The first lesson hit like a thunderclap.
Rose reached for the open book, and the moment her fingers brushed the ink, the words leapt off the page and into her mind—lightning-shaped memories unraveling like scrolls written in her own blood.
She staggered, gasping, her hand trembling. Basil caught her before she could fall.
"What did you see?" he asked.
Rose's eyes were wide, distant. "The Binding. The original storm... They called it Calamareth. It wasn't a god. It was a force—a sentient, endless entropy. Mortain was part of the circle that sealed it, but he was changed by it. Touched."
Archivist Nelu stood beside a glowing pillar of text, her form flickering. "Mortain believed that by unleashing Calamareth, he could rebuild the world in his own image. Chaos reshaped as a crown. But he underestimated the cost. Calamareth unmakes everything. Even gods."
Nimbus fluttered over one of the floating tomes. "So we're fighting a dark god possessed by a world-ending storm? Cool. That's exactly the opposite of comforting."
Basil frowned. "But the sigil—if it's a key, what does that make Rose?"
"A vessel," Nelu said. "But also a choice. The sigil awakens only in one born of wild magic and forged by loss. It chose her because she has the will to resist."
Rose snorted. "Great. I'm the magical equivalent of a stubborn doorstop."
Nelu smiled gently. "Stubbornness is a kind of strength."
Another book fluttered toward her, opening without touch. This one showed maps drawn in fire and ink—places where Calamareth's essence had leaked into the world: deserts that swallowed time, forests that never aged, ruins that whispered memories into travelers' ears.
And always at their center, the same symbol.
Mortain's mark.
"He's been preparing the world," Rose muttered. "Fracturing it slowly. Places we thought were cursed… they were experiments."
"Testing how much the world could bend before it broke," Basil said grimly.
Rose turned to Nelu. "So how do we stop him?"
"You don't," Nelu replied. "Not yet. You gather. You learn. You awaken the remnants of those who once stood against Calamareth."
"Like the Storm Court?" Rose asked.
"And others," Nelu said. "The Moonbound Seers. The Hollow Flame. The Crimson Mire."
"Sounds like a very dramatic scavenger hunt," Nimbus muttered.
Rose's grip tightened around the book. "Then we hunt. We gather the pieces. And when Mortain moves, we'll be ready."
Nelu's form began to fade, her voice becoming wind. "I will remain here. The Library is always open to you."
"Thank you," Rose said.
Outside, the Thunderbird waited, feathers glistening with light.
As they mounted, a distant rumble echoed—not thunder, but something deeper. A warning.
Rose turned her face to the wind. "Let's go. The world won't save itself."
They rose into the sky once more—witch, warrior, stormcloud, and the spark of something ancient and defiant.
The real journey had just begun.