The Calm Before the Storm

The first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of violet and gold, casting long shadows over the village of Vala'dir. Aether stood at the edge of a narrow cliffside path, the sea stretching endlessly before him. The waves crashed against the rocks below, their rhythmic roar steady and unyielding, like the beating heart of the island itself.

For a moment, he let himself breathe.

These quiet mornings were his own—before duty, before expectations, before the weight of the day settled on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, letting the salt-heavy wind rush against his skin, carrying with it the distant voices of merchants setting up their stalls and fishermen calling to one another across the shore.

He should go back soon. Caelum had likely already begun his daily tasks as clan leader, and their mother would be preparing breakfast. But he lingered, gripping the wooden railing of the worn-out lookout point.

Would life always be this way? He knew what was expected of him—to grow stronger, to stand at his brother's side, to protect their people as their father once had. It wasn't that he resented it, but something deep within him ached for more. More than training. More than duty.

More than a path already laid before him.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts.

"You're up early," came a deep voice.

Aether turned to see Orion standing a few paces away, arms crossed over his broad chest. His mentor—his trainer—was a mountain of a man, hardened by years of battle. His dark skin bore scars that hinted at a past Aether had never been told, and his eyes held a quiet intensity, sharp and knowing.

"I could say the same to you," Aether said.

Orion snorted. "Discipline doesn't sleep."

Aether sighed. "I suppose that means training starts now?"

Without a word, Orion reached to his belt and tossed Aether a wooden training sword. He caught it easily, fingers wrapping around the smooth grip out of habit.

"Show me what you've learned," Orion said, stepping onto the dirt clearing beside him.

Aether shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders. He had been trained in the sword since childhood—Caelum had ensured it. But Orion's training was different. He didn't just teach strength. He taught survival.

Aether moved first, quick as the wind, striking low before pivoting into a feint. Orion sidestepped effortlessly, his wooden blade lashing out in response. Aether barely deflected in time, the force of the blow vibrating up his arm.

"Too slow," Orion said.

Aether clenched his jaw, adjusting his grip. He was faster than most. But Orion was relentless.

He struck again—sharp, precise movements, weaving between attack and defense. Orion matched him at every turn, until—

Aether saw an opening.

He shifted his weight, aiming for a counterstrike—only for Orion's foot to sweep his legs out from under him. Aether hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.

He groaned. "Was that necessary?"

Orion smirked, offering a hand to pull him up. "A real opponent won't wait for you to recover."

Aether took the offered hand, brushing dirt from his clothes. "One of these days, I'll actually land a hit on you."

"Maybe," Orion said. "If you live long enough."

There was something in his tone—something unusually serious. Aether frowned.

"What does that mean?"

Orion studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "Nothing. Again."

Aether exhaled, raising his sword once more.

By midday, the village square was alive with movement. Merchants shouted over one another, peddling dried fish, woven fabrics, and handcrafted jewelry. Children ran barefoot through the streets, their laughter ringing through the air as they weaved between the market stalls.

Aether made his way through the crowd, offering nods of greeting to familiar faces. Life here was simple, but there was warmth in it. These people—his people—looked to his family for leadership, for guidance.

And one day, they would look to him.

He spotted his mother near a stall, inspecting a bundle of fresh herbs. She smiled when she saw him, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Done with training?" she asked, passing a few silver coins to the merchant.

"For now," Aether said, stretching his sore arms. "Orion nearly broke my ribs again."

She gave a knowing hum. "That means he thinks you're improving."

Aether shook his head. "His way of showing it could be a little less painful."

Elyra laughed softly, handing him a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "Here. Take this to Lewis before you go home. He said he'd be needing more sage root for the forge."

Aether accepted it, glancing toward the distant smithy. The forge fire would still be burning, even in the midday heat.

"I'll see you at home," he said before heading off.

By the time evening fell, a storm had begun to gather on the horizon.

Dark clouds loomed in the distance, the scent of rain thick in the air. The villagers moved quickly, securing their stalls and hurrying home before the winds came.

Aether stood outside his house, watching the sky darken. Something felt… different.

A strange stillness had settled over the village, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

He turned, heading inside, where Caelum and their mother were already seated at the table. The air was warm, the candlelight flickering against the wooden walls.

His mother glanced at the storm outside. "Strange weather."

Caelum frowned. "It came too fast."

Aether sat, the unease in his chest growing.

They ate in silence for a while, the usual conversation absent. The storm outside had swallowed the usual village sounds—the distant laughter, the chatter of merchants.

It was too quiet.

Then it happened.

Aether gasped, his entire body locking up as a searing heat spread through his chest. He clutched at his shirt, breath stolen from his lungs as an invisible force burned beneath his skin.

The room blurred, his mother's voice distant, Caelum's hand gripping his shoulder.

And then—

A golden light flared before him, an intricate symbol forming in the air, shifting like molten gold. It pulsed with an ancient, unyielding presence.

Aether's vision cleared, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He knew what this was.

He had been chosen.

The Succession Games had begun.

And fate had just sealed his path.