The silver key burned in Kael's palm.
Mira's last words echoed in his mind:
*"The key opens *you.*"*
He didn't understand.
But the Stormblade did.
*"She knew,"* it whispered, its voice thick with dark amusement. *"Your sister knew *everything.*"*
Kael's fingers clenched around the key. "Explain."
The blade pulsed, its presence slithering through his veins like a second heartbeat.
*"The relics are not weapons. They are *seals.*"*
Lysara stepped forward, her breath ragged. "Kael, whatever it's telling you—don't listen."
Sera's grip tightened on her bow. "The Empire didn't just fear the Stormbloods—they *feared what was inside them.*"
Kael's head throbbed. **"What are you talking about?"
*"The truth,"*** the Stormblade hissed. *"The first Stormblood did not *wield* lightning. He *was* lightning. A living storm given flesh. The Empire bound him—shattered his essence into relics. The Stormblade. The Shadowcrown. The Emberguard. And the key?"*
A cruel laugh.
*"The key unlocks the prison."*
Kael's blood ran cold.
He looked down at the key.
It wasn't just metal.
It was a *piece of him.*
Sera exhaled sharply. "The Emperor didn't just want to destroy the Stormbloods. He wanted to *harvest* them. To steal their power."
Lysara's voice was barely audible. "And now they're after Kael because…?"
Sera's gaze locked onto Kael. "Because he's the last vessel strong enough to hold the storm."
The Stormblade purred.
*"She's right. The Emperor wants to break you open and take what's inside. Just like he did to your ancestors."*
Kael's vision swam.
Memories that weren't his flickered at the edges of his mind—
A man with lightning in his eyes, screaming as his soul was torn apart.
A crown of shadows, devouring its wearer.
A gauntlet of molten gold, burning through flesh.
And the key—
Always the *key.*
His fingers trembled.
*"You feel it, don't you?"* the Stormblade murmured. *"The storm waking up."*
Kael did.
It was *hungry.*
The Stormblood lineage was never just about blood.
It was about *inheritance.*
Every Stormblood was born with a fragment of the original storm inside them—a sliver of divine wrath passed down through generations.
But the power came at a cost.
The storm was alive.
And it wanted *out.*
The Empire had spent centuries trying to control it.
First, by killing the Stormbloods.
Then, by *weaponizing* them.
The relics were their solution—tools to siphon the storm's power without being consumed by it.
But Kael was different.
He wasn't just a vessel.
He was the *lock.*
And the key was in his hand.
The Stormblade's voice dropped to a whisper.
*"Use the key."*
Kael's breath hitched. "What happens if I do?"
*"You become what you were meant to be."*
Lysara grabbed his arm. "Kael, *no*—"
He shook her off.
The storm inside him *roared.*
He didn't hesitate.
He *plunged* the key into his own chest.
Agony.
White-hot lightning erupted from Kael's body, tearing through flesh and bone. The world *shattered* around him, reality itself bending under the storm's fury.
He heard screaming.
His own.
The key *twisted* in his chest—
And something *broke.*
*"YES,"* the Stormblade howled. *"FINALLY!"*
Kael's vision went black.
Then—
*Light.*
He was floating.
No—
*Falling.*
Through an endless sky, through clouds that *screamed*, through a storm that *knew* him.
A voice, ancient and thunderous, shook his soul:
*"YOU HAVE COME HOME, LITTLE STORM."*
Kael tried to speak, but his mouth was gone. His body was gone.
He was *lightning.*
He was *power.*
And he was *angry.*
The voice laughed.
*"GO. BURN THEM ALL."*
Then—
*IMPACT.*
Kael *woke.*
And the world *ended.*
The first thing he saw was Lysara's face.
Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her.
The storm was too loud.
His body was different.
Stronger.
*Wrong.*
Black veins pulsed beneath his skin, crackling with blue-white energy. His hair, once dark, was now streaked with lightning. His eyes—
He didn't need a mirror to know.
They were *glowing.*
The Stormblade was in his hand, but it wasn't a sword anymore.
It was *part* of him.
A living extension of his will.
He turned.
The Empire's reinforcements were charging.
Hundreds of soldiers.
*Not enough.*
Kael *moved.*
Lightning *ripped* from his body, carving through the ranks like a scythe. Men *exploded* into ash. The earth *split* beneath his feet. The sky *wept* fire.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
The storm *demanded* more.
Somewhere, distantly, he heard Lysara screaming his name.
He ignored her.
Rykel was out there.
The Emperor was out there.
And Kael would *drown* the world in lightning to reach them.