The plateau had no name—just a ruin of shattered obelisks and scorched stone jutting into the heavens like broken teeth. Legends said the sky once bled here, that a Titan of the Storm fell screaming in defiance against the stars. Kael had always thought it superstition.
Now, the sky watched him back.
Thunder growled above like an ancient beast roused from slumber. The clouds churned unnaturally, parting around a vast spiral of blue-white lightning. In the heart of it stood the Storm Warden—the gatekeeper of the final Thundercore Trial.
A towering figure of jagged armor forged from raw tempest, the Warden radiated such pressure that Kael's breath caught in his throat. Stormlight bled from its shoulders. Its voice cracked like shattered skies.
"You, Kael of no banner. Half-marked. Unforged. Do you claim dominion over the storm?"
Kael squared his stance. His core throbbed within his chest, the crystalline nexus flickering like a sputtering flame. He could feel the weight of the other cores inside him—wind, electricity, momentum—but none yet whole. None awakened in full.
Still, he didn't bow. "I don't claim it," he said, lightning flickering along his arms. "I am the storm."
The Warden didn't move—but the world did.
The sky exploded.
Bolts rained down like falling spears. Winds howled like banshees loosed from the void. Kael hurled himself to the side, his body crackling with reactive current. Aether surged through his channels, and he spun, flinging a chain of condensed wind-blades at the Warden's chest.
They vanished—absorbed, devoured by the tempest armor.
"Not enough," the Warden intoned.
Its gauntlet slammed down, and Kael was flung backward. A crater split the stone where he'd stood. He hit hard, bones screaming in protest, thunder shrieking in his ears.
He'd never fought anything like this. The Voidbinders? Soldiers. Monsters? Predictable. But this? The storm thought. The storm judged.
Kael staggered to his feet, coughing blood. "That all you've got?" he said with a grin. "I've had tougher punches from Alaric in his sleep."
The Warden moved—too fast.
Kael ducked under a titanic fist, then twisted upward, calling the wind. A vortex burst around him, propelling him into the air. With both hands extended, he conjured a stormlance—compressed lightning channeled through focused aether.
He hurled it at the Warden's helm.
The impact lit the sky.
The Warden stumbled.
Kael grinned, but the moment died as a counterblast struck him midair. Pain flooded his limbs. He slammed into a boulder and crumpled to the ground, breath knocked from his lungs.
Somewhere in the haze, he heard a voice—not the Warden's.
His mother's.
A storm is not about power, Kael. It's about choice. Will you shatter, or will you reshape the sky?
Kael stared up at the churning clouds. They weren't just clouds. They were memories. Rage. Possibility. His core thrummed, unstable. One push. One step. One truth.
He rose.
"I don't need perfect control," he muttered. "Just enough to break the chain."
The Warden charged.
Kael held still, eyes crackling.
At the last second, he shifted his stance—channeling every ounce of aether into a new formation. Wind, not to flee. Lightning, not to strike.
But both, fused.
Aether Conduction: Skybreak Pulse.
The explosion wasn't outward—it was inward.
His core fractured—then reformed, molten and luminous. Thundercore.
A shockwave burst out from him in concentric rings. The storm split. The Warden faltered.
Kael stepped forward, wrapped in a cloak of living lightning, his skin glowing with storm-script. He wasn't flying—he was riding the wind itself.
"You wanted a storm," he whispered. "Let me show you what that means."
The final clash lasted less than a breath.
Kael's punch met the Warden's heart. Not a strike—an invocation. Storm met storm. The Warden froze. Then shattered into motes of aetherlight, scattered to the winds like broken thunder.
Silence followed.
Kael stood alone on the plateau, steam rising from his skin, lightning flickering across his back. His eyes glowed pale gold, his voice low.
"One core down. Two to go."
Meanwhile…
Far across the continent, in the capital of Istavar, whispers of Kael's awakening reached even the void-veiled spires of the Voidbinder conclave. Maeryn stood before Lord Varen, her expression unreadable.
"The storm awakens," she murmured, lips curling. "Then it's time the shadow moved."
Lord Varen's crimson eyes gleamed. "Let the gods watch. Their children are about to dance."
End of Chapter 38