Chapter 1 - Storm-Born
The wind carried the smell of storm that night.
Kael always knew storms better than people. They didn't glare at him in the streets. They didn't whisper behind his back. They didn't mutter "cursed" when he passed. Storms just came, wild and untamed, like him.
But tonight even the sky seemed angry.
Kael stood on the edge of the crumbling wall that circled Greyhaven, the border-village he had never been allowed to truly call home. Below him, torches flickered like angry fireflies. He could hear the villagers' voices rising in harsh tones. His name - spat like an insult - reached him again and again.
"Kael! Where is that cursed boy?"
"The omen-child! He's the reason our crops failed this season!"
Kael pulled the rough wool of his cloak tighter, though the autumn wind had nothing to do with the shiver that ran down his spine. He pressed his hand to his chest, where the faint ash-colored mark glowed beneath his shirt. It always burned when storms were near, or when anger swelled in him.
The mark had been there since his birth. A strange, jagged swirl of ash and light, shaped almost like a serpent devouring its own tail. The midwife who delivered him had died of fever three days later. His parents - he never knew them. The old stories said they had been swallowed in fire the night he was born. Since then, the villagers carried only one name for him: curse-bearer.
He was sixteen now. Old enough to swing a sword, old enough to work the fields. But they never let him. To them, he was something between a bad omen and a walking shadow of death.
Only one voice had ever stood beside him.
"Kael!"
He turned, and his heart eased. A tall figure scrambled up the broken stones of the wall - broad-shouldered, grinning despite the dark looks of the crowd below. Darius.
Of course.
Kael's oldest - his only - friend.
"You shouldn't be up here alone," Darius said, pulling himself onto the wall and brushing dust from his hands. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. "They're riled up tonight."
"They're always riled up," Kael muttered. "Doesn't matter what happens. Crops die? My fault. Storm comes? My fault. A child sneezes? Must be the curse."
Darius' grin faded. "Ignore them. You know they're afraid of what they don't understand."
Kael said nothing. He wished he could believe that. But fear wasn't all he saw in their eyes. Sometimes it was hatred. Sometimes it was hunger - the hunger to see him gone, cast out, maybe even dead.
A torch suddenly arced through the night and smashed against the wall below them, scattering sparks.
"There he is!" a villager shouted. "Throw the cursed one out before he brings the storm on us again!"
The chant began, ugly and rising. "Exile him! Exile him!"
Kael's chest tightened. He clutched the mark through his shirt. It burned hotter now, a dull fire searing into his ribs. His breath grew ragged. He felt something stir beneath his skin, like lightning itching to be free.
Not now. Please, not now.
"Kael," Darius said firmly, gripping his shoulder. "Look at me. Don't listen to them. You're not what they say you are."
Kael's eyes met his friend's steady gaze. For a moment, the storm inside him faltered. Darius had always been the anchor that kept him from breaking.
Then the elder's voice boomed from below.
"Bring the boy to the square!"
Kael's stomach dropped. The elder never raised his voice unless it was something final. A judgment.
"Kael," Darius said quickly, "we should run. Now."
But Kael shook his head. "Run where? They'll hunt me down. They always will."
The elder raised his torch high. "By the law of Greyhaven, and by the curse upon his flesh, Kael is to be banished at dawn! Let the gods decide if he lives or dies!"
The crowd roared their approval.
Darius cursed under his breath. "Bastards. They'd rather blame you than their own greed and mistakes."
Kael swallowed hard. His hands shook. "Maybe... maybe they're right."
"No." Darius grabbed him by both shoulders. "Don't you ever say that. You're not cursed. You're Kael. My brother."
Something in Kael's chest cracked - not the curse, but something deeper, rawer. He wanted to believe those words. He wanted to cling to them like a drowning man to driftwood.
But the mark burned hotter, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
The villagers gasped as the first bolt of lightning split the sky.
Their eyes turned upward. And Kael felt the storm answering him.
The lightning faded, but whispers rippled through the crowd below. Some villagers crossed themselves, others spat on the ground, muttering prayers against evil. Kael didn't need to hear the words to know what they said. He had heard them all his life.
The mark on his chest still burned, and with it came a memory.
He had been five years old, playing by the stream that curled around Greyhaven. Other children laughed in the shallows, splashing each other. Kael had dared to step closer, his heart leaping at the thought of joining them.
"Don't!" one boy had screamed, shoving him back. "If he touches the water, it'll rot!"
Another had thrown a stone. It struck Kael's brow, warm blood trickling into his eye. The other children had scattered, screaming, "The curse will spread!"
Kael had crouched there alone, weeping silently, his hands stained with his own blood. That night, he'd traced the ash mark on his chest again and again, whispering to himself, Why me?
A hand now tugged at his arm, breaking the memory.
"Kael," Darius said sharply, "don't zone out. They'll drag you to the square any moment."
Before Kael could answer, another voice called from the shadows behind them.
"Kael."
He turned.
Lyra.
She stood just beyond the torchlight, her cloak pulled close around her slight frame. Her green eyes gleamed in the dark like lanterns. She had always looked at him differently - not with fear, not with pity, but with something he couldn't name.
"Lyra, you shouldn't be here," Kael said quickly. If the villagers saw her near him, they'd whisper she shared his curse.
"I had to," she said, stepping closer. "They'll hurt you, Kael. The elder... he means it this time."
Her voice trembled, and the sound pierced him deeper than the villagers' hatred ever could.
"I can handle it," he lied.
"No, you can't," she shot back, her hands trembling as they reached for his shirt. She tugged the fabric aside just enough to glimpse the ash-mark beneath. The faint swirl of grey light pulsed, alive, as if answering her gaze.
"You're burning up again," she whispered. "Every time the storms come, it gets worse."
Kael swallowed. He hated when she saw it. He hated the worry in her eyes, the way she treated him like someone fragile when all he wanted was to be strong.
"I'll survive," he said, trying to sound steady.
Lyra's lips pressed tight, but she didn't argue. Instead, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a strip of cloth soaked with herbs. "Here. For the pain."
He almost refused. But her eyes left no room for pride. Slowly, he took it, pressing the cool cloth to his chest. Relief washed through him.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Her gaze lingered on his face. For a heartbeat, he thought she might say something more - something dangerous, something that would change everything. But then the shouts from below surged louder.
"Bring the boy! Bring the cursed one!"
Darius cursed. "No time. They're climbing the wall."
Lyra caught Kael's hand. "Promise me, whatever happens - you'll fight. Don't let them decide who you are."
He stared at her, startled by the fire in her words. Then he nodded, though his heart thudded with doubt.
The villagers reached the top of the wall. Rough hands grabbed Kael's arms. He didn't resist. Darius shouted, trying to shield him, but they shoved them both toward the square.
Lyra's voice rang out behind him. "Kael! Remember - you're more than this curse!"
Those words seared into him even as the villagers dragged him away.
The square blazed with torchlight. The whole village had gathered. Mothers clutched children close, men held pitchforks, the elder stood at the front with his staff raised high.
"People of Greyhaven!" the elder thundered. "For sixteen years we have tolerated the shadow among us. Sixteen years of blighted harvests, failed hunts, storms and sickness. Tonight, we end the curse's hold on our home!"
The crowd roared.
Kael stood in the center, bound with rough rope. He tasted blood where someone had struck him on the mouth. His chest still burned, the ash-mark searing through his skin. He lowered his gaze, trying to hide it, but it pulsed brighter with every heartbeat.
The elder's voice rose again. "By dawn, this boy shall be cast beyond the boundary stones. If the gods spare him, so be it. If not, his death will cleanse Greyhaven!"
The crowd chanted: "Exile him! Exile him!"
Kael's knees shook. His throat tightened. Part of him wanted to scream, to curse them all, to let the storm break loose. Another part of him wanted only to sink into the dirt and disappear.
And then his gaze found Darius, shoved to the edge of the square, struggling against the guards.
"Hold on, Kael!" Darius shouted, his voice fierce. "I'll get you out! I swear it!"
And Lyra - her face pale, eyes shining with tears, lips forming silent words: Fight.
Something broke inside Kael. The fear twisted into anger, the anger into fire. The mark on his chest blazed white-hot.
The sky above Greyhaven cracked with thunder.
The storm was no longer outside him. It was inside.
The elder lifted his staff. The crowd hushed.
"Let the gods witness our judgment!" he cried. "At dawn, this boy will be cast into the wilds. Until then, he shall be bound in the square, where all may see that Greyhaven does not harbor curses!"
Kael's breath rasped. Bound. Displayed like a beast. Every sneer, every glare cut deeper than the ropes biting into his wrists. He wanted to shrink, to vanish - but the burning in his chest made it impossible.
The ash-mark glowed through his torn shirt. A soft hiss rippled through the villagers as they noticed.
"It burns brighter."
"The curse awakens."
"Kill him now!"
The last shout sparked the others. Rough voices rose, sharp as knives. "Kill him! Kill him before the dawn!"
Kael's pulse hammered. His mark throbbed like molten fire. Lightning licked the edge of his vision, as though the storm crouched behind his eyes, begging to be unleashed.
"No!" Darius bellowed, breaking free of the guards. He rushed forward, only to be struck down with the butt of a spear. He hit the ground hard, blood spilling from his lip.
"Darius!" Kael shouted.
The rope around his wrists split with a crack - not by knife or blade, but by raw force. Sparks leapt from his skin. The crowd staggered back.
Kael's body trembled. Power surged through him, wild, untamed, as if the sky itself had poured into his veins.
The elder stumbled, raising his staff in defense. "Do you see? The curse devours him!"
But Kael couldn't hear him anymore. His heartbeat drowned out everything. His chest burned like a forge. The storm inside him burst free.
Lightning exploded from his hands, slamming into the cobblestones. The ground shuddered, torches blew out, villagers screamed as sparks danced across the square.
Children shrieked. Women fled. Men cursed, calling him demon, devil, godspawn.
And through the chaos, Kael saw Lyra. She did not run. Her eyes locked on his, wide not with fear, but with awe.
"Kael," she whispered, though her voice was lost in the thunder.
The storm swirled above Greyhaven now, a furious whirl of black clouds and crackling veins of light. The villagers collapsed to their knees, some praying, others wailing.
Kael dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. "Make it stop," he begged the night. "Please... make it stop..."
But the storm was not separate from him anymore. It was him.
The elder's voice rose, trembling but fierce. "Mark this night, Greyhaven! The boy is no longer one of us. He is an omen of ruin. Cast him out before his storm consumes us all!"
Hands grabbed Kael again - hesitant, terrified, but driven by desperation. They dragged him toward the boundary stones at the edge of the village. He was too weak to resist, too dazed by the storm raging inside him.
Darius fought to rise, shouting, "You cowards! He saved you from worse! He could save us all - "
His voice was silenced by another blow.
Lyra struggled against the guards, screaming, "Don't take him! He's not a curse - he's the key!"
Kael's vision blurred. He caught only fragments - her face streaked with tears, Darius' body crumpled on the ground, the elder's staff blazing with ritual fire.
The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was the storm tearing open the sky...
...and a shape watching from the clouds.
Not lightning. Not storm. A silhouette vast and terrible, with wings of ash and eyes of fire.
It looked down on him - smiling.
Kael's heart froze. The world spun away.
And the cursed boy of Greyhaven was gone.