The skies above Ashenreach had cleared, but tension still clung to the streets like the remnants of a passing storm. Walls had been rebuilt, wards reforged, and yet—there was an uneasy quiet. Rumors whispered of deeper enemies, of traitors among nobles, and of Vaelion, the ghost of a forgotten age returned with fire in his wake.
But hope, however fragile, arrived on the wind.
A sudden pulse of lightning cracked through the clouds—and from its wake descended a single figure, cloak flaring, spear in hand.
Kael had returned.
Aether crackled around him as his boots hit the courtyard stones outside the war tent. The guards snapped to attention, and the stormhound pups—barely trained—whined and rolled over submissively at his feet.
Alaric stepped from the tent, arms folded, brow raised.
"You're late," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Kael grinned. "You try fighting your own repressed trauma shaped into a flying lizard made of lightning."
"I have. His name was Lord Theron."
Lysera emerged, arms crossed. "You smell like ozone and recklessness."
Kael bowed mockingly. "Thundercore awakened, ego fully inflated."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. The trio stood together once more—not as rookies tossed into chaos, but as emerging legends in their own right.
Alaric clapped a hand on Kael's shoulder. "You passed it, then. All the way?"
Kael nodded. "The core's stabilized. My affinity is complete—storm, wind, and lightning. I can feel the currents even when I sleep."
Alaric's eyes gleamed with approval. "Then we'll need that power soon."
Kael's expression turned serious. "What happened while I was gone?"
The smile on Alaric's face faded.
"The Voidbinders struck the lower district. Not a direct assault—more like a test. They were watching us. They wanted to know how we'd respond."
Lysera added, "And worse—they knew exactly where our strongest wards were weakest. Someone inside the Council's upper tier is feeding them information."
Kael's jaw clenched. "That means this is more than war. It's rot from within."
Later That Night — Inside the War Tent
The three gathered over maps lit by faint aetherlight. Scouts had returned with fragments of sigils, corrupted relics, and torn pieces of Voidbinder banners stitched from shadow-woven silk.
"I think Maeryn's next move will be personal," Lysera murmured. "She's not the same anymore. Something inside her has changed."
Kael nodded grimly. "When I fought her during the skirmish weeks ago, she was calm. Controlled. But now? She's unstable—there's too much Titan influence in her essence."
Alaric leaned forward. "If she's losing herself, she'll either become the Voidbinders' most dangerous weapon… or their greatest liability."
They fell into silence.
Then Kael snorted.
"What?" Alaric asked.
Kael grinned. "It's just... I nearly died in a sky-maelstrom fighting a memory beast from my own core. You two fought off assassins, nobles, and literal shadow cultists. And now we're just… sitting here, plotting like old war generals."
Lysera smirked. "I've already accepted my inevitable silver hair and war-scar."
Alaric raised a hand. "Speak for yourselves. I plan to still be devastatingly handsome when I'm a Celestial-tier sage."
They all laughed—tension easing for a moment.
Epilogue — The Echo of Thunder
Outside the city, storm clouds gathered again—not of weather, but war.
Far above, in the ruins of Skyreach where Kael's trial had ended, a sliver of the sky cracked—and something watched.
The Thundercore had awakened.
But so too had ancient things long sealed.
End of Chapter 42