“Stormbearer,” the voice rasped, low and sharp, cutting through the howl of the wind that battered the cliffs of Valtheris’ northern coast. “That’s what they call you, ain’t it?”Kael Dorian stopped dead on the creaking pier, his boots sinking into the sea-slicked wood, his cloak whipping like a torn sail behind him. The Stormreaver Blade, strapped across his back, pulsed faintly, its sickly green glow flickering in sync with the distant rumble of thunder. His hand twitched toward the hilt, years of blood-soaked instinct screaming that no one spoke that name without intent. He turned slowly, dark eyes narrowing against the sting of salt spray, and found the speaker leaning against a salt-crusted shack at the pier’s end. A wiry man, cloaked in patched leather, his face half-hidden by a hood, fingers toying with a dagger at his belt.“Who’s asking?” Kael’s voice was low, rough as the gravel underfoot, carrying the weight of too many sleepless nights. He stepped closer, his shadow stretc

“Careful, mercenary,” a voice snarled from the alley’s gloom, low and venomous, slicing through the howl of the wind battering Skalvir’s salt-crusted streets. “That blade on your back makes you a target.”Kael Dorian stopped cold, his boots grinding into the wet cobblestones, the Stormreaver Blade pulsing with a sickly green glow beneath its leather sheath. His hand hovered over the hilt, fingers twitching with the instinct of a man who’d survived too many ambushes. The speaker was hidden in the shadows of a leaning tavern, but the words carried a weight that wasn’t idle. Not like the sailor’s taunt on the pier. This was a threat, deliberate and sharp, from someone who knew exactly who he was. The Veilborn’s dagger, tucked in his belt from that earlier encounter, felt heavier now, its crescent-moon-and-thorn symbol a silent accusation. Whoever this was, they weren’t here to talk.“Step into the light,” Kael said, his voice rough as gravel, steady despite the storm’s roar. “Or I’ll com

“You’re a dead man, Stormbearer,” the voice hissed, low and venomous, from the shadowed cleft of a cliffside cave overlooking Skalvir’s churning sea. “The Veilborn know your every step.”Kael Dorian froze, his boots crunching on the gravel-strewn ledge, the Stormreaver Blade pulsing with a sickly green glow beneath its leather sheath. The speaker was hidden in the cave’s darkness, their words sharp against the storm’s roar and the waves crashing below. His hand hovered over the hilt, instincts honed by years of blood and betrayal screaming that this was no idle threat. The crescent-moon-and-thorn dagger, taken from the Veilborn assassins in Skalvir’s alleys, burned in his belt, its symbol a constant reminder of the hunters on his trail. He’d come to this secluded cliff to plan his route to the Ashen Peaks, seeking solitude after the ambush, but Skalvir offered no refuge. This voice knew his name, his purpose, and it wasn’t alone.“Show yourself,” Kael called, his voice rough with slee

The wind howled through the Glass Deserts, dragging ribbons of ash and sand across the jagged dunes. Night hung heavy, torn by streaks of lightning that split the bruised sky.Somewhere in that storm, Kael Dorian rode alone, his black mare weaving between shards of glass that jutted from the earth like broken stars. The air crackled with the taste of metal and rain, the storm pressing close like a living thing.Unseen eyes watched him from the ridge above.Thalen Veyr crouched low behind a ridge of obsidian, cloak drawn tight, his breathing steady despite the cold. The Veilborn’s message had been clear: Kill the Stormbearer before he reaches the Ashen Peaks.The coin had been enough to buy a man’s silence, even his soul, and Thalen had sold both more than once. But this time felt different. The bounty was heavy, the target dangerous, and something about the blade on Kael’s back set his instincts on edge.Lightning flashed. For an instant, Kael’s profile was clear, strong, scarred and