The wetlands of Mudspire stretched like a labyrinth of shadow and water, a realm where the earth surrendered to the river's embrace. Towering reeds swayed in the humid breeze, their tips brushing the underbelly of a sky bruised with storm clouds. The air was thick with the scent of silt and decay, a primal perfume that clung to the hide of every beast who called this place home. Mudspire was no mere territory—it was the beating heart of the hippo dominion, a fortress of marsh and magic where the currents whispered secrets and the waters held power older than the savannah itself. Here, the hippos reigned unchallenged, their colossal forms gliding through rivers like living gods, their water magic bending the tides to their will.
At the center of Mudspire rose the Deepwater Citadel, a sprawling structure of stone and root, half-sunk in the mire, its walls glistening with algae and etched with runes that pulsed like veins. Unlike the fire-lit grandeur of Roaring Rock or the serene stone of the Elephant Temple, the citadel was a monument to resilience, its foundations rooted in the riverbed, unyielding against flood or drought. Arched gateways, draped with curtains of moss, led to cavernous halls where water dripped in rhythmic echoes, and the air shimmered with faint mist. The hippos' magic was woven into every stone—some could summon torrents from dry earth, others dissolve into vapor, their forms flickering like ghosts in the haze. It was a place of beauty and terror, where loyalty was as fluid as the rivers and betrayal lurked beneath every ripple.
General Maku, the towering leader of the hippo clans, stood at the heart of the citadel's Flood Chamber, a vast hall where a shallow pool reflected the torchlight like a mirror of stars. His gray hide, scarred from battles that had forged his legend, gleamed with moisture, and his small eyes burned with a cold, calculating fire. Around him gathered the inner circle of the Deepwater Clan—Baru, the grizzled hippo who had faced trial for the cub's murder; Zara, a sleek female whose water magic could weave illusions from mist; and Korran, a young bull whose ambition outstripped his years. The air was heavy with the weight of their conspiracy, the chamber sealed against prying eyes, its walls guarded by sentries whose jaws dripped with enchanted water.
Maku's voice, deep as a river's current, broke the silence. "The lion's flame is extinguished. Azran lies dead, and the savannah teeters on the edge of chaos. Our plan unfolds as foretold." His massive jaws parted in a slow, satisfied grin, revealing teeth worn smooth by years of crushing bone and reed. The others nodded, their eyes glinting with shared purpose, though a ripple of unease passed through Korran's frame.
Baru lumbered forward, his scarred hide catching the torchlight. "The trial was a masterstroke, General. The lions' grief blinded them, and Azran's mercy played into our hands. Fifty zebras for a cub's life—what a jest." His laugh was a low, guttural rumble, like stones grinding beneath a flood. "Ravok's rage fractured their pride, and Saphira's flight has left the throne vulnerable. The savannah is ours for the taking."
Zara's voice, smooth as a current, cut through the laughter. "Do not underestimate the lions, Baru. Kael is no fool, and his fire burns with ambition. He may seize the crown, but he'll hunt us for Azran's death. We must strike before he rallies the Five Houses." Her eyes flickered, and a tendril of mist curled from her jaws, forming the faint shape of a lion's mane before dissolving into the air.
Maku's tail flicked, stirring the pool at his feet. "Kael is a spark, not a flame. His coronation will sow division, and the lions will turn on themselves. But Zara speaks truth—we cannot wait. The assassin's work is done, but the war is only beginning. Tell me, Korran, how fares our alliance with the rhinos?"
Korran straightened, his youthful bulk radiating eagerness. "Rhogar's herd is with us, General. The rhinos chafe under lion rule, their lands carved away for grazing fields. They'll march when we call, their earth magic ready to shatter Roaring Rock's spires. But they demand a price—half the savannah's northern plains once the lions fall."
Maku's eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Greedy beasts. They'll have their plains when the war is won, but not a blade of grass more. For now, let them dream of glory. Our true strength lies in the shadows." He turned to Baru, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Speak of the assassin. How did you summon Xajin, and what price did he demand?"
Baru's grin widened, his small eyes glinting with pride. "It began moons ago, before the cub's death. I slipped into the jungle under cover of mist, crossing the Great River by dissolving into its currents. The Smoke Mercenaries dwell in the Shadowcrags, a volcanic maze where the air chokes with ash and the ground burns underfoot. Xajin's lair is a cavern of obsidian, its walls carved with the skulls of his kills. I found him there, a tiger wreathed in smoke, his emerald eyes like cursed gems. He knew my purpose before I spoke—a predator who smells ambition."
The chamber fell silent, the torchlight flickering as if the citadel itself leaned closer. Baru continued, his voice a low, deliberate hum. "Xajin is no mere killer. His smoke magic bends light and shadow, letting him slip through any defense. He's slain bears in their frostbound caves, serpents in their lava dens, even eagles mid-flight. But his price was steep—ten chests of river pearls, harvested from the deepest trenches of Mudspire, and a vow of silence. No beast must know we hired him, or his wrath would turn on us."
Zara's ears twitched, her mist curling tighter. "And you trust him? A mercenary who trades death for pearls could sell our secrets to the highest bidder."
Baru's laugh was sharp, like a stone breaking the water's surface. "Trust? No. Fear keeps Xajin loyal. He knows the hippos' magic—our tides can drown his shadows, our rivers swallow his smoke. Besides, he's already paid and gone, vanished into the jungle with his pearls. The lions will never trace him to us."
Maku nodded, his massive head dipping in approval. "Well done, Baru. But the assassin was only the blade. The cub's death was the spark, and the trial the fire. Tell me how you wove that web."
Baru's chest swelled, his voice rich with satisfaction. "It began with the cub, a curious little fool named Taro, Ravok's youngest. We watched him for weeks, learning his habits—how he'd sneak from Roaring Rock to chase dragonflies by the river. Zara's illusions helped. She wove mist into shapes of shimmering fish, luring him deeper into our waters. When he crossed the boundary, alone and unguarded, I struck. Not with savagery, but precision—teeth to the throat, quick and clean. We left his body by the water's edge, a message to the lions: your blood means nothing in our domain."
Korran shifted, his eyes darting nervously. "But the starlings—Ravok said they saw you. How did we escape their witness?"
Baru's grin turned sly. "A trick within a trick. The starlings saw what Zara's magic showed them—a hippo's form, my scars, but blurred, fleeting. They carried their tale to Ravok, but no bird could swear it was me beyond doubt. The trial hinged on that uncertainty, and Azran's mercy did the rest. He wanted peace, not war, and his weakness was our weapon."
Zara's voice was a low hum, her mist forming faint ripples in the pool. "The trial was a stage, and Baru played his part flawlessly. His defiance goaded Ravok, and Ravok's outburst shattered the lions' unity. Azran's ruling—fifty zebras for a cub—drove a wedge between the pride and their king. Saphira's flight was an unexpected gift, leaving Kael to claim the throne in chaos."
Maku's eyes gleamed, his jaws parting in a slow, predatory smile. "And chaos is our ally. The lions tear at their own throats, while we gather strength. But we must move swiftly. Kael's coronation will rally the Five Houses, and the buffaloes may bend to his fire. We need the rhinos' horns and the Smoke Mercenaries' blades to crush Roaring Rock before Kael solidifies his rule."
Korran's tail flicked, his voice hesitant. "What of the elephants? Their earth magic could tip the scales. If they shelter Saphira, as the oxpeckers whisper, they may rally to her claim."
Maku's growl was a low, resonant quake, stirring the pool's surface. "The elephants are relics, lost in prophecies and tales of humans. They'll meditate while we reshape the savannah. But if they stir, our rivers will drown their temples. As for Saphira..." His eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease passing through them. "She's a spark in the wind, alone and hunted. The Bone Cacklers will find her, or the savannah's hunger will claim her. She's no threat—yet."
Zara's mist curled tighter, her voice sharp. "Do not dismiss her, General. Saphira carries Azran's fire and his letter. If she reaches the elephants or rallies the cheetahs, she could ignite a rebellion. We should send trackers—hippos cloaked in mist—to hunt her."
Maku considered this, his massive frame still as stone. "Agreed. Zara, select a cadre of your best illusionists. Track Saphira, but do not kill her—not yet. Capture her, bring her to Mudspire, and we'll break her spirit in our waters. A living princess is a bargaining chip; a dead one is a martyr."
The chamber hummed with agreement, the torchlight glinting off the pool as if sealing their pact. But Korran's unease lingered, his eyes darting to the shadows. "And the humans? Azran's letter spoke of them, and the elephants guard their secrets. What if they're more than myth?"
Maku's laugh was a deep, dismissive rumble. "Humans are ghosts, Korran, tales to scare cubs. If they ever walked the savannah, their bones are dust now. Focus on the war, not legends." His voice hardened, his eyes sweeping the circle. "Our plan is set. The cub's death sowed division, the trial broke the lions' trust, and Xajin's dagger ended Azran's reign. Now, we arm for war. Zara, prepare your illusionists. Baru, rally the clans—every hippo must be ready to flood the savannah. Korran, send word to Rhogar. Tell him the time to strike draws near."
The inner circle bowed, their massive forms casting long shadows across the pool. As they dispersed, Baru lingered, his eyes fixed on the water's surface, where a faint ripple formed the shape of a lion's crown before dissolving. "The savannah will drown in our tides," he murmured, a slow grin curling his lips.
Outside the citadel, Mudspire thrummed with life. Hippos glided through the rivers, their bodies shimmering with water magic, their rumbles a low hymn to their dominion. Sentries patrolled the marsh trails, their jaws dripping with enchanted mist, ready to dissolve into the currents at the first sign of threat. In hidden grottos, artisans crafted weapons—spears tipped with river-forged iron, nets woven from enchanted reeds that could bind fire itself. The air buzzed with preparation, the hippos' unity a stark contrast to the lions' fractured pride.
But beneath the surface, whispers stirred. Some hippos, elders who remembered the Great Animal War, questioned Maku's path. The truce had brought peace, however fragile, and Azran's fire had forged a savannah where their young could thrive. To shatter that truce was to gamble with flood and flame, and not all were eager to pay the price. These dissenters met in secret, their rumbles hushed, their eyes darting for spies. "Maku's ambition will drown us all," one elder whispered, her hide etched with the scars of old battles. "The lions' fire is not so easily quenched, and the elephants will not stand idle."
Yet Maku's grip was iron, his spies as fluid as the rivers. Dissenters vanished into the marshes, their bodies swallowed by the currents, their warnings silenced. The Deepwater Clan closed ranks, their loyalty forged in fear and the promise of power. Mudspire became a war machine, its rivers a network of supply lines, its grottos arsenals of magic and steel.
In a secluded grove, Zara trained her illusionists, their mist weaving visions of fire and shadow. "The lions rely on their eyes," she instructed, her voice a low hum. "Blind them with our magic, and their claws will strike only air." Her cadre practiced tirelessly, their forms dissolving into vapor, reappearing as lions, rhinos, even Azran himself, their illusions flawless until the torchlight flickered.
Baru, meanwhile, rallied the clans, his voice booming across Mudspire's rivers. "The lions have bled us for centuries, carving our waters for their fields, mocking our strength with their flames. No more! We are the tide, the flood, the end of their reign!" His words ignited the hippos' pride, their rumbles shaking the reeds, their jaws snapping with hunger for war. Young bulls, eager for glory, sparred in the shallows, their water magic sending geysers skyward, while elders sharpened their teeth on river stones, their eyes glinting with memories of battles past.
Korran, tasked with the rhinos, slipped into the grasslands under cover of night, his form cloaked in Zara's mist. He met Rhogar in a shadowed ravine, the young chieftain's armored hide gleaming under the moon. "The hippos are ready," Korran said, his voice low. "When the lions falter, strike Roaring Rock. Your meteors will crush their spires, and our rivers will drown their flames."
Rhogar's eyes narrowed, his horn scraping the earth. "And the northern plains? You'll honor our price?"
Korran's grin was a mirror of Baru's, sly and sharp. "The plains are yours, Rhogar, when the savannah is ours. Stand with us, and the lions will fall."
Rhogar nodded, his massive head dipping in agreement, but his eyes held a flicker of doubt. The rhinos were warriors, not schemers, and treachery sat heavy on their horns. Yet the promise of land—and the chance to avenge their pride—sealed the pact. Korran vanished into the mist, leaving Rhogar to rally his herd, their hooves already rumbling with the promise of war.
Back in Mudspire, Maku stood alone in the Flood Chamber, his eyes fixed on the pool's surface. The water rippled, forming fleeting shapes—a lion's mane, a dagger's edge, a crown sinking beneath the tides. His jaws parted in a slow, predatory grin. "Azran's fire is dead," he murmured, "and Saphira's will follow. The savannah will bow to the flood."
But beyond Mudspire's rivers, the savannah stirred. Oxpeckers flitted through the skies, their sharp eyes catching glints of mist and steel. In the Elephant Temple, Maruna's rumbles wove prophecies of flame and flood, her guards preparing for a war they could not yet name. And somewhere in the wilds, Saphira's paws left faint prints in the dust, her fire magic a spark that refused to die. The hippos' tides were rising, their treachery a current that could drown the savannah—but the flame of the Flame-Mane still burned, and the war for the throne was far from over.The wetlands of Mudspire stretched like a labyrinth of shadow and water, a realm where the earth surrendered to the river's embrace. Towering reeds swayed in the humid breeze, their tips brushing the underbelly of a sky bruised with storm clouds. The air was thick with the scent of silt and decay, a primal perfume that clung to the hide of every beast who called this place home. Mudspire was no mere territory—it was the beating heart of the hippo dominion, a fortress of marsh and magic where the currents whispered secrets and the waters held power older than the savannah itself. Here, the hippos reigned unchallenged, their colossal forms gliding through rivers like living gods, their water magic bending the tides to their will.
At the center of Mudspire rose the Deepwater Citadel, a sprawling structure of stone and root, half-sunk in the mire, its walls glistening with algae and etched with runes that pulsed like veins. Unlike the fire-lit grandeur of Roaring Rock or the serene stone of the Elephant Temple, the citadel was a monument to resilience, its foundations rooted in the riverbed, unyielding against flood or drought. Arched gateways, draped with curtains of moss, led to cavernous halls where water dripped in rhythmic echoes, and the air shimmered with faint mist. The hippos' magic was woven into every stone—some could summon torrents from dry earth, others dissolve into vapor, their forms flickering like ghosts in the haze. It was a place of beauty and terror, where loyalty was as fluid as the rivers and betrayal lurked beneath every ripple.
General Maku, the towering leader of the hippo clans, stood at the heart of the citadel's Flood Chamber, a vast hall where a shallow pool reflected the torchlight like a mirror of stars. His gray hide, scarred from battles that had forged his legend, gleamed with moisture, and his small eyes burned with a cold, calculating fire. Around him gathered the inner circle of the Deepwater Clan—Baru, the grizzled hippo who had faced trial for the cub's murder; Zara, a sleek female whose water magic could weave illusions from mist; and Korran, a young bull whose ambition outstripped his years. The air was heavy with the weight of their conspiracy, the chamber sealed against prying eyes, its walls guarded by sentries whose jaws dripped with enchanted water.
Maku's voice, deep as a river's current, broke the silence. "The lion's flame is extinguished. Azran lies dead, and the savannah teeters on the edge of chaos. Our plan unfolds as foretold." His massive jaws parted in a slow, satisfied grin, revealing teeth worn smooth by years of crushing bone and reed. The others nodded, their eyes glinting with shared purpose, though a ripple of unease passed through Korran's frame.
Baru lumbered forward, his scarred hide catching the torchlight. "The trial was a masterstroke, General. The lions' grief blinded them, and Azran's mercy played into our hands. Fifty zebras for a cub's life—what a jest." His laugh was a low, guttural rumble, like stones grinding beneath a flood. "Ravok's rage fractured their pride, and Saphira's flight has left the throne vulnerable. The savannah is ours for the taking."
Zara's voice, smooth as a current, cut through the laughter. "Do not underestimate the lions, Baru. Kael is no fool, and his fire burns with ambition. He may seize the crown, but he'll hunt us for Azran's death. We must strike before he rallies the Five Houses." Her eyes flickered, and a tendril of mist curled from her jaws, forming the faint shape of a lion's mane before dissolving into the air.
Maku's tail flicked, stirring the pool at his feet. "Kael is a spark, not a flame. His coronation will sow division, and the lions will turn on themselves. But Zara speaks truth—we cannot wait. The assassin's work is done, but the war is only beginning. Tell me, Korran, how fares our alliance with the rhinos?"
Korran straightened, his youthful bulk radiating eagerness. "Rhogar's herd is with us, General. The rhinos chafe under lion rule, their lands carved away for grazing fields. They'll march when we call, their earth magic ready to shatter Roaring Rock's spires. But they demand a price—half the savannah's northern plains once the lions fall."
Maku's eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Greedy beasts. They'll have their plains when the war is won, but not a blade of grass more. For now, let them dream of glory. Our true strength lies in the shadows." He turned to Baru, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Speak of the assassin. How did you summon Xajin, and what price did he demand?"
Baru's grin widened, his small eyes glinting with pride. "It began moons ago, before the cub's death. I slipped into the jungle under cover of mist, crossing the Great River by dissolving into its currents. The Smoke Mercenaries dwell in the Shadowcrags, a volcanic maze where the air chokes with ash and the ground burns underfoot. Xajin's lair is a cavern of obsidian, its walls carved with the skulls of his kills. I found him there, a tiger wreathed in smoke, his emerald eyes like cursed gems. He knew my purpose before I spoke—a predator who smells ambition."
The chamber fell silent, the torchlight flickering as if the citadel itself leaned closer. Baru continued, his voice a low, deliberate hum. "Xajin is no mere killer. His smoke magic bends light and shadow, letting him slip through any defense. He's slain bears in their frostbound caves, serpents in their lava dens, even eagles mid-flight. But his price was steep—ten chests of river pearls, harvested from the deepest trenches of Mudspire, and a vow of silence. No beast must know we hired him, or his wrath would turn on us."
Zara's ears twitched, her mist curling tighter. "And you trust him? A mercenary who trades death for pearls could sell our secrets to the highest bidder."
Baru's laugh was sharp, like a stone breaking the water's surface. "Trust? No. Fear keeps Xajin loyal. He knows the hippos' magic—our tides can drown his shadows, our rivers swallow his smoke. Besides, he's already paid and gone, vanished into the jungle with his pearls. The lions will never trace him to us."
Maku nodded, his massive head dipping in approval. "Well done, Baru. But the assassin was only the blade. The cub's death was the spark, and the trial the fire. Tell me how you wove that web."
Baru's chest swelled, his voice rich with satisfaction. "It began with the cub, a curious little fool named Taro, Ravok's youngest. We watched him for weeks, learning his habits—how he'd sneak from Roaring Rock to chase dragonflies by the river. Zara's illusions helped. She wove mist into shapes of shimmering fish, luring him deeper into our waters. When he crossed the boundary, alone and unguarded, I struck. Not with savagery, but precision—teeth to the throat, quick and clean. We left his body by the water's edge, a message to the lions: your blood means nothing in our domain."
Korran shifted, his eyes darting nervously. "But the starlings—Ravok said they saw you. How did we escape their witness?"
Baru's grin turned sly. "A trick within a trick. The starlings saw what Zara's magic showed them—a hippo's form, my scars, but blurred, fleeting. They carried their tale to Ravok, but no bird could swear it was me beyond doubt. The trial hinged on that uncertainty, and Azran's mercy did the rest. He wanted peace, not war, and his weakness was our weapon."
Zara's voice was a low hum, her mist forming faint ripples in the pool. "The trial was a stage, and Baru played his part flawlessly. His defiance goaded Ravok, and Ravok's outburst shattered the lions' unity. Azran's ruling—fifty zebras for a cub—drove a wedge between the pride and their king. Saphira's flight was an unexpected gift, leaving Kael to claim the throne in chaos."
Maku's eyes gleamed, his jaws parting in a slow, predatory smile. "And chaos is our ally. The lions tear at their own throats, while we gather strength. But we must move swiftly. Kael's coronation will rally the Five Houses, and the buffaloes may bend to his fire. We need the rhinos' horns and the Smoke Mercenaries' blades to crush Roaring Rock before Kael solidifies his rule."
Korran's tail flicked, his voice hesitant. "What of the elephants? Their earth magic could tip the scales. If they shelter Saphira, as the oxpeckers whisper, they may rally to her claim."
Maku's growl was a low, resonant quake, stirring the pool's surface. "The elephants are relics, lost in prophecies and tales of humans. They'll meditate while we reshape the savannah. But if they stir, our rivers will drown their temples. As for Saphira..." His eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease passing through them. "She's a spark in the wind, alone and hunted. The Bone Cacklers will find her, or the savannah's hunger will claim her. She's no threat—yet."
Zara's mist curled tighter, her voice sharp. "Do not dismiss her, General. Saphira carries Azran's fire and his letter. If she reaches the elephants or rallies the cheetahs, she could ignite a rebellion. We should send trackers—hippos cloaked in mist—to hunt her."
Maku considered this, his massive frame still as stone. "Agreed. Zara, select a cadre of your best illusionists. Track Saphira, but do not kill her—not yet. Capture her, bring her to Mudspire, and we'll break her spirit in our waters. A living princess is a bargaining chip; a dead one is a martyr."
The chamber hummed with agreement, the torchlight glinting off the pool as if sealing their pact. But Korran's unease lingered, his eyes darting to the shadows. "And the humans? Azran's letter spoke of them, and the elephants guard their secrets. What if they're more than myth?"
Maku's laugh was a deep, dismissive rumble. "Humans are ghosts, Korran, tales to scare cubs. If they ever walked the savannah, their bones are dust now. Focus on the war, not legends." His voice hardened, his eyes sweeping the circle. "Our plan is set. The cub's death sowed division, the trial broke the lions' trust, and Xajin's dagger ended Azran's reign. Now, we arm for war. Zara, prepare your illusionists. Baru, rally the clans—every hippo must be ready to flood the savannah. Korran, send word to Rhogar. Tell him the time to strike draws near."
The inner circle bowed, their massive forms casting long shadows across the pool. As they dispersed, Baru lingered, his eyes fixed on the water's surface, where a faint ripple formed the shape of a lion's crown before dissolving. "The savannah will drown in our tides," he murmured, a slow grin curling his lips.
Outside the citadel, Mudspire thrummed with life. Hippos glided through the rivers, their bodies shimmering with water magic, their rumbles a low hymn to their dominion. Sentries patrolled the marsh trails, their jaws dripping with enchanted mist, ready to dissolve into the currents at the first sign of threat. In hidden grottos, artisans crafted weapons—spears tipped with river-forged iron, nets woven from enchanted reeds that could bind fire itself. The air buzzed with preparation, the hippos' unity a stark contrast to the lions' fractured pride.
But beneath the surface, whispers stirred. Some hippos, elders who remembered the Great Animal War, questioned Maku's path. The truce had brought peace, however fragile, and Azran's fire had forged a savannah where their young could thrive. To shatter that truce was to gamble with flood and flame, and not all were eager to pay the price. These dissenters met in secret, their rumbles hushed, their eyes darting for spies. "Maku's ambition will drown us all," one elder whispered, her hide etched with the scars of old battles. "The lions' fire is not so easily quenched, and the elephants will not stand idle."
Yet Maku's grip was iron, his spies as fluid as the rivers. Dissenters vanished into the marshes, their bodies swallowed by the currents, their warnings silenced. The Deepwater Clan closed ranks, their loyalty forged in fear and the promise of power. Mudspire became a war machine, its rivers a network of supply lines, its grottos arsenals of magic and steel.
In a secluded grove, Zara trained her illusionists, their mist weaving visions of fire and shadow. "The lions rely on their eyes," she instructed, her voice a low hum. "Blind them with our magic, and their claws will strike only air." Her cadre practiced tirelessly, their forms dissolving into vapor, reappearing as lions, rhinos, even Azran himself, their illusions flawless until the torchlight flickered.
Baru, meanwhile, rallied the clans, his voice booming across Mudspire's rivers. "The lions have bled us for centuries, carving our waters for their fields, mocking our strength with their flames. No more! We are the tide, the flood, the end of their reign!" His words ignited the hippos' pride, their rumbles shaking the reeds, their jaws snapping with hunger for war. Young bulls, eager for glory, sparred in the shallows, their water magic sending geysers skyward, while elders sharpened their teeth on river stones, their eyes glinting with memories of battles past.
Korran, tasked with the rhinos, slipped into the grasslands under cover of night, his form cloaked in Zara's mist. He met Rhogar in a shadowed ravine, the young chieftain's armored hide gleaming under the moon. "The hippos are ready," Korran said, his voice low. "When the lions falter, strike Roaring Rock. Your meteors will crush their spires, and our rivers will drown their flames."
Rhogar's eyes narrowed, his horn scraping the earth. "And the northern plains? You'll honor our price?"
Korran's grin was a mirror of Baru's, sly and sharp. "The plains are yours, Rhogar, when the savannah is ours. Stand with us, and the lions will fall."
Rhogar nodded, his massive head dipping in agreement, but his eyes held a flicker of doubt. The rhinos were warriors, not schemers, and treachery sat heavy on their horns. Yet the promise of land—and the chance to avenge their pride—sealed the pact. Korran vanished into the mist, leaving Rhogar to rally his herd, their hooves already rumbling with the promise of war.
Back in Mudspire, Maku stood alone in the Flood Chamber, his eyes fixed on the pool's surface. The water rippled, forming fleeting shapes—a lion's mane, a dagger's edge, a crown sinking beneath the tides. His jaws parted in a slow, predatory grin. "Azran's fire is dead," he murmured, "and Saphira's will follow. The savannah will bow to the flood."
But beyond Mudspire's rivers, the savannah stirred. Oxpeckers flitted through the skies, their sharp eyes catching glints of mist and steel. In the Elephant Temple, Maruna's rumbles wove prophecies of flame and flood, her guards preparing for a war they could not yet name. And somewhere in the wilds, Saphira's paws left faint prints in the dust, her fire magic a spark that refused to die. The hippos' tides were rising, their treachery a current that could drown the savannah—but the flame of the Flame-Mane still burned, and the war for the throne was far from over.