THE KING KNEELS BEFORE THE SOURCE OF METAL, DEEP BELOW HIS PALACE.

It was not something one would expect to see from The King. All of his subjects, from the peasants to the soldiers of Avatar Country, and even his Elite Orchestra always fell at his feet. For The King to kneel at the toes of another was unheard of. History had no sovereign who was The King's equal. No one could take The King's throne and usurp his mighty legacy; within the Constitution of Avatar Country, as well as in the harsh and snowy flesh of reality itself, was written the truth :

KING IS THRONE AND THRONE IS KING AND ON AND ON THE PEOPLE SING

But this was no arrogant rival The King finds himself in supplication to. This great crystal, crowned in rock dust and ancient roots, was his reason for coming to this land. His heart and conscience both had shook their fists at him when he had heard of the trials across the ocean. He had come to save the people who'd lived here. And this great crystal was his tool, in that and all endeavours. The gem of metal is the power source for The King's Flower : his royal battle axe, with six strings upon which he thrummed death for Avatar Country's enemies and joy for its citizens. The King is loyal to his people and the people are loyal to Their King.

Ever so often, The King drags himself from the elation of walking amongst his people, and does what he must. He takes to the steps below The King's Palace, those that lead deep under Avatar Country, to the secret drum that the world had hidden since time immemorial. The Propaganda Minister would order the vault door that led there close and locked.

The King's Flower is unslung from The King's back, a few strands of his wavy, lionlike mane of hair catching on its strings. As they always did when he was about to summon the might of metal, his fingers twitched reflexively, almost in anticipation. There was one perk to this business below the ground that The King had to attend to : it whipped his subject into such joyous fury that all the other lands knew it; knew it and feared it. No one ever attacked Avatar Country now; the army was fearsome, driven by single-minded, frenzied love of Their King. If an invading force made it past the populace, they had the shadowed, merciless King's Harvest to deal with. And if by some miracle, they were skilled enough to evade even The King's most deadly agents, they faced him, in all his furious, thundering glory. Powered by metal, The King's Flower became the scalpel of the Gods.

He strums a few notes, and already the freezing air is burning, scalding with potential energy. The King with his Flower is like a newborn star. The energy that just the beginning of his recharge outputs can light up the planet for a billion billion lifetimes. Just as it lights up the lives of Avatar Country's citizens, and their happiness in turn lights up the heart of Their King.

The playing grows louder, more complicated, and light the color of blood siphons off of the metal source. The beam shoots from one of its geometric surfaces, lancing across the room and flowing into the Flower. Already The King feels revitalized. His mind was elevated once more, able to swim through the refuse of ages effortlessly.

Louder, louder, louder, and then-

He hears the normally locked vault door thunk open, and The King unleashes his fury.

The whole room booms with red thunder. The power of metal and Flower and King is unmatched. Nothing in the realm was greater than The King. But the Propaganda Minister had been beside The King longer than anyone else in his Elite Orchestra. His destiny was almost as entwined with that of metal as that of The King. He had long since grown immune to its effects.

The Minister had his own thunder, though, one that was rare and sought after in Avatar Country; a gift from the Gods.

"My King, I've seen the light!" He exclaims, not immune to the mirth that the King's Flower poured upon the Citizens. They had played these tunes and sang these words a million times, in front of untold swaths of Avatar Country's people. For a moment, The King is back there, the first time the people had ever heard him play. The Minister had been right there with him. The two share a smile.

"Engines set to battle, let's go! I'm not afraid!

Come to me destruction!" He points a thin finger towards the chunk of metal, his birthmarked face stretched into a mask of unnerving glee. "And come whatever may!"

The knees of his unnaturally long legs hit the solid stone floor, the bristling energy of metal only a few feet away from his face. He kneels before The King. "I have roamed the planet, but I shall search no more! Raise this flag in victory!"

"What are you waiting for?"

The magnificent flag of Avatar Country, the nation and haven The Minister had helped him build, unfurls on a sheer face of rock on the other side of the cavern. Emblazoned with the red and gold and black of The King's lion aspect, and A for Avatar Country, it engulfs the entire surface, nearly forty feet in width. It glows like the sun, further incensing The King. He slides into the rhythm of his own Flower, faster now, smoother.

The Minister is not done yet.

"Spread your wings of flame and sorrow. Time to rise, for our tale has just begun!" he goads. One hand on the King's flexing, caped shoulder.

"Take this land as your loved one . . ."

Another flag billows out, pride and power shimmering off of its every golden thread.

"You were born a legend!"

Tonight, the whole world knows the legend of The King.