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Chapter 6 - The Fall of Stormhold

—Blood and Lightning—

Kael's world narrowed to three things:

1. Mira's terrified eyes—alive, after all these years.

2. Lysara's body—motionless in the dirt, blood seeping into the earth.

3. Dain's smirk—the bastard who had *played* him.

The Stormblade roared beneath his skin, begging to be unleashed.

Rykel tightened his grip on Mira's throat. "Drop. The. Sword."

Kael's fingers twitched. He could kill them all—*burn them to ash*—but not without hitting Mira.

Dain sauntered forward, twirling his bloodied blade. "Come on, Stormblood. You *really* thought I'd help you out of the goodness of my heart?" He barked a laugh. "The Empire paid me triple to deliver you *alive*."

Kael's voice was death-cold. "You're dead."

Dain rolled his eyes. "Original."

Then—

*THUNK.*

An arrow sprouted from Dain's shoulder.

He staggered, snarling. "*What the—*"

A volley of arrows rained from the ruins above. Soldiers screamed as they fell.

Rykel yanked Mira back, shouting orders. "Shields! *Now!*"

Kael didn't wait.

He *moved*.

Lightning erupted from his palms, carving through the ranks. The Stormblade's power was *hungry*, and he let it feast.

But Rykel was already retreating, dragging Mira toward a waiting carriage.

Kael lunged—

A hand grabbed his ankle.

Lysara.

*Alive.*

Her lips moved, voice barely audible over the chaos. "...*trap*..."

Then her eyes rolled back.

Kael hesitated—*one second too long.*

The carriage door slammed shut.

Mira was *gone.*

The arrows stopped.

Silence.

Then—

Figures emerged from the ruins. Not soldiers.

*Rebels.*

And at their head, a woman in silver armor, her bow still drawn.

Kael knew her.

*Sera Veyne.* Lysara's *aunt.*

The woman who had once tried to *kill* him.

She lowered her weapon, her voice sharp. "You're welcome."

Kael's lightning crackled. "You *shot* at us!"

Sera shrugged. "I missed on purpose." She jerked her chin at Lysara. "She's bleeding out. You want my help or not?"

Kael's jaw clenched.

But Lysara's breath was shallow. *Dying.*

He growled. "*Help her.*"

Sera smirked. "Gladly. But first—say *please*."

They dragged Lysara into the ruins, where a rebel healer worked frantically to stem the bleeding.

Kael paced, his skin crawling with restless energy. The Stormblade pulsed inside him, whispering:

*"More. Give me more."*

Sera watched him like a hawk. "The sword's eating you alive."

Kael ignored her, staring at his hands. Tiny arcs of lightning danced between his fingers.

*Uncontrolled. Dangerous.*

Sera tossed him a waterskin. "Drink. It'll dull the edge."

Kael sniffed it—bitter herbs. "Poison?"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." She crossed her arms. "Your sister's alive. That's what matters."

Kael's grip tightened. "For *now.*"

Sera's expression darkened. "Rykel won't kill her. She's bait."

"For me."

"For *this.*" She tapped his chest—where the Stormblade lived. "The Empire wants it back."

Kael froze. "*Back?*"

Sera's smile was razor-thin. "Did you really think the Stormblade was *yours*?"

The rebels led him deeper into Stormhold, to a chamber lined with shattered glass cases.

Sera gestured to the empty pedestals. "This was the Empire's vault. They stole relics from every bloodline—*weapons* like yours."

Kael's stomach dropped. "You're lying."

"Am I?" She pointed to an inscription on the wall:

*"By order of Emperor Cyric, these abominations shall be sealed away."*

Kael's blood ran cold.

His father's journal had mentioned none of this.

Sera leaned in. "The Stormblade isn't a gift, Kael. It's a *prison.* And you just set it free."

The walls seemed to pulse around him.

The Stormblade *purred.*

*"She's right."*

Kael recoiled.

The sword had *spoken.*

And it was *laughing.*

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