Morning Over Stormhaven
Dawn laid a gold ribbon across the peaks of Stormhaven. From his chamber, Aeros watched the first light slide down the mountain ribs, spill over the rivers, and catch on the crystal spires of the palace. For a moment he let it paint the ceiling in shifting bars, breathing until the tightness in his chest loosened.
Today he would begin the long walk toward his rite of passage.
He dressed in the clan's training whites—simple, well-worn, edges reinforced with thread that shimmered faintly when it caught the sun. As he tied his sash, he muttered to himself, "Breakfast, then rations… My spatial ring can handle it."
If anyone had heard him, they might have challenged him on the spot. A ring with a hundred-kilometer radius was a small city, not a pantry. Still, he had never met a supply he didn't want just a little more of.
The corridors were quiet; servants moved like thoughts. Aria was already waiting in the private dining hall, steam curling from a pot of jasmine tea.
"Good morning, baby bird," she said, warmth softening the words.
Aeros smiled back, easing onto the cushion opposite. "Morning, Mom. I slept… some."
"Some is honest." She poured, slid the cup his way. "Today is meant to feel large. If it felt small, I'd worry."
He cupped the tea, letting the heat steady his hands. "I'm ready. Mostly. The 'unknown' part is noisy."
Aria's lips curved. "The unknown is always noisy. That's why we listen—to ourselves, not to it." She reached across to touch his wrist. "You were a loud little comet the day you were born. You are still my loud comet. Don't forget that when the world tries to tell you who you are."
He glanced out at the empire beyond the lattice windows, mountains like sentinels, valleys veined with silver rivers, gardens spread like a dream. "I won't let you down."
"You won't," she said simply. "Even if you stumble. The heart of a Stormhaven is not measured by clean floors."
He laughed under his breath and drank. They ate in companionable quiet—flatbread, fruit, a savory broth that smelled like childhood. When the bowls were empty, he rose.
"I'll go see Grandfather."
Aria hugged him, chin brushing his shoulder. "Tell your Grandpa to be gentle to my little baby bird."
Aeros choked on a laugh. "I am never saying those exact words to him."
"Then think them loudly." Her smile softened. "Go."
He bowed quickly and slipped out, the palace opening in long breaths before him.
————-
Stormhaven's inner gardens breathed a different kind of dawn—damp earth, cold stone, the faint sweet of night-blooming flowers closing for rest. Aeros cut through a bamboo arcade toward the meditation grove, thoughts falling into a steady cadence.
The light dimmed. Something moved above the treeline.
Wings threw a broad shadow over the path. A creature descended—sleek as a panther, scaled like old myth, a pair of draconic wings folding with a whisper. It landed lightly on black paws and regarded him with tilted head, eyes a lucid amber streaked with starlight.
Aeros stopped, palms open at his sides. "You're a long way from the outer forests."
The beast blinked, then—unexpectedly spoke, voice velvet and wry. "And you're very awake for someone with a trial looming."
Aeros' brow lifted. "You speak Common."
"I collect languages the way my mother collects sunspots." The creature's tail swayed, lazy and precise. "Nyxthar."
"Aeros. Stormhaven." He hesitated, then added, "I mean no offense, but if you were here to cause trouble, the garden alarms would already be singing."
Nyxthar's whiskers twitched. "If I were here to cause trouble, you wouldn't have seen me land." A beat. "Relax. I was flying the thermals. The palace is… pretty from above."
Aeros let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "It is."
Nyxthar sniffed the air around him, curious rather than rude. "Strong body aura. Golden Radiance, yes? You shine like hammered metal when the light hits just so."
"Born with it," Aeros said. "Still getting used to it."
"Enviable problem." A playful note crept into the panther's tone. "I'm fourteen. My parents insist I train the long way, the 'character-building way.' Very boring."
Aeros barked a laugh. "We might be cousins in suffering."
Nyxthar padded a lazy circle around him, not closing in, just… mapping. "You're tense. Not fear. Readiness."
"Meeting the old man." Aeros jerked his chin toward the inner keep. "He tends to subtract all the excuses from a person."
"Ah." Nyxthar's ears flicked, amused. "I have an uncle like that. He counts my breaths when I lie."
They stood in easy silence for a few heartbeats—wind in the bamboo, water knocking softly beneath a stone bridge.
"So," Aeros said at last, "do Heavenseizing Panthers often visit imperial gardens at dawn?"
"Only when the weather is excellent." Nyxthar looked back toward the clear strip of sky he'd cut through. "We're passing through. Migration pattern my father insists on. He claims it keeps the bloodline honest. I claim he likes old routes."
Aeros glanced at the wings, the splay of claws, the poised nonchalance. "If fate ever wants to be dramatic, it'll toss us into the same path again."
"Fate is always dramatic," Nyxthar said, dry. "It hates being ignored."
Aeros smiled. "I should go, or I'll be late."
"You should." Nyxthar stepped back, giving the path to him. "Don't die in anything embarrassing. If you do, I'll deny we met."
"That's extremely motivating. Thank you."
A glimmer of humor warmed the panther's eyes. "You're welcome, Stormhaven."
Aeros dipped his head. "Safe skies."
"Steady ground," Nyxthar replied, and with a smooth gathering of muscle he sprang, wings snapping wide. One beat, two, and he was a dark shape against the brightening day, then gone.
Aeros watched the last ripple of shadow slide off the bamboo. He didn't reach for his NetCrystal. For reasons he couldn't explain, it felt right to let this meeting belong to the morning and nothing else.
He turned toward the inner keep.
—————
The doors to Orion Stormhaven's hall were carved with the history of their linecomets split on horns, cities raised from sea, a thousand small mercies hidden among the grand deeds. The attendants eased the panels open. Cold, bright air spilled out.
Orion sat a little forward on the star-forged throne, as if thrones were for other men. Age clung to him the way scars cling to steel. visible, instructive, not defining. His eyes carried the kind of light that has watched a great many nights end.
"Aeros," he said, and the name filled the space like a chord. "Come."
Aeros crossed the patterned stone and bowed low. "Grandfather."
Orion measured him, but not like a merchant counts coin. More like a mentor sets a weight in his palm. "You stand at a door. On the other side are smaller doors, and some you won't see until they close. This is the shape of a rite."
"I understand," Aeros said. "I'll open what I can and learn from what I can't."
A flicker of approval warmed Orion's gaze. "You carry our blood, but your steps are your own. During the rite, the clan does not reach in. That includes me. If you trip, you stand. If you bleed, you bind. If you err, you correct."
Aeros held his eyes. "Then I'll make good errors."
That drew the smallest curve of a smile. "Make new errors. Anyone can repeat old ones."
Aeros almost laughed—and didn't, because something in his chest steadied. "Yes, Grandfather."
Orion rose. Power didn't rush; it settled, like a cloak picked up and worn again. "There is a difference between solitude and loneliness. You'll feel both. Learn which is useful. Learn to be kind when you can afford it and decisive when you cannot."
"I will."
"And remember," Orion added, a note of fondness under the granite, "your mother hears more than you say. Do not send her silence."
"I'll send loud victories," Aeros said, impulse breaking through, then reddened. "And honest reports."
"Better." Orion stepped closer and rested a hand—scarred, steady—on Aeros' shoulder. "Go, then. Walk well. Come back with a story that improves the family."
Aeros bowed, deeper this time, not out of ritual but because it felt right. "I'll do my best to be worth your worry."
Orion's eyes softened. "You already are."
The doors opened again. Light swept the floor between them. Aeros backed out the last two steps—old manners, newer courage—and turned toward the day that would begin the rest of his life.
As he passed the garden arcade, a shadow far above tilted once, like a nod from a distant friend, and vanished into the high blue.