them deeper into the forest and found caches of pre-Cataclysm metal and tools.
He taught them the making of arms and plate, and he taught them the arts of the knight.
Now the tribe mustered nearly three hundred able-bodied, mail-clad riders and many more auxiliaries; they hunted together, using weapons and snares to bring down warped beasts.
They had even learned to render the reeking meat; it was still foul to chew, but at least no longer poison.
It was protein and fuel in plenty.
"Emperor above, You have sent us a true angel; he has blessed us all," Sutiko said after settling distributions and tallies. He stepped onto the tree-house balcony and looked down at the Lion, who was teaching children the knightly forms, eyes full of reverence.
The elder was not without wisdom.
He could see it: since following the angel, hunters had grown stronger in body and spirit.
Was this not a sacred benediction?
Under the angel's rule, the tribe itself had grown strong; no one starved, and there were weapons to ward their own.
He believed this leader would win the final victory and free the world.
The Lion climbed the stairs, accepted the elder's bow, and folded his arms while he surveyed the living domain he had raised, satisfaction glinting in his eyes.
No one else could build so swiftly—or raise an army so fast.
Then his brows knit. "Elder, the tribe must expand again. We need to quicken our pace and save more people."
He would not abide mere safety; he would broaden the domain, raise more legions, and then break the foe beyond the forest sea.
He would rebuild civilization on this world.
"As you wish, my lord," Sutiko said with a slight bow.
He opened a pulp-paper ledger, thumbing through reports and sketched maps from his scouts.
"Word is the other Guardian has also carved out a holding deep in the woods and is rescuing refugees."
"Oh?" The Lion's brow quirked. "Not bad. How large a holding?"
A lion's heart is born to contest; he would be second to none, and the instinct drove him to do all things best.
"Their situation may be… less than ideal," Sutiko said. "Food is scarce. Many go hungry. And something unknown fell from the sky into their camp—those who escaped say it smashed much to pieces. If I may be frank, my lord—under your guidance, I suspect we are the most blessed region on this tormented world."
The Lion nodded.
That much was certain.
"In two days I'll take troops and provisions to aid that Guardian's tribe," he said, and departed.
There was more he did not say.
He would bend that Guardian and his holding to his will—bring them under his banner.
Power must be gathered into his hands if they were to have any chance at final victory.
He had absolute confidence—no one would do it better.
…
Two days later, the tribe's great timber-gate thundered open and an army marched out in steady file: two hundred steel-clad riders and many more auxiliaries, steps in lockstep.
Their presence was a weapon.
The Lion sat a steel-shod engine, rumbling forward beneath the awe of the onlookers.
Each time they saw the many-metered iron beast, the people stared.
It was an agri-hauler of the old days, remade—almost a light tank.
Behind the Lion and his knights came the supply train: wagons piled high with near-fetid beast-jerky and edible roots and tubers.
All told, near a hundred cartloads to succor the other camp.
"Won't they be stunned when they see our army and our stores?" said Hada, an armored rider charged with the rear-guard, pride in his voice as he looked over the column.
Under the angel he had learned true craft and knew a little of what this knightly host could do; he knew also how hungry this world had grown.
Another rider nodded. "That Guardian will kneel before the angel."
The age of the forest was changing.
When steel-helmed men came at the angel's back, all would bend the knee—and bless them for the food, above all the sour beast-meat.
With spirits high, the host made for the other Guardian's domain, slaying many a warped predator en route.
But when they were only halfway there—
They heard the crack of unknown guns and the death-howls of abominations, and saw great trees crashing down.
The Lion frowned hard.
Those predators… were fleeing?
(End of Chapter)
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