Night in Velmire was never silent.
The city beneath the palace shimmered with torchlight and quiet song, but the palace itself was held in a taut hush, like the air before a lightning strike. Kaelen stood at the highest tower of the Stormspire, the balcony catching the scent of coming rain.
He had slept little since the shadowed figure warned him in the garden.
He had slept even less since the royal chamber's fire had flared blue when he walked past it.
He was being watched.
Or worse—measured.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
A voice: low, amused. "It's always the towers with you."
Kaelen didn't turn immediately. "And it's always the shadows with you, Zevien."
The wind prince stepped beside him, robes billowing as if in a breeze only he felt. "I like heights. And secrets. They suit me."
Kaelen studied his brother. "You knew."
Zevien smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I knew something. The day you disappeared, I remember Mother sealed her war fan in the vaults. That fan only opened when all four elements were in balance. When you vanished, the air stilled."
Kaelen looked out over the courtyard, remembering the alleyways and rooftops he had once ruled as a thief.
"I'm not sure I belong here."
Zevien was quiet for a moment. Then: "Seris is trying to gather allies against you. She's subtle, but she's burning the court slowly."
"I know."
"Aedric's colder than ever."
"I know."
"And Father…"
Kaelen turned. "What about Father?"
Zevien's voice dropped. "He's dying."
Kaelen's breath caught. "What?"
"It's not public. Not even the high council knows. But I saw the royal physician leave his chambers three times this week. He has bloodroot sickness. It eats from the inside."
Kaelen reeled. "So the throne—"
"Will be decided sooner than we thought."
And the game, Kaelen realized, had already begun.
POV: Seris
The Hall of Glass was lit with sunstone lanterns that caught every reflection, every flaw.
Seris sat at its center, surrounded by a select group of advisors. One was her cousin Alenia of the Ember Fold. Another was Sir Valtor, commander of the Flameguard. The last was High Justice Maren, whose allegiance was bought with gold and fear.
"He's gaining favor," Alenia warned. "The lower council speaks of Kaelen as the 'Stormborne Prince.'"
Seris slammed her fist on the table. "He has done nothing! No victories in war, no treaties signed, no courts swayed. And yet he walks like a ghost in our father's shadow, and they see a storm-king."
Sir Valtor leaned in. "Then let us test him."
Maren raised an eyebrow. "A trial?"
"Not a trial," Seris said slowly. "A demonstration. A mission. One he cannot refuse, one he cannot fake."
Alenia smiled. "And if he fails?"
Seris's eyes glinted like the edges of flame. "Then the storm passes. And the fire remains."
Kaelen's Mission
The next day, the king summoned Kaelen alone.
The old man sat cloaked in furs despite the summer heat, his once-strong frame now thinner, paler.
"My son," he said with a weak smile.
Kaelen bowed. "You summoned me, Your Majesty."
Theron waved a hand. "Drop the titles. I summoned my son, not my subject."
There was silence, and then the king handed him a scroll.
Kaelen unrolled it.
A report of raids near the Ardent Border. Mercenaries burning grain fields, abducting villagers. Signs pointed to the Breakspire Clan—old enemies of Velmire, long thought broken.
"I want you to lead a peace envoy," the king said. "And if peace fails... I trust you'll handle what follows."
Kaelen looked up. "Is this a test?"
The king's eyes narrowed. "Everything in this place is a test."
Kaelen nodded slowly. "I'll go."
As he left, the queen emerged from the shadow behind the king's chair.
"You're sure about this?" she asked.
"He needs to be tempered," Theron said. "Fire has its forge. Thunder has the storm."
POV: Aedric
Aedric read the scroll in his private study again and again.
Kaelen sent to Ardent.
Seris had orchestrated it—he could feel her fingerprints on the plot. She wanted Kaelen out of the palace, vulnerable.
And perhaps... dead.
Aedric was no friend to Kaelen. But he was no friend to chaos either.
He summoned Captain Veyra, commander of the Ice Guard. "Send scouts ahead of the prince. Quietly. If the Breakspire Clan has truly returned, I want eyes on every movement. If not…"
"Sabotage?" Veyra asked.
Aedric looked to the frost-glass window.
"Then someone wants a prince to disappear."
The Journey to Ardent
Kaelen rode with a small company—twelve guards, two court scribes, and a fire mage from Seris's own retinue, conveniently placed.
The road to Ardent was long and winding, carved into cliffs and edged by rivers.
Zevien had ridden with him for the first day, offering sardonic commentary and wind-woven stories.
"Remember when we snuck into the vault as kids?" Zevien asked, eyes on the horizon.
"No," Kaelen said. "Because I wasn't there."
The wind prince fell silent. "Right."
"I was in a gutter," Kaelen added. "Stealing bread. Fighting dogs for scraps. The vault? That wasn't my life."
Zevien didn't respond. Eventually, he turned back to the capital.
Attack at Dusk
Three days into the journey, the convoy reached a bridge over the Serrow Ravine.
That's when the arrows flew.
Kaelen dove from his horse as two of his guards fell, bolts lodged in their throats.
Breakspire warriors in rusted armor surged from the trees.
Kaelen's instincts kicked in. Thunder danced at his fingertips.
"Protect the scribes!" he shouted, summoning lightning into his palm.
The fire mage beside him lit the trees ablaze—recklessly, nearly torching their own supply carts.
Kaelen moved through the chaos, his storm magic lashing like a whip, searing flesh and shattering blades. The air thundered with each strike.
But the enemy was too many.
Until the wind howled.
And arrows began flying—from the other direction.
Aedric's scouts emerged from the ridge, freezing the river below and forming a bridge of ice for retreat.
Kaelen turned to see Veyra nodding. "Lord Aedric sent us."
Kaelen muttered under his breath, "Didn't think he cared."
Veyra replied, "He doesn't. But he hates failure."
POV: Kaelen – That Night
The campfire crackled.
Kaelen stared into the flames, a line of blood crusting along his temple. The lightning still hummed beneath his skin.
He had killed six men. Maybe more.
And he had saved twice as many.
The fire mage, Aria, approached cautiously. "You fight like a tempest."
Kaelen didn't answer.
She crouched beside him. "I heard stories. That thunder couldn't be wielded. That it would consume the bearer."
Kaelen whispered, "It almost did."
"Then why come back?"
He looked at her. "Because I want to know who sent me to die."
And as the storm clouds rolled overhead, Kaelen knew one thing for certain.
This was no border skirmish.
This was a warning.