The wind roared without warning. Snow burst from the cliffside in a violent swirl, and the ice along the rocks cracked loudly. Sova's cane struck the ground, sending a ripple through the frost, anchoring them both.
"Control yourself," Sova barked. "You are not in the slums now. Power born from pain will consume you faster than fire."
Kaelin tried to pull the storm back, but the more he fought, the more it surged. Waves below crashed so hard the spray leapt to where they stood. Ice crept across the ground from his boots, snaking in jagged patterns toward Sova.
Sova stepped forward, gripping Kaelin's shoulder hard. "Listen to me. Do not fight the storm… guide it. Shape it. You are the master, not its prisoner."
Kaelin closed his eyes again, forcing himself to picture the still pool in the cave, the quiet blue light. Slowly, the rush in his ears faded. The wind softened, the ice stopped spreading, and the sea returned to its restless rhythm.
When Kaelin opened his eyes, his breath came in heavy clouds. His hands trembled, not from the cold, but from the fear of what he had almost unleashed.
"That," Sova said, his voice low, "is the truth of your blood. It will answer to your will or drown you in its rage."
Kaelin nodded, but inside he was shaken. The power felt like a wild animal chained within him, and he was not sure the chain would hold the next time something struck too close to his heart.
Sova turned back toward the cave. "We begin again at dawn. Tomorrow, we will see if you can summon the storm without drowning in it."
Kaelin followed, each step heavy with the knowledge that the same force that could make him strong enough to change the empire could also destroy him before he even began.
...
The sky was the color of steel the next morning, clouds hanging low over the cliffs. Kaelin's breath came in slow bursts as he repeated the breathing patterns Sova had drilled into him. The old man stood a few paces away, watching with the sharp stillness of a hawk.
"Today," Sova said, "you will move while breathing. The storm does not wait for you to be still."
They walked along a narrow path carved into the cliffside. Below them, the sea boiled against jagged rocks. Kaelin tried to focus on each step, on the pull of the air and the weight of the tide within him. The cold in his veins was easier to guide now, but it still shifted when his mind wandered.
He thought of the vision again, of the queen's voice calling him blood of Aeryn, of her eyes that looked like his. He wanted to ask Sova more, but the old man's face was a wall that did not crack.
The wind shifted suddenly, carrying a faint metallic tang. Sova stopped mid-step. His cane tapped the rock twice. "We are not alone."
The words had barely left his mouth before figures dropped from the rocks above, their boots crunching against frost. Four of them, wrapped in patchwork furs and leather, faces hidden by scarves. Their eyes glittered with hunger.
"Travelers on the high path," one said, his voice muffled. "You carry more than you need. Hand it over."
Kaelin's hand tightened on his staff. He had seen men like this before in the slums. He knew the way they looked at the weak.
Sova's voice was calm. "Leave now and live. Stay and the storm will take you."
The leader laughed, drawing a curved blade. "Old man, the only storm here is in my hands."
They lunged.
Kaelin barely had time to think. The first attacker came at him from the side. His staff moved almost on its own, blocking the blow, but the clash sent a jolt of panic through him. Breath rushed in, and with it, the cold. The wind around them whipped into sudden life.
Another man charged. Kaelin stepped back, swinging his staff low. The blow caught the man's knee, sending him sprawling. But before Kaelin could recover, a third attacker leapt toward him with a knife aimed at his chest.
Something broke loose inside him. Ice surged up from the ground, jagged and sharp, locking around the man's legs. The attacker screamed, but the fourth was already behind Kaelin, blade raised.
A flash of memory hit him — a dark alley, a larger boy pressing a knife to his throat when he was small, his sister's voice screaming his name. The panic became instinct. He spun, raising his hand without thinking.
A spear of ice shot from his palm and pierced the man's chest.
The world went still. The man's eyes widened in shock, then the light drained from them as he collapsed onto the frozen path. Blood spread across the ice in a dark stain.
Kaelin stood frozen, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His stomach turned, and the staff slipped from his hand. He had seen death before, but never from his own doing.
The remaining bandits broke and fled into the rocks, their shouts fading.
Sova stepped beside him, his face unreadable. "You hesitated… and still lived. That is the only reason you are standing here."
Kaelin could not look away from the body. The wind still swirled around him, restless, as if it knew what had happened. His chest felt heavy, and the cold in his blood was sharper now, as if it had tasted something it would not forget.
"You chose," Sova continued, his tone quiet. "And choice carries weight. If you cannot bear it, then this path will kill you long before your enemies do."
Kaelin swallowed hard. The man's lifeless eyes still stared at the sky. The image burned into him, and he knew it would follow him wherever he went.
But deep beneath the guilt, something else stirred. Not pride, not relief… something colder. The knowledge that when pressed to the edge, he could act. That he could kill.
As they left the body behind, the wind carried the scent of blood out to sea. Kaelin walked in silence, the sound of waves below mixing with the memory of the man's last breath. Somewhere in that sound, the storm inside him whispered… and he listened.