The training grounds of Velmire Palace sprawled beneath the morning sun, flanked by high stone walls and glinting steel. The scent of oil, sweat, and scorched earth filled the air. It was where nobles learned to fight like soldiers—and where soldiers learned to kneel like nobles.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the sand-covered arena, stripped to his waist, muscles tense, fingers twitching from barely restrained energy. Around him, instructors murmured and magisters observed from a shaded terrace. Seris, Aedric, and Zevien were all present—silent witnesses to his first test.
He didn't care about the audience. His gaze stayed on the man before him: Captain Renald, master of arms, battle-scarred and sharp-eyed. The sword in his hand looked like it had tasted more blood than Kaelen had meals growing up.
"You'll face five tests," Renald said. "Each meant to measure different strengths. First: survival."
Kaelen raised a brow. "Is that your way of saying you'll try to kill me?"
Renald gave a faint, wolfish smile. "Not try."
Test One: The Ring of Blades
It started suddenly.
Steel whirred as enchanted blades were released from hidden hatches in the walls. They spun in erratic patterns, fast and unpredictable, enchanted to strike—not fatally, but enough to leave a memory.
Kaelen didn't think.
He moved.
Years of running through narrow alleyways, leaping rooftops and dodging guards surged back into muscle memory. But this wasn't a chase. It was a storm.
Thunder built inside him with every step, every twist. The air hummed. Sparks danced across his arms. As a blade sliced toward his throat, he ducked and slid low, a burst of static exploding behind him and knocking the weapon off-course.
The onlookers flinched.
He wasn't just dodging. He was dancing with lightning.
By the end of the ring, four blades lay shattered. Kaelen stood at the center, chest heaving, eyes glowing faintly with stormlight.
Renald nodded. "You've got the instincts."
Seris clapped slowly. "How dramatic."
Test Two: Elemental Control
The second test was held in the Tower of Forces—where magical resonance was tested, measured, and judged.
Kaelen stood before a massive obsidian crystal inscribed with ancient runes. Magister Elien, a wiry woman with frost-grey hair, approached.
"Place your hand on the crystal," she instructed. "Channel your element. Let it reveal you."
Kaelen hesitated. Last time he let the storm out, he'd burned half a street.
Still, he placed his palm against the cold surface.
A flicker. Then a roar.
The crystal exploded in light. Yellow veins streaked through the stone, turning white-hot. Lightning licked across the floor. Runes cracked.
Magister Elien stumbled back.
"Impossible," she whispered. "That kind of output—it's near primordial."
Kaelen clenched his fists to stop them shaking.
He turned and found all his siblings watching. Seris looked stunned. Aedric's hands twitched, as if eager to dissect the event. Zevien just smiled faintly.
But it was the queen's gaze that froze Kaelen cold. She stood in the upper balcony, half-hidden behind the royal emblem. Her expression was unreadable—but her eyes narrowed like a blade being drawn.
POV: Aedric
Aedric watched Kaelen leave the testing chamber with a storm trailing behind him. A silent, untamed thing. Power like that should have belonged to someone groomed, trained. Not some alley-born shadow returned from nowhere.
He clenched the hilt of his dagger beneath his cloak.
Their father was watching Kaelen like a savior. Their mother was watching him like a weapon.
And Aedric—Aedric watched him like a threat.
Back in his private quarters, he summoned a servant.
"Send word to the Archives," he said coldly. "I want everything on storm-bound bloodlines. Especially any that were meant to be erased."
He paused.
"And find out who was present the night Kaelen vanished, fifteen years ago."
Test Three: Combat
The training yard again. This time, Kaelen faced off against Seris.
She smiled at him as they circled each other.
"You've got flash, little brother," she said. "Let's see if you have fire."
The duel began with a sweep of flame. Seris moved like a dancer with a sword—elegant, deadly, glowing. Her fire obeyed her like a lover, wrapping around her blades and biting at the air.
Kaelen struggled at first. Every move she made was calculated. His was chaos.
But chaos wasn't weakness.
With each clash, his thunder pushed back. Lightning met fire. Sparks and embers clashed mid-air. At one point, Kaelen caught her blade in a crackling storm-pulse and sent it flying into the sand.
Seris froze. Their breathing filled the silence.
Then she smiled—not out of kindness, but respect earned on the edge of pain.
"You learn quickly," she said.
Kaelen nodded. "I had good teachers. The streets don't give second chances."
Test Four: Mind and Magic
This was Aedric's domain.
In the palace's ice chamber, Kaelen was asked to form shapes of pure energy using mental focus. Runes floated in the air. Spells flickered.
Kaelen failed—at first. His magic was volatile. Not meant for sculpting, but for destruction.
But something clicked when Aedric stepped forward and whispered, "It's not about force. It's about control. Learn the weight of your own storm."
Kaelen's next attempt formed a jagged thunderbolt that hovered mid-air, trembling like a live nerve.
It wasn't perfect. But it obeyed.
For now.
Test Five: The Court of Masks
The final test wasn't of might or magic. It was politics.
Kaelen was led into a ballroom filled with masked nobles. A test of charm, memory, subtlety. He was to converse, uncover secrets, spot lies, win allies.
He hated it instantly.
Still, he moved through the room, dancing with baronesses, exchanging sharp barbs with lords, matching wits with scholars. He noticed the way people flinched when he laughed. The way the whispers never quite died when he passed.
He was the storm in a hall of silk.
But when a masked noblewoman leaned in and whispered, "Beware the Thirteenth Thorn," the whole game shifted.
He turned—but she was gone.