The Man Who Fell from the StormThe storm had finally broken — but it didn’t end.It lingered like something alive, shivering across the mountains, whispering its grief through the thunder.Selene stumbled down the frozen ridge, her cloak snapping like torn wings in the wind. The sky above was still burning — a fractured aurora of silver and blood, swirling around the heart of the valley. Her boots slipped on the wet stone as she forced herself onward, breath ragged, eyes fixed on the crater below.He was there.Adrian.Or what was left of him.The blast had carved a wound into the earth itself. Smoke rose in slow, writhing ribbons. The ground around him was blackened, but in its center, the ash was alive — rippling faintly with threads of light. And in the middle of it all, he knelt, unmoving. His sword was buried halfway into the ground, his head bowed, his hair plastered to his face by the rain.“Adrian…”Her voice cracked as she stumbled forward, the mud swallowing her steps.

The Whisper Beneath His BreathMorning crept into the cabin like a reluctant guest — pale light threading through the gaps in the shutters, touching dust motes that floated lazily in the air. The fire had burned down to a hushed amber glow. Outside, the forest was silent beneath its blanket of frost.Selene woke up, sitting in the chair beside the cot. Her head ached, her eyes raw from too little sleep. The night replayed in flashes — the shimmer under Adrian’s skin, his voice that hadn’t been his, the shadow that had spoken through him with a calm so cruel it still crawled beneath her skin.She turned toward him, heart quickening.He was still there — breathing softly, one arm resting across his chest. The silver lines on his skin had dimmed to faint threads, barely visible. For the first time in what felt like forever, his face looked peaceful.Selene brushed her fingers through his hair, whispering, “You’re still here. You’re stronger than him.”Her voice was hoarse, but she sm

The Council Beneath the FlameThe council chamber smelled of wax and rain. Candles guttered in the draft from the shattered windows, their light bending over faces that no longer trusted one another.Kael stood at the head of the obsidian table, arms braced on the surface. His armor was still scorched from the riot in the Forge District; ash clung to the seams. He hadn’t slept in two nights, and every voice in the room scraped his nerves raw.“Three districts under revolt,” said Minister Arath. “Two granaries lost. Trade routes to the east are blocked. And you want to suspend the Heir’s authority without proof?”Kael’s jaw flexed. “Proof is what I’m here to secure. But until we know who’s issuing orders under Adrian’s name, we can’t—”“We do know!” interrupted High Councilor Lysane. Her rings flashed as she struck the table. “Every edict has come stamped with his seal, verified by your own command chain!”Kael’s gaze swept the table. Twelve men and women, all supposedly loyal, all no

The Citadel slept uneasily. Even the torches along its upper corridors flickered as though reluctant to stay lit, their flames trembling under a breath that didn’t exist. Kael moved through them like a ghost, every sense strung taut, his mind replaying the sight of the living roots coiling around the Heart Spire.He hadn’t meant to come back. But sleep was impossible, and fear had begun to take the shape of curiosity. If the corruption hadn’t begun with the Master… then who had called it?He passed beneath the central dome, where moonlight spilled through the crystal ceiling and fractured into a hundred thin lines. Once, this light was the Citadel’s pride — pure, radiant, used to focus the Source during initiations. Tonight it looked diseased, every ray tinted faintly red, as though the moon itself was bleeding through the glass.Kael’s boots scraped against the marble. In his hand, a small rune-lamp sputtered, its glow dimmer than before. He could feel something tugging faintly a

The Weight of StillnessThe Citadel was too quiet.Not the calm of peace, but the hush that comes after something breaks.Kael moved through the dim corridors, his boots echoing softly against the marble. Every torch guttered lower than it should have, their light bending strangely along the walls. He had felt it — the tremor in the air, a pulse like a heartbeat reverberating through the foundation of the fortress. Adrian’s energy. Too sudden, too sharp, and then gone.He quickened his pace.“Adrian?” His voice carried no authority now, only unease. The silence answered him with a slow drip of water from the ceiling, and the faint groan of shifting stone.He reached the upper hall — the one that overlooked the citadel’s heart. The air there was thick, charged with the residue of something that had burned itself out. It clung to his skin, prickled against his breath. The metallic tang of magic gone wrong.Kael stepped into the main chamber.The sight stopped him cold.Adrian lay at