‘What makes a good King?’ the Grave Warden idly wondered as he dangled his legs off the edge of his great tower’s roof.  ‘Power?  Ruthlessness?  The strength to take something, and the will to use violence to that end?  Or is it humility?  The willingness to listen to others?  To acknowledge one’s own wisdom is never sufficient to rule a Kingdom?  Or maybe…’

He closed his eyes and pondered the question, as he’d often done over the many long millennia he’d stood vigil over the plane of Aeterna—often from the exact spot he now sat, reveling in the charms of the paradisical island he’d crafted for himself.  He wished that meant he had some special insight, but he could never definitively answer his question.  There were so many qualities that a King needed—many contradictory—that settling on any felt wrong.

‘It all comes down to what a King ought to be, I suppose,’ he thought, his heart sinking as it often did whenever that thought drifted through his head.

In the far distance, lightning flashed and thunder boomed, reminding him why the question weighed so heavily on his mind on this day, of all days.  It seemed the uninvited guest who’d been squatting on his plane for several decades was finally coming to pay his respect to the Grave Warden, Aeterna’s Planar Lord.

His island sat in the center of a great sea, which itself sat in the exact center of the plane of Aeterna.  At the center of his island sat his tower—a monolithic thing, built as a perfect cylinder made entirely of stone that stretched so far into the sky that the Grave Warden was often able to dangle his feet into the clouds whenever he sat atop its perfectly flat roof.

The Grave Warden rarely allowed the weather around his island to be anything less than perfect, but as was his guest’s wont, the man’s arrival was heralded by bone-shaking thunder, eye-searingly bright lightning, and storm clouds thick enough to shroud the Grave Warden’s island in darkness.

These storm clouds rushed closer to his tower, borne by a howling gale, and poured freezing rain all over his warm, tropical home.  Despite the strength of these winds, though—strong enough to pick a mortal man right up and carry him dozens of feet—the Grave Warden sighed and pushed himself to his feet, completely unaffected.

The wind hardly concerned him—his feet remained solidly planted atop the flat roof of his immense stone tower.  Neither did the rain bother him—it simply vanished before touching his clothes.  The thunder and lightning that would’ve blinded and deafened a mortal, likewise, had little effect upon him, aside from serving to irritate him for disturbing the serenity of his home.

The Grave Warden could sense his guest coming, and it seemed he wasn’t alone; he was bringing his entire Clan with him, or so it seemed.  Dozens of enormous arrowhead-shaped arks, bristling with magic weapons, cut through the clouds as they moved to encircle his tower.  Thousands of men and women emerged from the massive magical flying machines to complete the encirclement—powerful mages all, for they flew under their own power.  The auras of so many powerful mages caused the ambient magic power around the Grave Warden’s island to roil and churn and might’ve even killed any magicless mortals around if the Grave Warden had allowed any to live on his island.

None of these mages were the guest he was waiting for, though.  Their King, the man who’d led them to his plane, to Aeterna, who had ordered the conquest of all the lands over which the Grave Warden’s tower loomed.

Jason Keraunos, the Storm King.

Only after the Grave Warden had been surrounded did the Storm King reveal himself, appearing a hundred feet over the roof of the tower in a flash of lightning.

He was a tall and broad-shouldered man, armored in beautiful golden plate that had images of eagles embossed in fine detail over every available surface.  A magnificent sword hung at his waist, its handle and guard gilded and shaped to look like eagle’s talons.  The blade was long and straight, though the Grave Warden could sense a tremendous amount of magic flowing through it.

The Storm King’s features were well-defined and evocative of the masculine ideal—square jaw; long, proud nose; and sharp cheekbones.  His eyes and short hair were both the same shade of dark brown.  He was a handsome man, cutting the image of the perfect warrior-King.

The Grave Warden, in contrast, was about as close as a man could be to average, appearance-wise.  His was a face that could be lost in just about any crowd.  His medium-length hair was a neutral brown, as were his eyes, and his skin wasn’t pale or tanned enough to unambiguously belong to any ethnicity.

But it was no contest of looks the two were about to have.

The Grave Warden took a few steps away from the edge of his tower, while the Storm King floated downward until he hovered imperiously a couple dozen feet over the tower roof, staring quite literally down his nose at the Grave Warden.  Half a dozen others followed him, five men and one woman.  All bore similar appearances to the Storm King.

‘He brought his children here?’ the Grave Warden thought with some shock.  ‘Bold.  Missing two sons, though…’

“Welcome!” he called out aloud.  He spread his arms in a gesture of hospitality and repeated, “Welcome!”

Though he acted genially, with but a thought, the Grave Warden silenced the storm with the barest expression of his magic power.  The wind blew its final gust, the rain vanished, the last peals of thunder rolled across the suddenly calm sea, and the storm clouds dissolved away, leaving the island bathed in warm sunlight once again.

Many of the mages in the air around the tower prepped for combat in response, their auras betraying their violent intentions.  The Storm King, however, only had to cast his gaze around him for his Clansmen to relax.

The Grave Warden continued, “I was wondering when you would finally arrive, King Jason!  You made me wait a long time!  A long time!”

The Storm King softly snorted.  His lips turned upward in a confident smirk, and he said, “A King arrives whenever he pleases; it is for all others to wait.  Do you know why I’ve come, Planar Lord?”

“Hopefully not to stifle me in pointless court ceremonies!” the Grave Warden replied.  “I am known as Ambrose!  Feel free to use my name!  Feel free!”

Ignoring him, Jason Keraunos gravely intoned, “I have come to receive your submission, Planar Lord, and to take possession of the treasure you guard!  Your plane has fallen to my forces; you have no alternative!  Surrender now or face the might of my Clan!  Surrender now or be crushed by the strength of a million planes!”

The Grave Warden’s welcoming demeanor faded, though didn’t disappear entirely.  With a snap of his fingers, a pair of simple, though comfortable, chairs appeared on the roof.  He sat in one and wordlessly offered the other to Jason Keraunos.  The Storm King chose instead to remain hovering above the tower’s roof.

“Answer me a few questions, King Jason!” Ambrose called out, unperturbed at the tacit refusal of his offer to sit.  “Perhaps I might consider your offer if you do!  Answer me!”

“Fool!” one of the Storm King’s children shouted from behind Jason—the eldest, if the Grave Warden’s relatively sparse knowledge of the Storm King’s Clan was accurate.  “My Royal father has—”

The Prince was silenced with but a gesture from Jason Keraunos.  The Storm King glared over his shoulder at his eldest son, and not another interruption was had.

A moment later, Jason turned his deep brown eyes back to the Grave Warden.  Finally, he floated downward, landing perfectly in the chair the Grave Warden had prepared for him.  He sat there for a moment, Ambrose giving him a moment to get comfortable, and when it became clear that the chair was no trap, the Storm King looked almost disappointed.

“Ask your questions, Planar Lord,” the Storm King commanded.

“Wonderful!” Ambrose gushed.  “It’s been so long since I last had a good debate partner!  So long!  I apologize if I ramble!”  The Storm King’s expression turned a bit irritated, but Ambrose pressed on regardless, his demeanor growing more serious and his gaze sharpening now that he was implicitly being promised answers to his questions.  “For hundreds of years have you reigned as Storm King.  Do you believe that you are a good King?”

Whatever Jason Keraunos had been expecting, this clearly was not it; his features contorted in surprise before lighting up with hubristic pride.  In a voice booming as loud as any clap of thunder, he replied, “I am not a ‘good’ King!  I am the greatest King!”

The army of his Clan roared in response, their joined voices rumbling louder than the fiercest storm.

Ambrose, however, focused entirely on the Storm King.  With a flick of his finger, a bubble of complete silence surrounded him and Jason Keraunos, preventing even the loudest sound from outside from reaching them.

“Of all the answers you could’ve given,” Ambrose said, a grin spreading across his face, “that was the best.  Now, tell me, Storm King: why?  Why do you think yourself great?”

Jason Keraunos didn’t take even a moment to think about the question.  “In all respects, my power is without equal!  My armies are endless!  My fleets ply the Void in numbers beyond counting, matched by none!  My power shames the Primal Gods and Devils, and my numerous children honor our Clan!  A King can ask for nothing greater than this!”

“Yes,” the Grave Warden responded, “your children…”

Jason Keraunos’ eyes narrowed in displeasure.  “Watch your tone, Planar Lord.  I am a generous King, but deviant eyes turned on my family shall be plucked from the skulls that house them.”

“Quite protective,” Ambrose observed.  “Is that why two of your sons are missing?  You’ve brought all the rest; I would’ve thought you’d bring the whole set…”

“Speculate not on business that is not yours,” the Storm King growled.

Ambrose dismissively waved his hand, though he still dropped it.  He supposed he could always find the other two later, if the need for doing so arose.

“Your answer,” he said, “is that the extent of your virtues?  Have you no other claim to greatness than the size of your armies, fleets, family, and power?  You can name no others?”

“There are no other metrics worth measuring,” the Storm King definitively declared.

“Such a limited view,” the Grave Warden responded, his expression falling in disappointment.  “Limited.  I had hoped a man who ruled over thousands of planes might have aided me in my errant thoughts, but alas, you have proven yourself no better than the countless petty Lords that sprang up after the Primal Age.  No better.”

“You do not have the proper respect for strength,” Jason Keraunos responded.  He rose from the chair and menacingly loomed over the Grave Warden.  “If you do not hurry and present me with what I came for, and prostrate yourself before me as my newest vassal, then I shall impart upon you a lesson in strength that you shall never forget.”

To punctuate his threat, the Storm King drew the sword at his waist.  Its blade hummed in the air, sparks of silver lightning with a blue halo flashing across the sparkling metal.  But the Grave Warden only grinned.

“You desire my Universe Fragment?” he whispered, not shifting at all in his seat.  His expression, one of disappointment only a moment before, swiftly shifted to reflect his utmost confidence.  “Why should you come here for that?  Your Clan already has two—more than just about any other power in the universe, if my information remains up to date, though I see you only brought one with you…”  His plain brown eyes drank in the sight of the sword, gleaming in the light of the sun, flashing with lightning.  With more magical senses, he could feel the cataclysmic power radiating from the weapon, and the artifact lodged in its tang.

“A King does not need to explain his whims to anyone,” the Storm King declared.  “Surrender your Universe Fragment to me.  I shall not ask again.”

“How did you even hear of it?” the Grave Warden pleasantly asked, as if his unarmored form was not being confronted with one of the most powerful weapons in existence.

“Such mighty powers cannot be hidden forever,” Jason Keraunos simply replied.

“And this one, would you still rob me of it even knowing that it was bestowed upon me by the Great Lord Khosrow?  He did not give it to me on a whim…”

“Invoke his name all you wish, Planar Lord, it will deter me not, for I do not fear the dead.”

“You will not back down, then?” the Grave Warden quietly, almost pleadingly, asked.

The Storm King responded only with a wave of power; his aura surged in strength, not doing the Grave Warden any harm, but causing the sky to darken with storm clouds once again.  Outside of the soundproof bubble the Grave Warden had summoned, he could sense the rest of the Storm King’s Clan preparing themselves for battle, too.

“You are a terrible King,” the Grave Warden sadly stated, his smile fading as he slowly took to his feet.  “Ambition is an enviable trait among Royalty, but you have led your Clan to my plane on a fool’s gambit.  You and your Clan have destroyed yourselves, all because you attempted to take what is not yours, what you have no right to claim.”

“All I desire is mine, for I have the power to take it,” the Storm King stated.

“You don’t have the power to take this,” the Grave Warden said with a tone of finality.  Before the Storm King could answer, a meteor, appearing in a flash of light, crashed into one of the largest arks the Storm King had arrived with.  The meteor punched clean through the ark’s defenses and splashed so harmlessly into the sea that it was clear this was no accident.

Fire poured from the ark as its engines struggled to keep it in the air with such a massive hole torn through it.  Metal screeched as the superstructure failed to hold the veritable flying fortress in the air, and it began a nosedive into the sea.

Neither Ambrose nor Jason saw it hit the water, for the moment that the meteor struck the ark, the Storm King moved.  His body flashed with lightning, his aura shining as brightly as the sun itself to the Grave Warden’s magic senses.  The wind howled all around the tower as the Storm King’s power inundated their surroundings.  Jason Keraunos called a storm of unbelievable proportions down upon the Grave Warden’s tower…

… and Ambrose weathered it with ease.  He was a rock amidst the tsunami, a mountain within the typhoon.  Meteors came raining down upon the arks and the arks dove and listed to avoid them.  From deep beneath the waves of the sea, enormous stone hands rose to catch the arks, shattering them with incalculable strength.  The arks responded in kind, firing their weapons, bathing both the island and the giants in light and lightning, but to no avail.

The Storm King and the Grave Warden exchanged hundreds of blows in a matter of seconds, so quickly that it seemed almost an eternity for the Storm King’s children to charge.

For a brief moment, the Grave Warden’s tower at the center of the plane of Aeterna became one of the most dangerous places in the universe.  Such power shook the plane, cracking its surface, breaking cities dozens and hundreds of miles away, and causing untold numbers of deaths.  The water of the sea boiled as lightning fell into it as thickly as rain.  Bodies fell just as thickly around the Grave Warden’s tower, splattering to paste as they hit the ground.  The blood of thousands of powerful mages soaked the island, and after several minutes, so too did the first of the Storm King’s children.

The Storm King and his family roared as one in grief and anger and redoubled their efforts to kill the Grave Warden, but their efforts were for naught; a moment after the first, the Grave Warden sent another Prince falling lifelessly to the ground.  One by one the Storm King’s family fell, but even when Jason Keraunos was left alone, battered and bloodied, he refused to surrender.  His pride simply wouldn’t allow him to.  And in only a matter of seconds, he joined his family and Clan in death.

The battle was as short as it was destructive.  Countless bodies littered the island just as all of the Storm King’s arks burned in the raging sea.  The Storm King himself, as well as all of the children and Clansmen that he’d brought with him, had been laid low by the Grave Warden.

Ambrose himself, once the fighting was finished, stood upon the beach where the Storm King had fallen.  He bled from a hundred wounds and his skin had been burned black over more than half of his body.  However, now that the fighting was over, his wounds healed rapidly, leaving him looking none the worse for wear in mere seconds.

The Storm King’s, however, did not.  Jason Keraunos, who had invaded his plane fifty years prior, now lay dead at his feet.

“How many thousands of your Clan members have you condemned to die over this mistake?” the Grave Warden wondered aloud as he stared down at the dead Storm King.  “How many will die when the rest of the universe hears of this?  Will your Clan survive?”  He darkly chuckled.  “Will those who are left seek revenge against me?”

Ambrose’s eyes drifted from the Storm King’s body over to his sword, now lying on the beach and sparking with brilliant green lightning.  Such a weapon could not be left unsecured, but before Ambrose could take a single step toward it, the weapon’s hilt dissolved from the green lightning, leaving the sword’s tang bare.  Lodged within it, Ambrose could see what might’ve appeared to a mortal’s eyes to be nothing more than a thin sliver of discolored iron embedded within the sword’s shining metal, though it was almost blindingly radiant to more magical senses.  The Iron Needle, a Universe Fragment, an artifact of incalculable power.

With a clap of thunder that shook the island and a flash of lightning that almost blinded Ambrose, the sword, and the Universe Fragment within it, shot into the sky, leaving Ambrose behind.

The Grave Warden could only smile and laugh.  Universe Fragments were fickle, and if they did not allow themselves to be wielded, then the cataclysmically powerful artifacts were as useful as paperweights.  And the Iron Needle, it seemed, would not allow him to wield it.

Ambrose took no offense, though he tracked the Iron Needle as it shot northward.  He wondered how long it might stay in the air, and where it might land.  Repairing Aeterna wouldn’t be easy if he had a Universe Fragment flying around it for a millennium.  As his eyes turned back to the Storm King, he wondered again what would happen to the rest of the Storm King’s Clan, both on Aeterna and elsewhere.  One of the strongest men in the universe had just died, as had the most powerful members of his Clan.

“Who will replace you, I wonder?” Ambrose asked Jason’s corpse.  “Will they come here to accomplish what you did not?  Or will they just forget about you?  Will your Clan be destroyed, all traces of it lost to time?  Will all knowledge of their foolish King that led them here, to die at my hand, be lost?”

Ambrose sighed as, with a wave of his hand, the bodies of the Storm King and all of his immediate family were gathered before him.

“You were a strong adversary,” he said with great respect.  “By your metrics, I suppose, you were a worthy King.  Now, be at peace.”

Jason Keraunos and his family’s bodies disappeared as Ambrose took flight once more.

“How long until a new Storm King rises?” he wondered aloud.  “A thousand years?  Ten thousand?  A hundred thousand?  Or even longer?  I hope that whoever they are, they show more wisdom than you.  I hope…  I hope.”

Ambrose once more took a seat on the edge of his tower, unblemished from the terrible battle that had just taken place around it.  He sighed again and turned his mind toward fixing the terrible damage done to Aeterna in this battle, though he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he returned to the question he’d been pondering before Jason Keraunos’ arrival, only now he had much more to think about.