Calen finished dressing and walked out of the military bathhouse, his steps steady and purposeful as his thoughts remained elsewhere—on the storm, his newfound power, and what it meant for his future.Meanwhile, the servant woman from earlier quickly exited the military bathhouse as well, clutching Calen’s oversized coat around her shoulders. She headed toward the correct servants’ bathhouse, her face still flushed with embarrassment. As she approached, she encountered a young soldier who appeared to be on cleaning duty near the servants’ quarters."Excuse me," she said, stopping him. "That man back there in the bathhouse... who is he?"The soldier raised an eyebrow, surprised by her ignorance. "You mean you don’t know? That’s Calen Storm. The son of Aldric Storm."Her eyes widened. "Calen Storm? I’ve heard that name before.""Everyone has," the soldier replied with a mix of admiration and gossiping glee. "He’s been the talk of the barracks—and the entire court—lately. Did you know he

The scorching midday sun bore down on the courtyard as the servants gathered, whispering amongst themselves. The air buzzed with gossip and speculation, their eyes darting toward Astra, whose hands were bound, dressed in a plain white prison uniform. Her face was pale, her head bowed, as the murmurs around her grew louder."She’s only been here a few days," one servant whispered. "Do you really think she’d risk breaking the rules so soon?""Maybe she’s not as innocent as she looks," another scoffed. "Who knows what she’s been up to with the military men?""And the rumors say it’s someone important," someone else chimed in. "But he’s not here. Figures. Probably ashamed of being caught."Astra stood silently in the center of the gathering, trembling but saying nothing. Her wrists burned where the rough rope chafed against her skin. The executioner, a burly man holding a long whip, awaited the signal to begin.Under a shaded pavilion, Lila Frost sat elegantly, a parasol shielding her fro

Calen’s fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and his body began to emit faint sparks of electricity that crackled and danced across his skin. The static energy intensified, and within moments, arcs of lightning coursed around him, illuminating his soaked figure with an almost divine brilliance.The air grew heavy, charged with an ominous electricity, and the sky outside the hall darkened unnaturally fast. A deep rumble of thunder echoed, causing the walls to tremble slightly. Soldiers who had been mocking him moments ago froze in place, their faces turning pale as they exchanged nervous glances.“What’s happening?” someone whispered.“It’s him,” another said, trembling. “It’s Storm. He’s—he’s doing this.”Evan’s smirk faltered, his expression shifting from arrogance to unease. He took a step back, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. The other soldiers who had joined in his mockery began retreating, their confidence crumbling under the sheer for

The sun was setting as Calen returned to his quarters, his body aching from the day's grueling military training. However, his steps slowed as he noticed a group of men standing in front of his door. They wore simple yet distinctive robes, bearing the insignia of the temple—an intricate symbol of a sun rising over an open book.One of them, a tall man with a stern face, stepped forward. “Calen Storm, you are summoned by High Priest Eldric Azrael. He awaits you in the Tower of Light.”Calen’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What does he want with me? Has something happened?”The men exchanged glances but remained silent. “We are only here to escort you. Please follow us.”Realizing that pressing them for answers was futile, Calen nodded. He climbed into the ornate carriage waiting nearby, its polished black frame adorned with silver detailing. The ride was silent, save for the clatter of hooves against the cobblestone roads as they headed toward the easternmost part of the palace complex

Calen paced back and forth in the small, confining room until his legs grew heavy and his mind clouded with fatigue. Unable to bear the endless waiting and frustration any longer, he sat down on the cold, hard bed and leaned back against the wall. The oppressive silence of the room seemed to press on him from all sides, and eventually, his eyes grew heavy. Despite his best efforts to stay alert, sleep claimed him.Calen found himself standing in a vast, golden field. The wind was warm, carrying with it a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. The sky above was a brilliant mix of oranges and purples, the colors of a setting sun. He looked down at himself and realized he was no longer in the restrictive room of the Tower of Light; he was free, dressed in simple yet regal attire that felt oddly familiar.In the distance, a lone figure approached. The man’s steps were steady, his posture tall and commanding. His face was weathered but kind, his silver hair glinting in the light of the se