The sun hung low over Aramoor, bleeding its last light across the battered city as the Stormguard assembled for the first time.
In the courtyard beneath the Tower of Winds, Kael watched them gather—two hundred of the finest warriors, sorcerers, scouts, and healers from across the Five Houses. Some bore the proud crests of noble bloodlines; others, like Kael and Rynn, had carved their legends with grit and fire.
Each had sworn loyalty to the realm—and to him.
Yet Kael knew that loyalty could be fragile, and trust was not given lightly.
Beside him, Rynn leaned casually against a stone pillar, arms crossed. She surveyed the gathering crowd with a critical eye, noting tensions before they could spark.
"This lot looks ready to kill each other before the enemy even gets here," she muttered.
Kael gave a grim smile. "Then we forge them into something stronger."
He stepped forward, raising Veyrion high so that the blade caught the last rays of sunlight.
"Stormguard!" he called, his voice cutting through the murmuring.
Silence fell at once.
"You were not chosen for your bloodlines," Kael said, pacing slowly before them. "You were chosen because you survived. Because you fought when others fell. Because you endured when hope died."
He stopped in the center of the courtyard, meeting their gazes one by one.
"Our enemy rises in the east—a dark empire born of corruption and ancient evil. They believe we are weak. Broken."
He lowered Veyrion, pointing the blade toward the distant mountains.
"They will learn otherwise."
The courtyard shook with the roar of two hundred warriors slamming fists to breastplates, voices rising in a thunderous vow.
"Stormborn! Stormguard! Stormbreakers!"
Kael felt the blood of the Dragon King stirring in his veins, and for the first time, he welcomed it.
Forging the Blade
Training began at dawn.
Kael and Rynn moved through the ranks like specters, correcting stances, breaking up fights, and pushing the warriors beyond exhaustion. Spellcasters honed their arts until the very stones seemed to hum with residual magic. Blademasters clashed in duels that left the air sharp with ozone and the scent of scorched steel.
There was no mercy. No softness.
Only fire, and the steel that would be tempered within it.
Rynn took particular delight in humbling a pompous heir from House Marrowind—a wiry, sneering boy who underestimated her because of her slight frame.
In less than a minute, she had him flat on his back, his blade spinning across the courtyard.
She offered him a hand up—and yanked him back to his feet with a grin.
"Lesson one," she said. "Never assume you're the most dangerous person in the room."
Kael chuckled as the youth muttered an embarrassed thanks and limped away.
"You're terrifying," he told her later, when they paused for water.
She winked at him. "That's why you love me."
He couldn't argue.
The Assassin's Mark
The attack came three nights later.
Kael woke to a blade kissing the skin of his throat—a hair's breadth from slicing deep.
Only Rynn's warning shout—and Kael's instinctive reflexes—saved him.
He rolled from his bed just as a cloaked figure lunged. Veyrion was already in Kael's hand, singing as it slashed through the air.
The assassin was fast—inhumanly fast—but Kael was faster.
Their blades clashed in a blur of silver and sparks, driving the intruder back across the chamber. Rynn burst through the door moments later, twin daggers flashing.
The assassin hissed—a sound like breaking ice—and threw a vial to the ground. Smoke exploded, thick and choking.
When it cleared, the intruder was gone, leaving only a single black feather pinned to Kael's door.
A calling card.
Kael picked it up, frowning.
Rynn read the message inked into the feather aloud:
"You wear a crown of ash. Beware the price of fire."
Her voice was tight with anger.
"Whoever sent them," she said, "won't stop with warnings."
Kael nodded grimly.
He had been crowned a Champion.
But that title had painted a target on his back.
And somewhere beyond the ruined skyline of Aramoor, the architects of his downfall were already at work.
The black feather weighed heavily in Kael's pocket as he walked the corridors of the Tower of Winds. Every torch seemed to flicker at his passing, shadows dancing in corners where none should linger. He could not shake the feeling that unseen eyes tracked his every step.
At his side, Rynn strode silently, her posture rigid, hands hovering close to her daggers. They trusted no one now—no student, no master, no council member. Trust was a luxury they could no longer afford.
The assassin had gotten too close. Whoever had sent them had access, knowledge, and daring. And that meant one thing.
There was a traitor within the Academy.
Whispers and Clues
"Where do we start?" Rynn whispered as they entered one of the abandoned war rooms deep beneath the tower, a hidden place only the High Council was meant to access.
Kael lit a warded candle and unrolled a battered map across the table.
"We start by looking at who would gain the most from my death," he said grimly. "Who feels threatened by the rise of the Stormguard? Who fears the blood of the Dragon King returning to power?"
Rynn's brow furrowed. "Half the nobility, most of the archmages, probably even a few of the councilors."
Kael pointed to three names scrawled along the side of the map: Lord Varnek, Archmage Cyriss, and Master Torvane.
"These three," he said. "Each had influence before the old order crumbled. Each has reasons to want things... restored."
"And each is ruthless enough to hire assassins," Rynn added darkly.
A knock echoed through the chamber.
Both Kael and Rynn spun, weapons drawn.
A small figure crept inside—Syllen, the Academy's best informant. A wiry boy with quick hands and quicker eyes.
"I have something," he said, voice urgent. "You'll want to see this."
From inside his tunic, he produced a seal—a heavy iron ring bearing the sigil of House Varnek.
Kael's blood turned cold.
The Deeper Web
Under Syllen's guidance, Kael and Rynn slipped through the Tower's underbelly, moving through half-forgotten tunnels and dusty stairways. They emerged behind the old lecture halls—now turned into secret meeting places for conspirators.
Through a cracked door, they saw it: Lord Varnek himself, speaking in hushed tones with two cloaked figures.
Kael strained to listen.
"The boy must not ascend," Varnek was saying, his voice sharp. "The bloodline must be extinguished before the prophecy fulfills."
One of the cloaked figures spoke. "Another attempt failed."
"The High Council hesitates," Varnek hissed. "But we shall not. If we must sacrifice a hundred to save the Realm, so be it."
Kael felt Rynn tense beside him, fury radiating off her.
He shook his head slowly. Not yet.
They slipped away, unnoticed.
Tonight, they had confirmation.
Tomorrow, they would plan the reckoning.
The Reckoning
At dawn, Kael stood before the full Stormguard, armor gleaming, Veyrion across his back.
"We have been betrayed," he announced.
A murmur rippled through the ranks.
He told them everything—the assassination attempt, the conspiracy, the danger lurking within their own halls.
"We fight not only the darkness outside our walls," Kael said, voice rising. "We fight the rot within."
The Stormguard roared their approval, blades flashing in the early morning light.
Tonight, they would move against Varnek.
No courts. No politics.
Only justice.
Assault on the House of Silence
The House of Silence—Varnek's private manse—stood on the cliffs overlooking Aramoor's northern bay. Warded by ancient magics, guarded by mercenaries, it was a fortress built on paranoia and blood money.
Kael led the assault personally.
Under the cover of a storm, the Stormguard moved like wraiths, scaling the cliffs and breaching the walls in silent waves.
Kael struck first, Veyrion cleaving through enchanted steel.
Behind him, Rynn and a squad of spellcasters shattered the magical defenses with blasts of focused mana.
The manor's defenders barely had time to scream.
Kael fought his way through the halls, each step taking him closer to Varnek.
He found the lord in the grand solar, dressed in robes of black and crimson, clutching a staff carved from obsidian.
"You should have stayed hidden, boy," Varnek sneered, hurling a bolt of corrupted magic.
Kael deflected it with a sweep of Veyrion, the blade drinking in the dark energy.
"You threatened my people," Kael said coldly. "You tried to kill me. You betrayed the realm."
Varnek snarled and attacked, his staff crackling with raw sorcery.
The duel was fierce, shaking the very stones of the manor.
But Varnek was a relic of the old world—and Kael was the vanguard of the new.
With a final, devastating blow, Kael shattered Varnek's staff and drove Veyrion through the traitor's heart.
Varnek gasped, blood spilling from his lips.
"You... don't understand... what you've done," he choked. "You've awakened it."
Kael leaned close, voice low and deadly. "Then let it come."
He pulled the blade free.
Varnek fell, lifeless.
Ashes and Warnings
When the fighting ended, the manor was little more than a ruin.
Kael and Rynn stood together on the cliff's edge, watching the storm batter the sea below.
"This isn't over," Rynn said quietly.
Kael nodded. "No. Varnek was just the first."
Far below, in the depths of the churning water, something vast stirred—something ancient and hungry.
The blood of the Dragon King had returned.
And with it, the ancient enemies of the realm began to awaken from their long slumber.
Kael gripped Veyrion tighter.
Whatever monsters awaited them in the dark, he would face them.
Not alone.
Never alone.