The howling wind raged fiercer than normal today, as if the elements themselves were aware of the momentous significance of this day. The skies were a dark crimson hue, shrouded with black clouds as it always was before a storm. The tempest carried with it sand and stones, flying in all directions and beating relentlessly against trees, buildings, and what few dared to venture out on a day such as this. The streets of Den'khar'a were nearly empty, most of them were already at the place of convening. Those who were still walking quickened their pace and drew their cloaks further over their heads to protect themselves from the merciless barrage of the storm. There was reason to take cover, such storms were fierce and when they subsided it was not uncommon to find bodies in the street, drenched in blood and beaten to death by the debris the winds carried.

Terthill watched the streets empty as he strode through the dark shadows cast by the tall buildings. The storm would not prevent him from reaching his destination. The noise was all he could hear, a hideous screaming sound as the wind whipped through the catacombed cliffs overlying the city. Many said it was the voice of the planet itself, crying out in fury. Storms came on fast and without warning, almost as if nature itself held eternal blood lust. And there were always dead after a storm, this was certain.

As he walked more quickly the wind changed, it now blew directly against him. He could feel the stinging sand pelting his face. Terthill had to brace himself against a wall, but only for a moment. Driving his staff into the ground he pulled himself forwards, walking with its help to avoid being completely overtaken. But even then the wind seemed to gain speed, it blew faster and harder, making it more difficult for Terthill to keep his feet planted on the ground. As he turned a corner a stone flew at him, driven by the wind to the speed of a flying spear. It struck him directly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to wince with pain. For a while it looked like he might turn back. But Terthill stood his ground. Then looking up at the heavens, he began to laugh. "Is that all you can do to fight me?" he challenged, "Is this the full extent of your strength?"

Terthill no longer leaned on his staff, but flung it to the ground, and raising his arms up to the skies above cast aside his cloak, his only protection against the storm. His head was now exposed and a barrage of projectiles swarmed at him, but he was oblivious to these attacks. "You cannot defeat me!" Terthill cried out to the heavens, "I am a warrior! I am Khynah!"

Terthill's defiant laughter rang throughout the streets, heard even above the sound of the wind. He picked up his staff and swung it in front of him, as if daring the elements to approach. He strode forwards now, the talons affixed to the end of his staff seeming to cleave the storm winds before him. The steps of the Great Hall were ahead; this was where he must go. Climbing the steps Terthill did not falter, despite the efforts of the winds to knock him to the ground. There were over two hundred steps to the entrance but it was a journey he had made many times before. But today it was different; it was time for the Convening. Once every seven years each of the Khynah factions from throughout Den'a would send their Vel I'cosh to the Great Hall, where the Convening would occur. This was a great time for the Khynah, a time of unification and strength as a whole.

The maw of the gateway to the hall opened up before him as he reached the top, hundreds of meters tall. This hall was among the proudest of buildings on Den'a; Terthill's heart filled with pride as he gazed upon its massive doorways, its detailed carvings which despite wear from the storms still held their strength and clarity, chronicling great moments in the history of the planet. Just to the right of him, Terthill looked upon a likeness of the warrior Gen'ahr driving his blade through the heart of Malkahr the Traitor after his forces had been betrayed to Gul Telin of Cardassia. That very night the army of Gul Telin stormed Gen'ahr's camp, pitting over eight hundred Cardassians against ninety-four Khynah warriors. Even though they saw death coming, not a single man left Gen'ahr's side, each of them stayed to fight to the death. It was said that by Gen'ahr's hand alone over one hundred fell within an hour. And although many lives were lost that fateful night, Gen'ahr's forces killed every attacking Cardassian, so that after the battle the rocky ground of the plains was covered with corpses, blood flowing across the ground in rivers. Looking on this great sight, Gen'ahr summoned the fourteen men who had survived and bade them look. "This," he said, "Is what it is to be Khynah." Those immortal words were carved just below, and although spoken over one hundred years ago they still held the same power as they did to those fourteen who heard them first.

Terthill looked around him, proud to be a part of such a glorious heritage as this. After the battle Gen'ahr had served as First on High for twenty-three years, an unparalleled time since the structure had been established centuries ago. He had lived to preside over three Convenings, while many in the position never lived to see one. This was the first Convening for Terthill since he had proven his worthiness to be First on High, but he had been Vel I'cosh from his faction for far longer than that. Now the time had come. Terthill stepped inside, looking behind him one last time at the storm still raging outside the hall. Then he turned his back and walked down the long, torchlit corridor inside, the sound of breaking thunder and screaming winds dying down slowly until they were no more.

Terthill's two attendants greeted him as he entered his chamber adjacent to the hall where the Convening would be. The room itself was small in comparison to most other rooms in the Great Hall, perhaps the size of a ship's bridge. It was sparsely furnished, bare stone walls visible in most areas. A statue stood in one corner in the likeness of a diving bird of prey, its wings outstretched and dark red gemstones for its eyes, glittering in the dim light. In another was a rack for his ceremonial vestments which he traditionally donned in matters of state. Several torches hanging on the wall provided the only light; they had been lit prior to his arrival and would burn for at least eight hours. Their wood was soaked in the blood of the nendar kith, a ferocious beast that inhabited the main continent. Their blood burned long and was used commonly as oil in houses. Windows were rare on Den'a, especially in this area, as the sun emitted a dark red light which was difficult to see in. Usually in Den'khar'a there was just enough light to see by when one was outside, so Khynah eyes adjusted to the dark from a very early age. Often the only reminder of the sun at all was the heat, beating down at all hours of the day. Besides, windows were a liability when the storms reached their peak.

Terthill placed his staff to the side and took his robes from them, donning its flowing crimson folds and attaching the shoulder pieces on each side. There was no mirror in the room; this would be unfitting, and he did not need it. He took up his boots to be worn with the robe, each made of solid metal, as the garb of a warrior should be. Removing the various jeweled rings from his fingers and placing them in a strongbox to the side of the door, he placed his taloned hands into each of the gauntlets, he took up the staff from the wall. It too was made of metal, wrapped with thick fibers from a vine which grew on the continent. It was one of the only species of plant which could live in Den'a's harsh environment. On the end was a talon, the foretalon of Frh'yer. He was the last one to be First on High before Terthill had killed him in combat. He still wore the taava from Frh'yer's blade in his hair, but the talon held just as much, if not more, significance. As the closest to the handle of the blade, the talon of the forefinger was said to hold the warrior's spirit, and was often taken from the corpse of those slain in battle. The staff he held now had seen many talons on its end; when the time came when he could no longer defend his position then he would be killed, and his foretalon would take this one's place on the end of the First on High's staff.

One of his attendants came to his side when he had finished his preparations. "Aht'la, they are ready."

Gultenn stood ill at ease. The First on High's pedestal next to him was still occupied. He knew it was customary for the First on High to enter the Convening after all had been seated, but he hated to be made to wait. As Second on High, Gultenn had seen much of Terthill, and had seen he was arrogant and self-confident, both qualities expected from a First on High. He had much reason to exert his superiority; Terthill was the most powerful man on Den'a and leader of the Triumvirate. The Triumvirate, made up of himself, Terthill, and Third on High Sha'deval, met on regular intervals to decide important matters in the Khynah Empire and served as the ruling body for the entire Empire. Gultenn cast a glance at Sha'deval, whose pedestal, lower than his own, was on the opposite side of the First on High's. He did not trust him. Sha'deval was the sort who invited distrust; his shifty eyes and short hair made him look suspicious. He was lanky and thin but still a very powerful warrior, as his position mandated. Sha'deval was a formidable combatant and had served as Vel I'cosh from his faction for a long time and had been Third on High for nearly a year. Gultenn distrusted him as an opponent, eager to assassinate him and take his own job as Second on High, but there was something more than that. There was something personal about Sha'deval which he distrusted, something which he hated.

The doors behind the pedestals swung open, and everyone in the room turned to face them. Thousands of Khynah had come for this day, housed in the seats of the hall, which circled and spiraled out of sight like a huge amphitheater. Row after row was filled with spectators awaiting the beginning of the proceedings, each higher than the last, extending off into infinity. The flame pits on the floor in front of the pedestals provided the only light for the audience to see the proceedings, burning voraciously with unquenchable fury. This was a fervor which the crowd shared, cheering and screaming as the doors swung open and Terthill entered the hall.

"What was many is now one!" he boomed, as the wild applause of the audience reached its peak. The hall filled with the sounds of cheers, the stomping of feet and the beating of fists against stone as the thousands seated rose to join in the screams of enthusiasm. Terthill looked around with pride. At any other time any one of these men would gladly kill him, but not here, not now. This was a time when personal gain was forgotten, a time when the good of the whole was paramount. This was truly a time when the many became one.

The cheers of the crowd followed Terthill to the pedestal as he stepped onto it and took his place at the head of the floor. The raging flame pits behind him seemed to acknowledge his presence, flaring even higher until they threatened to engulf the floor. As he stood above them, Gultenn and Sha'deval each reached out with their hand to grasp the staff of Terthill. He extended it to each of them in turn, symbolizing the sharing of power within the Triumvirate. Each held it firmly as their eyes met Terthill's, and then all three of them turned to face the cheering rows of watchers, whose fervency it seemed would never end. Finally, the First on High raised his staff in a sweeping motion, holding it above his head, and the shouts and cheers gradually died down until they sat in eager near-silence save for murmurs and anticipatory discussion amongst themselves.

"Warriors of Den'a, the dawn of a great era is upon us! Long have we been oppressed by our enemies of the Alpha Quadrant, denied greatness as our people so truly deserve. But the Khynah cannot be defeated! We cannot be denied any longer!" At Terthill's last words the crowd once again broke into deafening screams and cheers, silenced only by Terthill after nearly a minute.

"As you know, only months ago our people were the target of an attack by our greatest enemy, those whose objective is to destroy the Khynah, to prevent our greatness so that power might be theirs alone. Through pretense of talk seek to eradicate us! Time and again they infiltrate our world, like cowards they kill our people; they sabotage our ships and destroy our every effort to rise to our rightful place in the galaxy! Much have we suffered at the hand of the United Federation of Planets!"

At the mention of the name the room was filled with a flood of boos and hisses with the scraping of talons on stone in fury.

"But soon, the power of attack shall be ours, and then we shall make them pay! Since Starfleet first destroyed our great warship five months ago we have labored unceasingly to rebuild what they have undone! Soon, the pride of the Khynah fleet will fly; soon our epprsi will earn its name!"

At this there was a wave of activity from the crowd. Many, it was clear, had heard nothing of this and expressed surprise amongst themselves, while others had been awaiting these words and emitted a great cheer. One Khynah in particular in the first row stood up from his seat.

"What difference does one ship make?" he demanded, "The Khynah are strong! I say we attack the Federation now! To wait is to encourage retaliation and more deceit on their behalf!"

Terthill addressed this dissenter. "The humans are strong, and despite their cowardice they have a formidable arsenal. We must wait until we can match them! To attack without preparation is the action of a Ferr'a'e ahwa!"

"Wait? Preparation?" the dissenter challenged, growing ever bolder as he strode from his seat to the floor to address Terthill, "You speak the words of a Federation Ambassador!"

A murmur of amusement sounded throughout the audience. Terthill growled at this challenger as he stepped down from his pedestal to meet him on the floor. "You are a fool!" he thundered, "It is through cunning and skill that we will triumph! The hunter must prepare for the hunt, lest he lose his prey through ignorance!"

"Indeed, you know much, First," sneered his opponent, dripping with hostile sarcasm, "Quite skilled in the 'Language of Diplomacy'."

The crowd roared with laughter at this audacious public insult, in which its instigator joined in, turning to face his public. "Our First on High is afraid to act! Listen to him, and he will turn Den'a into 'nutrahl zho'n'!"

The laughter only increased at this, but in this moment the challenger failed to look behind him. If he had, he would have seen what the crowd saw then as Terthill stalked towards him from behind holding his staff. In the midst of his mirth Terthill's challenger was about to turn around when his laughter was interrupted by a scream of intense pain. Blood spewed from the gaping hole reaching from his back to his chest as the life quickly left him. Looking down, the last thing he saw was the talon of Frh'yer protruding from his chest before he collapsed in a pool of his own blood on the floor.

"Nutrahl is dead!" cried Terthill, spearing the corpse on the ground with his staff and raising it above his head as the crowd roared their approval. He was quoting a Khynah axiom: to be unwilling to act, or "neutral" as the Terrans say, was to be as good as dead. Of course, in this situation it had a double meaning, the humor of which was not lost on the audience.

Terthill held his opponent above him for a moment and with one swift action swung his staff, causing the corpse to fly off the end. The body hurtled through the air, landing in the flame pit where it was immediately incinerated. "He has paid the price for his nutrahl'ty! The Khynah must not be like him! We are strong! We will succeed! We are Khynah!"

The last words Terthill spoke echoed throughout the gargantuan hall. There was a moment of silence, the first since the proceedings began. There was no one present who could not but feel pride from these words. Then the silence dissolved, as a peal of cheering rose from throughout the audience. It did not begin slowly, no one had need to wait to realize that these words were great. The wave of applause sounded simultaneously throughout the seats, engulfing the room, the city, the entire planet, in the magnificent roars and cheers from Khynah throughout the empire. All of them thought as one; they were one force of which even Terthill was a part. The First on High looked around the room at the congregation gathered. This was what made our people great, he thought, this is what makes us one. This is what it is to be Khynah.