Rain swept across the edge of the Southern Crescent as the group camped beneath the jagged cliffs outside Velmire. Alaric sat sharpening his blade beneath the shallow alcove of stone, his gaze distant. The fire crackled low, and the storm above roared like an ancient beast.
Then thunder rolled again—but this time, it wasn't the sky.
Lightning tore down in a single, controlled strike just paces from the camp. The air burned with ozone as a familiar silhouette stepped from the dissipating charge.
Kael.
His cloak was scorched at the edges, and his bronze bracers pulsed with veins of silver-blue energy. The Thundercore embedded in his chest glowed faintly, refracting stormlight across his face.
"You're late," Alaric muttered, but there was no bite in his voice.
Kael grinned, brushing dust off his shoulder. "Fashionably."
Lysera was on her feet in a heartbeat, arms crossed and eyes narrowing. "You disappeared during a Voidbinder ambush."
"I didn't disappear," Kael replied, walking closer. "I was chosen. The Storm Shrine recognized my bloodline. My mother's legacy. It forced the Trial of Veins—no food, no rest, only lightning." His expression darkened for a moment. "But I survived it. Barely."
Alaric stood. "So you're different now?"
Kael flexed his fingers, and the air shimmered. Not raw lightning—but coiled force, quiet and lethal.
"More than different," Kael said. "I am the storm."
A beat of silence passed, then Alaric stepped forward and clasped Kael's forearm with a nod. "Good. We'll need it."
Their moment was cut short as an eagle-feathered scout burst into the clearing, panting.
"Voidbinder agents breached the Velmire court. They've taken High Consul Drevan hostage."
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "Velmire's next. We move now."
Meanwhile: In the Court of Velmire
Maeryn stood among the columns of the marbled audience chamber, her cloak flaring like ink. Around her, the nobles had been bound by bands of corrupted aether. Lord Varen watched her from the dais with an expression of furious calculation.
"You expect this rebellion to last?" Varen spat. "You've traded honor for power. What are you now?"
Maeryn stepped forward, and the Voidflame in her veins shimmered like frozen starlight.
"I am what this empire made me. What it feared I'd become." Her voice was cold and regal. "And now I speak for the forgotten—those left to die during your High Council's purges. This isn't rebellion, Varen. It's judgment."
He tried to rise, but Maeryn's gaze pressed him down like gravity.
"You can't hope to hold Velmire," Varen growled.
"I don't need to hold it," Maeryn said, turning away. "I only needed the sealstone vault. You've already given me what I came for."
Behind her, a dark-robed figure with obsidian tattoos stepped forward—one of the Voidbinder lieutenants. They cradled a cracked relic in their hands: the Sigil of Echoes, once buried beneath Velmire's throne.
"Prepare for extraction," Maeryn ordered. "Alaric will come."
The lieutenant bowed.
"And when he does," Maeryn whispered to herself, "he'll see what I've become."
Back With the Main Group
That night, as they crossed the stormlit plains, Lysera spoke quietly to Alaric as Kael scouted ahead.
"Are we ready for this?"
"No," Alaric answered without hesitation. "But we never are. That's why we keep moving."
She studied him for a moment. "You've changed too."
Alaric didn't respond immediately. He watched the distant lights of Velmire flicker like dying stars.
"I have to be," he said. "The Mythforged path doesn't allow weakness."
Their shadows stretched long behind them.
The war had only begun.
End of Chapter 44