The Storms Above
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The room was quiet, but the silence felt unnatural.
Seri sat in the chair by the window, wrists still bound in the fine golden cuffs that gleamed mockingly in the morning light. She had stopped struggling hours ago—not because she had given up, but because she needed to listen.
And she heard it.
Faint tremors through the floor. A vibration in the stone beneath her feet. Distant booms—soft, but real. A clash of heat and force that didn't belong in a quiet tower.
"They came," she whispered.
A smile tugged at the edge of her lips, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Asteria.
She stood slowly, moving toward the window despite the chains that limited her. Beyond the bars, the clouds rolled violently over the cliffs. Birds had long since vanished. Even the breeze had changed—no longer soft, but heavy, tense, thick with magic.
A fight was happening. And part of her—despite the fear—felt alive.
The doors creaked behind her.
She turned sharply.
The Queen's handmaiden entered. Pale. Quiet. Carrying a tray of untouched food.
"You should eat, Princess."
"I'm not hungry."
"You may need your strength soon."
"For what?" Seri snapped. "To watch my friends die?"
The handmaiden didn't answer. She placed the tray down gently and backed toward the door.
Seri stared at her cuffs again. Ornate, magical, custom-forged. Resistant to fire, cold, and even the wind she once toyed with during her training days.
But everything has a weakness.
She closed her eyes and reached inward—into that small place inside her where memory lived. Where her mother's lullabies and Asteria's laugh lingered. Where her dreams hadn't yet been twisted by politics, by fear, by royal blood.
She thought of the river near the village where they'd camped. The warmth of the fire. Tarn's jokes. Mira's sarcastic smirks. Valron's patience.
Cain's quiet guidance.
Asteria's voice.
"I'll come for you. No matter what."
Seri clenched her jaw.
Suddenly, a loud boom shook the ceiling. Dust rained from above. Her heart jumped.
Then—shouts.
Guards yelling. Orders barking. A gust of wind ripped the balcony curtain from its hinge.
They were here.
She rushed to the window again, searching the sky, the tower walls. She couldn't see anyone—but the battle was above her now.
The Queen would be there. So would Asteria.
Her fingers twitched. Do something.
She pulled at her cuffs again. No use.
Then her gaze fell to the silver fork on the tray.
A plan formed.
Not brilliant. Not foolproof.
But bold.
And bold was all she had left.
---
Seri's hands trembled as she gripped the cold silver fork.
One chance. One slip, and it's over.
She took a steady breath and wedged the fork's thin prongs into the seam of the cuff's underside—the hidden latch that the Queen always thought was "too delicate for royal hands" to ever bother with. But Seri had studied these things in secret. All her life, she had watched. And now, that patience was her weapon.
With a soft click, one cuff sprang loose.
The second followed, slower—but it gave way.
She didn't wait to celebrate.
Seri grabbed the fork, tucked a small blade she had hidden in her boot back when she was first taken, and crept to the door. She peeked into the hallway. Empty.
The sounds above were louder now.
Screams. Shouts. The unmistakable crack of magic—like air being ripped apart.
She bolted into the corridor, sprinting up the winding staircase, higher and higher, her slippers silent on stone.
As she reached the upper level, the heat hit her like a wave.
The hallway just outside the Queen's tower room pulsed with chaotic energy. The walls shimmered with firelight. The wind howled unnaturally down the stairwell.
She slowed. Crouched.
Peered around the corner.
And her heart froze.
Asteria—bloodied, bruised—stood barely on his feet, his flames weak, flickering like dying embers. Cain was slumped against the far wall, stone fragments clinging to his skin, his arm limp and broken.
The Queen stood between them—unscathed.
Fire danced up her sleeves, wrapped around her arms like silken ribbons. Wind bent in lazy circles around her heels. She didn't even look tired.
She was toying with them.
Seri's breath hitched.
If I run in now... I'll just fall beside them.
But she couldn't do nothing.
Not again.
She clenched her fists and called upon what little training she remembered.
Fire. And wind.
Two elements she had barely mastered—but they answered now, like old friends waking from slumber.
She focused the heat, fed it with the wind, and guided it down the hall.
Then—she slammed her palms together.
BOOM.
A bright burst of fire erupted behind the Queen—controlled, but loud. The chamber exploded with smoke, thick and fast, swallowing the room like a tide.
The Queen spun sharply, distracted.
"WHAT?!"
Asteria blinked through the haze.
And then—he saw her.
Seri.
A silhouette behind the smoke. Hair loose. Eyes blazing.
Cain spotted her too—and in that instant, he understood.
He gave a sharp signal—two fingers slashed diagonally through the air.
Go.
He turned and slammed his fists into the marble floor beneath him. A massive crack split open, stone falling in chunks as a hole yawned wide below them.
"NOW!" he shouted to Asteria.
Asteria dove in, grabbing Cain's arm mid-jump. The Queen lunged forward, but the floor collapsed just before her reach.
The two vanished into the smoke and stone.
Seri exhaled sharply and turned on her heel, sprinting down the upper hall. She didn't stop—didn't look back. Every guard in the tower would come running now.
But she'd done what she needed to do.
She bought them a chance.
---
The smoke still hung thick in the air, curling like the breath of dragons across the shattered chamber. Cracks split the marble floor where her prey had vanished. Emberlight flickered around the Queen, her cloak smoldering at the edges, her silver hair flowing in wild disarray—untouched by chaos, yet forged from it.
She stood perfectly still at the edge of the broken floor, her eyes burning gold beneath her lashes.
Silence.
Then, with a snap of her fingers, the flames around the room extinguished in a thunderous whoomph.
"Seal the exits," she said—her voice cold, but sharp enough to draw blood.
The dozen guards who remained stiffened, immediately snapping to attention.
"I want eyes in every wing of this palace. Block the tunnels, the old bridges, the sewers, the skywalks—everything. Tear this mountain apart if you must."
She turned slowly, the air shifting with her every step—her presence more storm than woman.
"They are injured. They are desperate. That makes them clever—but not invisible."
One of the captains stepped forward hesitantly. "Your Majesty… shall we alert the Watchtower units—?"
"No." Her voice cracked like a whip. "I want them found by my guards. I want them brought to me. Alive."
She paused at the center of the ruined chamber, gazing upward as wind swirled down through the broken ceiling like a dying breath.
"And when they are," she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "I will break them—slowly. The Prime. The Stonebearer. And that traitorous girl."
She turned her back on the wreckage and began to walk away, fire flaring to life in her wake.
"Find them. Or don't return."
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