The wind howled across the shattered plains near Thalenreach, pulling black banners and tattered leaves into the air. Refugees from Varenthal were still arriving, but tonight, something else rode the storm.
Alaric stood at the broken gates of a half-crushed outpost—only half-listening to the reports from his scouts. His mind was still reeling from the political games Varen was playing. But then, the air changed.
The clouds didn't just churn; they screamed.
A bolt of lightning, blinding and unnaturally wide, crashed into the field beyond the outpost—without thunder.
And from the scorched crater, a figure emerged.
His hair was a cascade of silver-white, flowing with static. A long stormcloak whipped behind him as thunder cracked with every step. His eyes were like stormglass—cold, flashing, ancient. At his side, a jagged spear hummed with celestial charge.
Lysera's fingers twitched toward her dagger. "Who in the Skybreaker's name is that?"
"I know that aura," Alaric muttered, stepping forward.
The man stopped a few paces away, raising one gloved hand in greeting. "I am Kael Darven, son of Darven the Wolfking... and heir to the Stormline."
Alaric's brow furrowed. "Your father died in the Titan Wars. He had no heir."
Kael smirked. "Not in the north. But my mother was of the Vhaili — the Skyward Blood. She bore storms before I was born."
Elsewhere: In the Rift's Shadow
Maeryn stood before the rift, flanked by a dozen Voidbinders. She had no need for sleep now — the Titan essence burned sleep from her blood. But the rift's pulse... it was changing. As if something else had awakened.
Then she felt it.
A rival inheritance.
One not born of Titans... but of sky, storm, and oath-bound wrath.
Her eyes narrowed.
Back at Thalenreach: Temporary Allies
Inside the war tent, Kael stood beside Alaric and Lysera, lightning still crackling across his shoulders.
"You want to face Maeryn?" he asked. "Then you'll need someone who understands storms. The essence inside her—it calls down ruin. But mine? It repels it."
Lysera crossed her arms. "And what's in it for you?"
Kael grinned. "Revenge. The Voidbinders killed my mother. They hunt those born with storm cores... because they fear we can collapse rifts."
Alaric studied him. Kael's aura wasn't just strong—it was wild. An untempered Tempest Core, likely fused with ancient Skyshard aether. The raw destructive capability would match his own fire core — and possibly exceed it if left unchecked.
But war demanded chaos.
And chaos needed lightning.
"Then welcome to the Crucible," Alaric said. "We march tomorrow."