The two tribes stood together on the open plain between their old territories. It was a strange sight. Ursine and Shungmo, generations of hatred between them, now forced into an uneasy silence side-by-side. The only thing unifying them was the shared, terrified awe of the man standing before them.
I looked over the crowd. Hundreds of bear-folk, large and small, all waiting for my word. This was my workforce. My first subjects. And they were hopelessly disorganized.
"The conflict between you is over," I began, my voice carrying easily to the back of the crowd. Every ear was tilted my way. "That means you are one people now. Under my rule. And one people should not live divided across a dangerous wilderness."
I pointed a finger toward the distant, barren horizon where my cathedral stood. "There. That is where we will build. That will be the heart of our new home."
A wave of uneasy murmuring went through the crowd. The Ursine Captain and the Shungmo Chief exchanged a worried glance before the Captain found his courage to speak.
"My Lord..." he started, his voice hesitant. "That land... it is barren. Cursed, some say. There is no water. No trees for shelter or fuel. Not even grass for grazing. It is a place of stone and dust. Sustaining even a small group there would be... impossible."
The Shungmo Chief nodded in grim agreement, his one eye full of concern. "It is true, Great One. The land is dead. We would not last a season."
I smiled. A small, calm smile that did nothing to ease their worries.
"I know," I said simply. "I have seen it. The lack of water, the absence of life... it is all very... tedious. But it is also a blank canvas. And I will take care of it. So," I clapped my hands together once, the sound sharp and final. "Pack everything. Every tool, every possession, every scrap of food. You are leaving these old villages behind. Bring it all here."
The silence that followed was stunned. They just stared. Leave their homes? Their only sources of shelter and meager resources? To go to a dead land? It was a death sentence.
But they had also seen me rip a heart from a chest and put it back. They had seen me black out the sun. The order was insane, but the one giving it was a god.
Without another word of complaint, they moved. The two chiefs started barking orders, and the tribes dispersed, heading back to their respective villages to gather their entire lives.
The scene shifted to the Shungmo village. A small Shungmo child, her fur still fluffy and white, clutched her mother's hand tightly as they packed a small bundle of woven herbs.
"Do we have to move, Mama?" she whispered, her voice small and scared.
Her mother stopped, her own fear hidden behind a mask of calm for her daughter. She knelt down. "Yes, little one. Lord Hades has ordered it. So we must."
The little Shungmo's grip tightened until her small claws pricked her mother's palm. "We... we won't die, right?"
Just then, the Shungmo Chief walked past. He heard the question and paused. His stern face, usually set in a permanent scowl, softened just a fraction. He reached down and ruffled the fur on the little one's head.
"Of course not," he said, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard it. "Lord Hades would protect us. He has power we cannot even dream of. If he says we will live there, then we will live there."
The child's mother looked up at her chief, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. She gave him a respectful nod. "Chief."
He just grunted in response and moved on, his mind already racing with the logistics of moving an entire tribe.
The scene shifted again, to the Ursine village. A group of young Ursine kits looked back at the rough-hewn wooden huts they had grown up in. This was their whole world. One of them, a braver kit, picked up a small, smooth stone from the ground and pocketed it, a tiny piece of home to take with him. They didn't understand the politics or the fear. They only knew they were leaving, and they followed the adults as they began the long walk back to where the strange god-like man waited.
I watched them return. It took time, but eventually, the entire population of both tribes was gathered before me again, this time surrounded by piles of their belongings—rough sacks, tools, rolled-up hides, and meager baskets of food. They looked like refugees. Lost, afraid, and completely dependent on my will.
"Good," I said, looking over my people and their pitiful piles of stuff. "Now, the tedious part is over."
I didn't need a grand spell. I didn't need to shout. I just... decided.
I snapped my fingers.
The sound was crisp and clean in the quiet air.
The ground beneath our feet erupted in light. A colossal, intricate magic circle, glowing with a dark, royal purple energy, flared to life. Ancient, powerful inscriptions swirled within it, spinning and locking into place. The light shot upward, enveloping every single person, every single belonging, in a pillar of shimmering violet energy.
There was no sensation of movement. There was only a sudden, violent shift in scenery.
One moment, we were on the windy plain between the two villages.
The next, the light vanished, and we were all standing outside the crumbling cathedral in the heart of the barren lands. The dry, dusty air was exactly the same. But the view was completely different.
For a second, there was absolute silence.
Then, the gasps started. Then the cries of shock and disbelief. People stumbled, looking around wildly, clutching their children. They were here. In the dead lands. In the blink of an eye.
The old Ursine elder dropped his staff, his jaw hanging open. The Shungmo Chief just stared, his one eye wide enough to pop out of his head.
"T-Teleportation...?" the old Ursine stammered, his scholarly knowledge screaming in conflict with what he had just experienced. "But... but such magic... it is a legend! It cannot be used on living beings! The strain would... it would..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. The evidence was standing all around him, dizzy but very much alive.
They weren't just astonished. They were broken. Every single law of magic and reality they thought they understood had just been rewritten before their eyes. They looked at me not just with fear or awe, but with the dawning, terrifying realization that for me, the impossible was just a starting point.
I stood before the doors of the old cathedral, my new subjects and all their worldly goods piled around me in the dust.
"Welcome," I said, a slight smile on my lips. "To your new home."