Roots of The Storm

The scent of honeysuckle wine still clung to Kaelen's clothes as he sat at his desk, dawn spilling through the chamber windows. His head throbbed, but the ache was distant, smothered beneath the System's steady hum in his vision:

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Memory Stability: 10% (Garron's Loyalty Anchored)]

Garron snored on the floor nearby, half-buried under drapes he'd yanked off the wall in a drunken stumble. Kaelen watched the rise and fall of his friend's chest, the way his fingers twitched as if even in sleep, he was ready to laugh or brawl.

 Alive. 

The word settled in him like a stone.

He unrolled a map of Aurathos, its edges frayed from years of neglect. The Grand Conclave was in nine days—a viper's nest of emperors, scheming nobles, and Shadows. In his first life, he'd arrived as a punchline. Now, he'd walk in as a threat.

But threats needed teeth.

"Wake up," Kaelen said, nudging Garron with his boot. "We've work to do."

Garron groaned, shielding his eyes from the light. "You're a demon. A fig-wine demon."

"And you're my second-in-command. Demons don't take naps."

They descended to the training yard, where the clang of steel echoed like a discordant hymn. Caldris' soldiers drilled with wooden swords, their forms sloppy, their morale lower than the keep's crumbling foundations.

Garron grimaced. "They're worse than I remembered."

"Because you've never watched them die," Kaelen said quietly.

He remembered these men—boys, really—burning alive under dragonfire, their screams drowned by Drakhar's war horns. He stepped into the yard, the soldiers stiffening at his presence.

"Spar with me," Kaelen said, tossing Garron a blunted sword.

Garron blinked. "You hate sparring."

"Today, I don't."

The first clash was a mess. Garron fought like a tavern brawler, all wild swings and brute force. Kaelen deflected with ease, his movements honed by decades of Voidwell-fueled battles.

"You're holding back," Garron accused, panting.

"You're predictable."

"Says the prince who trips over his own boots!"

Kaelen feinted left, swept Garron's legs, and pinned him to the dirt. "Dead."

Garron grinned through gritted teeth. "Again."

They sparred until the sun climbed high, Garron's swings sharpening, his footwork tightening. The soldiers stopped to watch, murmuring as their "useless" prince disarmed his friend again and again.

[Soul Sight Activated: Garron - (Latent Fire Affinity). Loyalty: 89% (Unwavering).]

Fire. Kaelen paused, the System's text lingering. In his first life, Garron's magic had ignited too late—a fleeting inferno to hold off assassins as Kaelen fled. Now, the spark was still dormant.

But not for long.

———

That evening, Kaelen found Garron in the armory, polishing a dented breastplate.

"Since when do you clean armor?" Kaelen asked.

"Since you turned into a drill sergeant," Garron grumbled. "What's next? Morning jogs?"

Kaelen set a small velvet box on the table. Inside lay a ring—a band of black iron etched with Zalathi runes, its gemstone a shard of volcanic glass.

"A courting gift?" Garron smirked. "I'm flattered, but you're not my type."

"It's a focus stone. For fire mages."

Garron's smile died. "You know I'm shit at magic. Couldn't even light a candle for the priests."

Kaelen slid the ring onto Garron's finger. "Try."

Garron frowned, concentration wrinkling his brow. Nothing. Then—

A flicker. A wisp of smoke.

The ring's gemstone glowed red-hot.

"What the hells?" Garron yelped, shaking his hand.

"Your magic's been there all along," Kaelen said. "Dormant. The stone will draw it out."

[New Objective: Train Garron to Beacon-tier within 30 days.]

[Reward: Soulcraft Progress +20%, Corruption -0.3%.]

Garron stared at the smoldering gem. "Why?"

"Because I need you alive," Kaelen said. "And Caldris needs more than one monster to survive."

———

They trained in secret, deep in the wheat fields beyond Vernal Keep. Garron's first attempts were erratic—flames sputtering to ash, embers scorching his sleeves. But slowly, stubbornly, the fire obeyed.

"Focus," Kaelen said, circling him. "It's not a sword. It's an extension of your will."

Garron scowled, sweat dripping into his eyes. "Easy for you to say, soultaker."

A surge of flame erupted from his palms, incinerating a scarecrow. Garron whooped, the ring's gem blazing like a tiny sun.

"Did you see that?!"

Kaelen nodded, hiding a smile. "Adequate."

"Adequate? I'm a damned phoenix!"

[Soulcraft Progress: 31/100]

[Garron's Fire Affinity: 15% (Ember-tier).]

As dusk fell, they collapsed in the grass, the scent of charred wheat thick in the air. Garron flexed his soot-stained fingers, marveling at the sparks dancing across his knuckles.

"Why now?" he asked quietly. "Why help me?"

Kaelen plucked a stalk of wheat, twirling it absently. "The Conclave is a trap. The emperor wants me cornered, desperate. But if they see strength in Caldris—in us—they'll hesitate."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we burn them first."

Garron laughed, the sound warmer than his fledgling flames. "You've gone madder than a Drakhar dragon."

"Madness is the only sanity left," Kaelen said, rising. "Come. We've one more stop."

———

Beneath Vernal Keep's wine cellar lay a vault sealed for centuries. Kaelen pried open the rusted door, revealing dust-shrouded weapons—axes of blackened steel, bows strung with silverthread, and a suit of armor etched with spirit runes.

Garron whistled. "The Silent Guard's stash?"

"Their legacy." Kaelen tossed him a dagger. Its blade shimmered with residual magic. "Take what you need. Sell the rest to fund our journey."

"You're really preparing for war."

"I'm preparing to survive."

As Garron rummaged through the relics, Kaelen knelt before an ancient chest. Inside lay his mother's armor—a breastplate of dawnstone, its surface scarred but unyielding. He traced the Verath crest, the memories of her laughter still frayed at the edges.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[Memory Degradation Halted: Maternal Bond Stability +5%.]

Later, in his chambers, Kaelen studied the Conclave missive. Emperor Kaelith's seal glared up at him—a serpent devouring its tail.

The System flickered:

[Primary Objective Updated: Survive the Grand Conclave.]

[Recommended Preparations:]

1. Forge Eryndel Alliance (In Progress).

2. Strengthen Garron's Fire Affinity (In Progress).

3. Acquire Velarion Enchantments (See Selene of Velarion).

A knock interrupted him.

"Enter."

Garron leaned in, a fresh burn on his cheek and a grin on his face. "Found a buyer for the relics. Some scholar from Eryndel. Meet him tomorrow?"

"We will," Kaelen said.

Garron lingered. "You know… you're still a prick. But you're our prick."

"High praise."

As the door closed, Kaelen allowed himself a moment—just one—to savor the quiet victory.

[Corruption: 0.7%]

[System Note: Bonds Stabilized. Proceed.]

The storm was coming. But tonight, the roots held.