Snow wandered down, riding the wind. Sozo had gone alone to scout ahead. His pace slowed as he emerged from the end of a trail, into a clearing gleaming in the sunlight. Suddenly, metal clanged beneath his feet muffed by a layer of snow. He shielded his eyes and scanned the expanse.
Swords and helmets protruded here and there, clusters of them exposed by the unusual midday warmth. As he looked about in wonder, his gaze fell on a small sign. He hurried over to it, careful not to step on a sword, then wiped off the snow and read, “All authority of nations ends here. A new order reigns in this territory and north to the sea. Cast down your stolen armor and dawn something new. A new life starts here.”
Sozo had heard of this place. A depository of Mythronian and Rainosian armor alike, on the very roof of the blacksmith shop where an outlaw joining the Coordinator could get new armor. He walked to the edge of the roof, overlooking the great valley of Bodus Minor.
Ruins. A few mended buildings were scattered throughout the ancient city, and a peppering of people milled about. A squad in matching attire marched the weathered streets. Eventually, Bodus Minor itself would be a testament to the power of this faction, not just this shrine on the top of a smith’s.
It wouldn’t be long before Sozo tossed aside the Mythronian chainmail that bound him. Indeed, he’d led his team to the city of their dreams and the goal was in sight.