Soon he found himself following the man through the massive gates and into the castle grounds beyond. They didn't enter the main structure; instead, the guide led him through a labyrinth of gardens and courtyards, each more elaborate than the last.
In one training yard, stormcloaks practiced their craft, wielding powers that seemed to bend reality itself — lightning crackled between fingertips, wind howled at a gesture, water twisted into impossible shapes. Grand gardens with elegant statuary and ornate fountains lined their path, the wealth and artistry on display almost obscene in its opulence.
A stormwatcher strode past them, and Rowan's steps faltered.
The man was clad in form-fitting black metal armor, sleek and deadly, with the purple lightning sigil emblazoned on his breastplate. He was enormous, a giant among men, and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who'd never needed to prove his strength. As he passed, he glanced at Rowan from the corner of his eye. Those cold blue eyes, partially hidden beneath curly brown locks, pierced through Rowan like shards of ice.
That's Barren Mareflower, Rowan realized, his pulse quickening. Son of Wikes Mareflower, Lord of Greenbarrow. I saw him once in passing when I was young.
The massive warrior continued past, but Rowan couldn't help looking back, watching until the man disappeared around a corner.
Master told me that they're the second most powerful family in Stanor, behind only the Queen herself. They single-handedly crushed the Hand of Lightning rebellion in Merchant's Harbor a couple years back.
He turned forward again, his mind racing.
Why would the heir to such power join the Stormwatchers? He's giving up his inheritance, his rights, his land, everything as a Mareflower. Until he retires or is discharged, anyway, and from what I hear, the Stormwatchers rarely discharge anyone. And you can only retire after fifty.
Rowan shook his head as they continued their journey, pondering the puzzle. Why would someone so privileged and powerful give it all up for the most dangerous job on the planet?
People only join the Stormwatch for a couple reasons, he mused cynically. Power and fame, the considerable money they pay, and lastly... "saving humanity." He has an abundance of the first two, so that means... Gods, don't tell me an heir to a great house actually 'cares'.
Rowan scoffed at the notion.
They emerged into a much larger courtyard, this one paved entirely in gray stone and surrounded by high walls. Elevated balconies overlooked the space from above, creating a natural amphitheater.
In the courtyard, other young people his age milled about, standing in clusters, talking in hushed tones, waiting nervously for the examinations to begin.
The class divide was immediately apparent. Some wore pristine clothing, their garments clearly tailored and expensive, marking them as scions of noble houses. Others wore little better than rags, covered in road dust and grime, their origins in the lower quarters unmistakable. These two groups did not intermingle, each maintaining an invisible barrier, still clinging to the hierarchies of the world outside these walls.
Rowan scoffed at the sight.
Idiots. They'll be equals if they pass. They won't be noble and commoner anymore... simply Stormwatcher and Stormwatcher.
He smirked as the guide led him into the assembled group. Perhaps fifteen candidates stood in the courtyard, maybe a few more. Rowan moved toward the center, his eyes scanning faces, assessing what might soon become his competition.
But before he could complete his survey, a firm hand landed unexpectedly on his shoulder.
Startled, Rowan spun around and jumped back a step, his heart lurching. But as his eyes focused on the person who'd touched him, recognition dawned and he relaxed, allowing a smile to break across his face.
"Jared! It's good to see you again. I figured I'd see you here."
Jared stood before him with a shocked smile splitting his features. "Y-you didn't tell me you were stormborn as well! And furthermore, that you were taking the Stormwatcher exams today!" His voice carried louder than necessary, drawing a few curious glances.
Rowan's smile turned shallow. "Well, you never asked."
Jared scoffed, but without real offense. "Yes, I suppose you're correct." He paused, then continued earnestly, "So you want to join the Stormwatch, then? I do hope you pass!"
Rowan nodded. "Yes, I guess I do. And I hope you pass as well."
Jared blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Oh... I don't need your hope. I'll be passing either way, thank you though!"
Despite the arrogant words, his tone betrayed no mockery or malice. He wasn't trying to demean Rowan or dismiss his sentiment — he was simply stating what he believed to be objective truth, as casually as someone might comment on the weather.
This kid is really a piece of work, Rowan thought.
He chuckled awkwardly, attempting not to let irritation show, when suddenly the courtyard erupted in sound. Excited voices rose in a wave, conversations halting mid-sentence as people turned toward the entrance.
Both boys' eyebrows furrowed in confusion as they scanned the crowd for the cause of this sudden uproar.
They didn't have to search long.
When they looked back toward the courtyard's entrance, they understood immediately.
An elegant young woman glided through the archway, commanding attention without seeming to try. She wore a sleek, form-fitting red dress with white sleeves, cinched at the waist with a golden belt bearing the sigil of her house — a crashing wave rendered in exquisite detail. Her beautiful white hair cascaded down to the center of her back, catching the light like spun silver. Her skin was pale as fresh snow, and she moved with natural grace, a soft smile playing at her lips.
The crowd fell silent as recognition swept through them.
Slowly but surely, candidates began to kneel one by one, bowing before Mira Tidecaller, before the Princess of Stanor. Rowan knelt as well, his knee protesting against the hard stone.
What in hell is the Princess doing here?
His mind raced, trying to piece together some explanation for her presence, but before he could reach any conclusion, a loud and intimidating voice boomed from above them.
"Oh, rise already, you sorry sacks of meat."
Confused murmurs rippled through the group as they looked up to the balcony.
A large man stood there, imposing despite — or perhaps because of — his informal attire. He wore a shabby black doublet with purple trim, the mark of the Stormwatchers emblazoned on the chest, all covered by an open black cloak with fur lining the collar. The man was built like a bear, with a thick black beard and a head shaved so close it gleamed in the sunlight.
The group remained kneeling, uncertain, as they examined this newcomer.
"I said stand fuckers."
The man's voice carried effortless authority. "Ms. Mira Tidecaller is here to take the exam just like you lot. And here, on this castle, being a Stormwatcher means you are nothing else except a Stormwatcher until your service is done. Which means right now, Ms. Tidecaller is not a princess, understand? So I'll say it once more... stand your sorry asses up so we can get started."
The group remained frozen for a moment longer. Then quiet chatter began to bubble up, and one person after another warily rose to their feet.
She's taking the exam? Rowan's thoughts raced as he stood. That would mean giving up her right to the throne, passing it to her younger brother. Why would she do that?
He continued to observe her as he rose. Despite the man's declaration, people remained nervous in her presence. As she walked to join the group, those near her parted instinctively, creating a buffer of empty space around her like she carried an invisible forcefield of royalty.
Rowan shook his head and returned his attention to the man on the balcony.
I could guess who this charismatic fellow is.
He'd never seen the man in person, but he'd certainly heard of him. Hell, people from Stanor all the way up to the Corsair Isles knew his name. He was known as a hero across all of Valdoria, a living legend.
"I am Igor Relsword of House Who Gives a Shit," the man announced with deliberate crudeness. "I am the Watch Commander, second in command behind the Council. Some of you may have heard of me. Some of your mothers may moan my name in their sleep." He paused to let that sink in, clearly enjoying the scandalized expressions. "Either way, I'm here because I'm supposed to give you all a nice, cherry, inspirational speech... or whatever." He rolled his eyes dramatically and took a deep breath.
Rowan couldn't suppress a snicker.
They say he's the strongest stormborn alive. He joined right after the great expedition disaster in Atheris 10 years back and had a meteoric rise to the top thanks to his sheer power and cunning.
His smirk widened.
What the stories don't tell you is that he's apparently a bit of a dick.