Arthur turned to the two women beside him, the gleam of resolve flashing in his eyes like a blade catching moonlight.
"Let's return," he said calmly, his voice steady with purpose.
But just as they turned, Seraphina froze in place.
A strange sensation washed over her—like the whisper of a breath through ancient trees, a wind that wasn't merely felt on the skin, but deep in the soul. It wasn't natural. It was something… ancestral.
"My lord—" she began, but her voice caught mid-sentence.
Suddenly, a great howl of wind erupted from the very walls of the vault. The air trembled, crackled, and twisted into a raging cyclone that surged around them. The torches lining the interior were snuffed out in an instant, leaving only the eerie glow of magic and the swirling storm as their light.
A towering figure formed within the vortex, its shape half-obscured by spiraling winds and arcs of lightning. It floated above the ground—ethereal, humanoid, yet inhuman. Its body seemed to be made of condensed wind and translucent azure energy, with glowing eyes like twin stars piercing through the storm.
"How dare you trespass within this sacred vault!" the figure bellowed, its voice layered with thunder and wrath. The entire chamber shook with the weight of its presence. Loose debris and pebbles lifted off the ground, spinning in wild spirals as the storm intensified.
Arthur instinctively stepped in front of Seraphina and Diana, his hand moving toward his weapon, but Seraphina gently caught his wrist.
"No… wait," she whispered, her eyes wide—not in fear, but in recognition.
A memory stirred from the depths of her soul. The voice of her father, like a ghost from childhood, whispered in her mind:
"Remember, Seraphina… when you ascend the throne, you shall gain the right to awaken the legacy of our bloodline. Within the vault, the slumbering wind spirit awaits. It was the one who gave our kingdom its name. Our strength, our foundation—it all began with the spirit of the storm."
Her heart thudded in her chest.
Could it be…?
The winds whipped around her cloak, threatening to lift her off her feet, but she took a firm step forward and then slowly **knelt before the storm**, lowering her head with reverence. Her voice rang clear, steady despite the chaos.
"O Great Wind Spirit," she said, her tone full of both humility and inherited pride, "I am Seraphina… last royal daughter of the Hurricane Kingdom. A descendant of those you once blessed. I have returned to honor your legacy."
The storm paused for a heartbeat—just long enough to feel like the world held its breath.
Then the swirling winds slowed, losing their ferocity, as though the spirit was… listening.
The figure's glowing eyes flickered.
"You carry the blood."
It hovered lower, its massive form still encased in currents of air and ancient energy. "You speak the old name… the name I once gave, long before your cities were built. The blood has grown thin… but I feel it. Still alive. Still burning."
The silence that followed Seraphina's words stretched long and solemn, as though even the wind itself dared not speak without permission. Then, the storm around her swelled—not in fury, but in reverence. The howling winds took on a rhythm, a haunting melody older than language itself, as if the very heavens wept for what had been lost.
The spirit's form, once a vague swirl of air and lightning, began to shift—growing more defined. A great visage emerged from the storm, tall and formless, clad in robes of mist and crowned with ever-turning wind.
Its voice no longer roared. It echoed like a symphony woven of thunder, sighs, and stars.
"So the song has ended… yet you carry its echo still."
"O child of crown and tempest, last heir of the Galeborn Throne… thy tale wounds me deeper than a thousand winters."
The spirit descended, drifting close to Seraphina like a breeze brushing the skin of the earth. Around them, the air shimmered, charged with sorrow, pride, and something ancient—an oath unbroken.
"Long have I slumbered within these sacred winds, waiting for one worthy to awaken me—not with pride, but with grief. Not with a claim, but with sacrifice. Thou art that heir, Seraphina of the Tempest Line, and the wind remembers thee."
Seraphina remained kneeling, her cloak spread around her like wings of cloud, head bowed in reverence. But the spirit's next words made her raise her eyes.
"Yet, hear me well, child of my covenant: the storm is not a gift, but a burden. It answers not to the unworthy. To command the winds is to carry the sorrow of those who died with it, and the fury of those who yet call for justice."
He paused, and the storm pulsed once—softly, as if taking breath.
"Will thou bear it, not for vengeance, but for rebirth?"
Seraphina's voice was calm but resolute, each word ringing with grace.
"I shall, O Ancient One. Not as a queen seeking dominion, but as a daughter honoring her fallen kin. Let the winds rise once more—not for ruin, but to shelter those who believe in a future beyond fire and ash."
A silence again—and then, the chamber trembled.
The spirit raised both arms, and the winds roared like dragons breaking their chains. Circles of silver runes spun around Seraphina, forming a tempestuous crown above her head. Her hair turned silver and rose with the gusts, her cloak fluttering like a banner resurrected from ruin.
"Then by the first storm that ever danced across the sky, by the gales that forged the Hurricane Kingdom, I name thee—
Seraphina Windmere, Last Galeborn Sovereign, Keeper of the Wind's Legacy.
Arise, and claim thy birthright!"
The winds surged into her body, not violently, but like a tide rushing home. Power flooded her veins—clear, cool, and boundless. Her eyes shone with emerald light, and a mark of spiraling wind engraved itself faintly across her left hand, glowing like moonlight upon a stormy sea.
Arthur watched with quiet awe. Diana, too, remained still—silent before something older than time.
When it was done, the spirit's form began to fade, the winds quieting into a soft, constant breeze.
"You have awakened me, Seraphina. And so I leave a piece of my essence with thee."
"When the sky grows silent, and the world darkens once more… call upon me, and I shall rise again, through you."
With that, the storm dispersed, leaving only the scent of rain and power lingering in the air.
Arthur stepped forward, the weight of Seraphina's words settling in his chest like the echo of distant thunder. He placed a steady hand on her shoulder, grounding her in the moment.
Then, with unrestrained joy, Seraphina turned and embraced him. "My lord… my bloodline seal… it has been removed." Her voice trembled with emotion, unguarded, the burdens of centuries lifted from her soul. In that fleeting instant, she forgot her composure, her royal grace, and simply clung to him like a long-lost heir returning home.
Arthur, caught off-guard, blinked as her arms wrapped around him. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the gesture—awkward but sincere. The air around them still shimmered faintly with the spirit's magic, like wind dancing around the edges of a miracle.
As she slowly pulled away, eyes still sparkling with disbelief, Arthur raised his hand, summoning his interface with a subtle thought.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Status Panel – Seraphina Windmere]
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