Mufasa Bonano stood alone in the throne hall, and the throne behind him was empty. He was the last Bonano left on the planet Bonanon. His parents had died three days ago in a battle at the eastern gate, and he had lived. Now the crown of his people sat on a cold stone chair, and no one remained to tell him what to do with it. He gripped the lion-hide over his shoulders and swore one thing: he would build a world of order and peace, and he would raise warriors strong enough to keep it. But a king with no people is only a boy in armor. The keep around him proved it. Torches burned in the towers, and carved lions glared from the walls, yet the great stone building held no soldiers, no cooks, no guards. The blazing fire accents lit empty halls. His voice echoed and came back to him alone. Mufasa walked to the door of his father's chamber and stopped. He had not opened it since the battle. He pushed it wide. On a low table sat a heavy wooden chest, bound in dark iron and marked with proud lion carvings. He had seen it as a child but never touched it. His father had called it the trust of the family. He knelt and lifted the lid. Blue light spilled out. Inside lay a scroll, a horn, and a single carved lion the size of his hand. He unrolled the scroll. His father's writing filled it. "When we are gone, the last Bonano must not rule alone. Sound the horn. It calls those who swore the old oath." Mufasa carried the horn to the highest tower. He filled his chest with air and blew. A deep note rolled across the empty land. He waited. Nothing moved on the plains below. He blew again, and his arms shook. Still nothing came. Then he heard boots on the stairs. Slow, heavy, sure. A short, broad man climbed into the tower, an iron axe resting on his shoulder. His head was bald and his red beard reached his chest. He wore a viking coat lined with lion fur, the same as Mufasa's own. The man stopped, looked at the empty throne room below, then at the boy king. "You blew the horn," the man said. "So the old blood still stands." He dropped to one knee and set the axe on the stone. "I am Hercios Bonano. I swore to your father. Now I swear to you." Mufasa stared at him. One man. Not an army. Not the warriors he needed to build his peaceful world. But one loyal warrior was more than the nothing he had an hour ago. "Rise, Hercios," Mufasa said. "We have a world to build, and only the two of us to start." Hercios stood and gripped his axe. "Then we start today. But two men cannot hold a kingdom. We will need many more, and fast."