—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.*