The word spread fast.
By morning, the Shard Hollow mission was posted as complete. A red-stamped scroll hung from the guild board in Elandor, accompanied by one note scribbled in haste:
"Varnok den eliminated. Alpha-class threat neutralized. Solo op. No injuries."
—Name: Kael Fael. Rank: Flicker, 8th Flame.
People talked.
They didn't say it aloud, but you could see it in their expressions:
That wasn't supposed to be possible.
⸻
Kael walked the streets of Elandor with his hood up, trying to avoid the whispers. They followed him anyway. Apprentices who once overlooked him now parted when he passed. Instructors glanced at him twice. The guild quarter buzzed.
He felt none of it.
Instead, he felt the lingering weight of that last mission.
Storm Essence still crackled faintly under his skin. He could feel its presence like something awake inside him now. It hadn't gone dormant again. Not fully. Not after Tempest Grave.
He knew he'd unlocked something far deeper than just a new affinity.
And something was watching.
Not from above. Not from below. Just… somewhere beyond what he could name.
He walked until the city thinned and the noise faded. Until the smell of stone gave way to trees.
Arlan's cottage.
His brother sat in the garden, blanket across his lap, wrapped in morning light. The breeze shifted the wind chimes slightly. Kael approached quietly, as always.
Arlan didn't turn. "Heard you lit up Shard Hollow."
Kael grinned, then winced. "It was a light drizzle. With minor thunder."
"Minor thunder doesn't turn half the quarry to glass," Arlan said, chuckling. "I used to be the loud one."
Kael sat beside him. For a while, they said nothing.
Then Kael asked, "Did it ever scare you?"
"What?"
"That it could get real. That all the training, the missions, the pride… might mean nothing if something bigger showed up."
Arlan's eyes went distant.
"It didn't scare me," he said softly. "But I wasn't ready. That's the part I regret. I thought my flame was strong enough."
Kael nodded. His hands rested on his knees. Quiet.
"I won't let mine flicker out."
⸻
That evening, he found Emberlight's courtyard nearly empty. A few initiates trained under moonlight, their spell flares quiet against the night. Kael took his place at the edge and breathed in.
He began with basic forms—slow stances, breathing patterns.
Then added Essence.
Lightning first: short bursts coiled around his limbs as he flowed through strikes.
Storm followed: heavier, less tame, rippling in wider arcs, bending wind and pressure around his movements.
His style had shifted. It wasn't raw anymore. It was war-crafted.
Every movement paired force with function.
Dodge. Step in. Spiral. Counterstrike.
He practiced Tempest Grave in pieces—calling the sky, tracing the motion with his body, without releasing the final strike.
The storm overhead trembled with each attempt.
By the time he finished, sweat traced down his back, and Essence buzzed like fire beneath his skin.
He didn't notice Emberlight's guild leader, Master Rhess, watching from the upper ledge. Arms folded. Eyes narrowed with a mixture of calculation and curiosity.
Kael looked up only once.
Rhess didn't speak.
He simply nodded.
It was enough.
⸻
The next morning, the mission board shifted.
One stood out.
A high-level scouting assignment near the border of the Dravhallow Peaks—a known cold zone where Varnok sightings had recently been confirmed. The kind of mission that should go to a full team. But someone had marked it with a single line of red ink.
"Request: Solo Clearance. Kael Fael."
Kael stood in front of the board, arms crossed. No hesitation in his gaze.
He didn't take the scroll just yet.
But his voice, quiet as a whisper and sharp as thunder, spoke what he already knew.
"The storm doesn't stop here."