The Heartwind Stone blazed like a captured star in Ryn's outstretched hand.
Down in the valley, soldiers shouted as the unnatural light painted the cliffs in hues of sapphire and silver. The wind awoke with a vengeance, howling up the rock face with enough force to send the first wave of climbers tumbling back to the ground.
Lira grabbed Ryn's shoulder. "What in the seven hells are you doing?"
"Finishing this." Ryn's voice sounded strange to his own ears—deeper, layered with the echoes of distant thunder. The stone's memories surged through him, each pulse revealing another fragment of buried truth:
- *The first Stormcallers standing alongside kings as equals, not subjects*
- *The night the High Throne ordered their extermination, fueled by royal astrologers' warnings*
- *A secret pact between the crown and void-worshipers to keep the storm's power chained*
The final memory struck like lightning—the original Heartwind Stone hadn't been hidden beneath Kael Manor for protection.
It had been *imprisoned*.
**[Reborn Heartwind Stone Activation]**
*Energy signature: Matches ancient records*
*Connection to Ryn: Symbiotic*
*Royal forces: Extremely concerned*
Below, the Herald's amplified voice boomed: "Stormcaller! Surrender the artifact and you shall be granted merciful—"
Ryn clenched his fist. The stone's light condensed into a searing beam that lanced across the valley, striking the ground before the Herald's horse. The resulting explosion of earth and wind sent the royal retinue scrambling.
"Definitely not merciful," Lira muttered. Then louder: "We need to go *now*, kid. Before they bring up Astra lances."
Ryn didn't move. The storm's power thrummed through his veins, intoxicating in its intensity. He could see the Astra flows around every soldier below—their weaknesses, their fears. One more strike and—
A hand slapped across the stone, breaking his focus.
Lira's scarred face filled his vision. "Your eyes are glowing blue, and not the pretty kind." She shook him hard. "Malrik lost himself to the void. You gonna let the storm do the same?"
The words struck deeper than any blade. Ryn staggered as the stone's influence receded, leaving him gasping. The visions faded, but the knowledge remained—along with something else.
A *presence*.
The First Stormcaller wasn't gone. His essence lingered in the stone, in the winds, in Ryn's own blood. And he was *angry*.
Lira dragged Ryn toward a narrow fissure in the cliff face just as the first Astra lance bolts shattered the ledge where they'd stood. The searing projectiles—condensed magic capable of piercing fortress walls—turned solid rock to molten slag.
"Royal hospitality," Lira growled as they squeezed through the passage. "Next time, let's decline the invitation."
The fissure opened onto a steep scree slope that led into dense forest. They half-ran, half-slid down the loose stones, the stone's glow now dimmed to a faint pulse. Behind them, horns sounded the advance.
Ryn's body protested every movement, his earlier power surge leaving him hollowed out and shaky. "The Iron Wastes," he panted. "Veyra said—"
"I heard what she said." Lira ducked under a low branch. "Also heard she's Crown Intel, which makes her about as trustworthy as a starving hellhound."
The stone warmed against Ryn's chest. Another memory flickered at the edges of his mind—a weathered face with kind eyes, a basement filled with strange instruments. *The Brewer.*
"He's real," Ryn said. "The stone remembers him."
Lira cursed colorfully. "Fine. But we're taking the scenic route." She pointed toward the distant smudge of mountains on the horizon. "Three weeks to the Wastes if we don't die. Which, at this rate..."
A new sound cut through the forest—not horns, but howls. Deep, guttural, and closing fast.
Lira paled. "They've unleashed the royal trackers."
**[Royal Astra Hounds]**
*Bred from hellhound and shadow-wolf stock*
*Can follow a week-old scent through rain*
*Preferred method of execution: Disembowelment*
Ryn's fingers found the stone. Its energy was depleted, but something primal stirred in his chest. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying a single word:
*Run.*
They ran.