Defiant, sharp-toothed, beady-eyed Bunnit faced lumbering, horned, spiked-fisted Slobos, each waiting for the other to move first. Then it occurred to Arsene that he didn't speak Giant, the Slobos probably didn't speak Bunnit, having never met a Bunnit before, and that nobody could hear or see anything through the blizzard anyway. The Slobos seemed to realise the same thing after a few seconds longer. He turned around to his retinue, held up his arm, roared some orders and gestured for them to follow him as he started walking back towards the ancient stone building. He motioned for Arsene to follow and the Bunnit loped along after him, grateful to be allowed out of the cold. He wanted to curl up in a ball, preferably in a pile of cushions or at least a burrow of earth, and sleep until he didn't feel as though he were about to die, but he knew he still couldn't relax. Just because the giants hadn't killed him on sight didn't make them friendly. For all he knew, they might just want somewhere slightly warmer and drier to eat him. He prayed to the Bionis that one half-frozen Bunnit wasn't a considered large or nutritious enough snack.
The door rumbled shut behind them, plunging them into darkness. Arsene realised that it was opening and closing automatically. He wondered briefly what kind of technology, magic or a combination of the two could power such a thing in a bleak, storm-wracked spot in the middle of nowhere. Torches flared up all around the walls, revealing a neatly carved square corridor that would have been quite narrow to a Slobos but had an intimidatingly high ceiling to a Bunnit. The chamber at the end of the corridor was vast, also lit by torches. Sounds from the mountain echoed through the walls, the mournful howling of the wind, water dripping from an unknown source, the chittering and scrabbling of subterranean animals in other caverns close by. At the far end was a gigantic stone chest, or maybe some creature's sarcophagus. In the middle of the chamber was a circular stone table and chairs sized for Sloboses. Marcus bade Arsene sit, then settled down himself.
To his complete astonishment, the Bunnit was not the only person around that table who was not a Slobos.
Bunnits had lived in the same world as a myriad other species as intelligent as themselves for millennia. Although it was obvious to them that Bunnits were the superior species (sometimes there were wars over which was the superior sub-species out of Bunnits, Bunnivs and Bunnias but the fighting never went on that long, as they didn't really like each other's climates enough to invade each other), they were willing to believe that pretty much any new thing they met should be granted the status of a person. There were limits, though, and he had never met a friendly Mechon, ever. On the other hand, he had also never seen a Mechon sit on a chair and had not believed them structurally capable of such an act. True, the old, battered-looking Mechon wasn't really sitting down so much as hovering close to the chair with its leg joints bent a little, leaning on a rifle almost as big as itself for balance, but Arsene hadn't even thought a Mechon could conceive of the notion of sitting peacefully at a table with other species. A black-haired Behemoth also curled itself around one of the tables, spiky tail tucked in as best as it could, reminding Arsene of a sleeping cat, albeit an enormous, ravenous beast of a cat with spikes along its back and tail, a hungry look in the almost invisible eyes on its armoured, horned head. Arsene sat as far away from the Behemoth as possible.
The Slobos growled something at the Mechon, who replied in Slobos, then started beeping and whirring. After a few seconds, he began speaking in Bunnit.
"Translation matrix updated to include Bunnit, Bunnia dialect," he declared, "Greetings, your presence has been cleared by security. My name is Ancient Daedalus. Also present are Final Marcus and Blizzard Belzegaas," he indicated the Slobos and the Behemoth, who didn't both to look up, "Currently absent is the dragon Avalanche Abaasy."
Arsene blinked. He had heard of Abaasy, the Dragon of the Abyss. As far as he knew, the destroyer God was a myth. The firm belief that the Abaasy ought to turn up to their official meetings only reinforced Arsene's belief that these people were utterly insane. No wonder the giants are in turmoil, he thought to himself, if these maniacs are in charge.
Marcus growled something again and the Mechon translated, "Final Marcus apologises for his need for translation. He is attempting to learn Bunnit but the language is very dissimilar to Slobos, so it is taking longer than expected."
"Let me introduce myself in turn. I am Arsene. I am a valid contender for the Imperial Throne of Bunnitdom and therefore authorised to speak for all of Bunnitdom," said the Bunnit, resting his mace on the table to represent his peaceful intention, "You seem to have been expecting me, even though my journey was unannounced. Why is this?"
"You seem to be here, even though you did not know we were expecting your presence. Why is this?" Daedala translated for an amused-looking Marcus. Arsene explained about his visions, hoping that the three strangers would be suitably impressed at his Imperial legacy.
"That is certainly a Unique talent," replied Daedala, apparently translating for Belzegaas this time. The way the Mechon emphasised the word 'Unique', it was clearly a significant word to them somehow, "It sounds like you have some sort of limited access to the Monado. I must try and contact Abaasy, to see if he can verify whether it is truly Monado energy coursing through you. If your claims are true, it could be very useful to us, assuming you could be trusted to work with us against both the Great Threat and any possible threats from the Bionis itself."
Arsene wasn't sure if he wanted to admit he had no idea what a Monado or a Great Threat was, or why anyone would think the Bionis was personally threatening them. The phrases sent a shiver up his spine, though.
"I did not come to join you. I came to inform you that your endless wars with the Arachnos are damaging our lands and disrupting our lives, and asking you to fight elsewhere. If this is not possible, I propose an alliance, so that we may easily crush your enemy, whereupon you must try and live in peace."
This took a while to translate. Marcus' brow suddenly furrowed, his eyes lit up and he bared his teeth in a loud growl. Arsene couldn't tell if he was angry, amused or excited.
"Final Marcus is not sure you understand the meaning of your vision, or are twisting its meaning to fit your own personal political goals," Daedala told him, "He is also not sure if you understand giant politics."
"I understand that you are losing the war," said Arsene bluntly, "We see you fight every day, and we understand well how desperate your situation is. That is why we propose an alliance. Arachno are impossible to negotiate with, and they will overrun us next. The only way to bring peace is an alliance. Bunnits are stronger than their size would indicate, and ferocious in battle, the conquerors of many other species."
"And would you conquer us once the dust settles, and we are still weakened? Would you attempt to conquer the Arachno?" translated Daedala, "No matter. Marcus does not actually lead the giants, in battle or in politics. He has one particular role: that of the Final. You should ask elsewhere about your alliance."
"I risked everything to come to the Mountain, where Bunnits do not go, and I will not go away empty-handed!" Arsene hissed.
"I repeat: you do not understand the meaning of your vision," insisted Daedala.
"Then why was I sent up here so urgently, if not to save my entire species?"
"Our war will not go on too much longer. You have a bigger threat to worry about," Daedala's optical sensors flashed red, "You already know what it is."
"The only thing more disruptive than giants happens to be Mechon, and..." Arsene began, then he stopped mid-tirade of insults, his eyes widening. He suddenly realised what the Slobos had to be talking about. The other visions. They had all featured the same things, and it had terrified the Bunnit a lot more than insane giants and clearly faulty Mechon.
"The Homs. And the Nopon," Arsene whispered, "And the Blue Blade of Death."
"It's called the Monado," Daedala told the Bunnit, "And we call the people in control of the Monado, including the Homs and the Nopon, the Great Threat."
"How can they be such a threat? There are only a small number of them, and everyone knows Homs aren't very dangerous. Are... are there going to be more Nopon?"
"You underestimate the potential of Homs, but that is beside the point. These Homs are a very different matter."
Marcus interrupted the Mechon again, his voice sounding urgent.
"I have just been informed that Abaasy is returning, and has ordered us to wait for him to arrive before we explain things to you. Meeting him is considered the ultimate honour," he told Arsene, "So clean yourself up and dry your fur."
