A week had passed since the newest recruits of the Prismic Gathering set foot in the mansion's sacred halls. The scent of fresh ambition lingered in the air like lightning before a storm, yet something felt off. Something vital was missing.
Four ornate thrones stood at the front of the Grand Hall, carved from elemental essence—ice, flame, shadow, and storm. Three were occupied.
One remained empty.
Jessie, the Flame Vandor, leaned on one elbow, violet eyes simmering with restrained irritation.
"I guess he's not showing up."
Beside her, Neve exhaled slowly, mist curling from her lips. Her breath always came colder when she was anxious.
"He has to come. He wouldn't be stupid enough to skip something this important…"
But her tone lacked conviction.
Across the row, Ingress lounged lazily, one leg crossed over the other. A veil of shadows wrapped around him like a second skin.
"You must not know him very well," he said, voice a smooth rasp. "He's not coming. Just pretend the throne was never his."
Neve turned toward the fourth chair—toward Riah.
"He hasn't said anything to you this whole week?"
Riah didn't look up immediately. Her golden-red eyes shimmered faintly like embers trapped in glass.
"He spoke."
A pause. Her voice grew softer.
"All he said was, 'Do what you have to do. I'll handle the rest.'"
Neve's fists clenched at her sides.
"Great," she muttered, bitterness biting at her tone. "Well, it's time."
She stood as the great doors swung open. One hundred new recruits filed in, faces alight with nerves, excitement, and awe. The marble beneath their feet gleamed, reflecting a new generation's first steps into legend.
Neve's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Welcome, newcomers. I am Neve, the Ice Vandor. Beside me are Jessie, Flame Vandor—"
Jessie gave a curt nod, her crimson hair flickering like wildfire.
"Ingress, Shadow Vandor—"
Ingress lifted his hand half-heartedly.
"And finally, Riah—she who bears the Phoenix Flame. Not just heat, but warmth. She is the second Flame Vandor."
Whispers filled the crowd.
"Yo… the Vandors are actually hot."
"No way that's the Phoenix chick. She looks like she could melt the sun."
"Maybe the pain of initiation was worth it…"
Neve's eyes flicked to the empty throne. Her tone darkened.
"You may have noticed one seat remains vacant. That seat belongs to a Vandor who is not present today. Perhaps you've heard his name."
Her gaze narrowed.
"Kazimir. The Lightning Reaper. The one who carved paths through the dynasties. But don't expect him to walk through that door."
BANG.
The doors slammed open with thunderous force. A gust of blazing heat swept through the chamber as a towering figure entered—his steps slow, deliberate, and soaked in arrogance.
He stood nearly 6'4", his energy crashing into the room like a tidal wave of flame.
"That's—"
Mia's voice wavered.
"He's massive… and his aura—it's burning hot. And he's… one of us?"
Tyrone stepped forward, unshaken.
"Either this guy's the real deal… or he's a certified dumbass."
The intruder grinned, stretching his arms wide as if basking in their disbelief.
"Listen up, you background characters!" he roared.
"Bow before your emperor! I'm Kamaki, and I'm taking this place over."
Ingress sighed, resting his head on one hand.
"Oh look, a flaming moron. Kamaki, right? Go stand in the corner. You're wasting Neve's time."
Kamaki grinned—and lifted his middle finger.
"Come say that to my face, shadow boy. I don't give a damn about your titles. I'm not scared of some crusty old Vandors."
Tyrone muttered under his breath.
"Okay yeah. Certified dumbass confirmed."
Neve's patience snapped like cracking ice.
She flicked her wrist. A flash of blue. A chill wind.
Kamaki slammed into the wall, encased in jagged ice from the shoulders down.
Her voice was ice incarnate.
"I'm not in the mood today. Sit. Down."
The room went silent.
Breath turned to mist.
Then—
Click.
The door creaked open again.
And every head turned.
A figure stepped through—slowly, quietly. His dark blue coat billowed behind him, heavy with the scent of ozone. Two katanas crossed over his lower back like sleeping dragons. His eyes, and world-weary, locked onto the dais.
Kazimir.
He moved like a shadow of a storm. Controlled. Contained. Deadly.
Neve's breath hitched as he reached the base of the steps, refusing to ascend.
"So," she whispered, "you finally decided to show."
He said nothing. Not yet.
"Kazimir," she asked, carefully holding her temper, "where have you been? Why ignore your duties? Why ignore us?"
His voice came low—quiet, but sharp as thunder in the distance.
"I've been killing," he said. "Every parasite, every threat, every shadow in our way."
Jessie stood. Her flame sparked hotter.
"And are you satisfied now? You think it's working? You hurt one of our own last week."
Kazimir's eyes didn't flinch.
"Would you touch lightning," he said coolly, "and blame the storm for burning you?"
Riah stepped forward, her hand trembling at her side.
"Kazimir… stop."
Her voice cracked, pleading.
"You've been fighting nonstop for months. You're burning yourself out. Even lightning has its limit. Please… just rest."
A beat of silence.
His gaze flicked to her—just for a moment. There was something raw behind his eyes. Something lonely.
But then it was gone.
He turned from the thrones and faced the recruits.
Their hearts raced.
They weren't looking at a hero.
They were looking at a storm made flesh.
They were looking at Kazimir.