The Dance of Steel
(7 years later)
Kael moved like quicksilver between Roran's hammer-blows and Talin's darting strikes. His twin blades—Windstrike (a lean, mercury-bright saber) and Skyrend (a shorter, brutal punching dagger)—deflected steel with sharp chimes. Frostbite, the thunderstone-hafted axe, lay dormant on his back.
Talin (12), rolling under Roran's greatsword: "Still pretending Frostbite's just a fancy cloak-weight, Stormborn?"
Kael blocked Talin's hatchet with Skyrend, tapped his ribs with Windstrike's flat: "Axe is for cracking Durahn skulls. Yours just needs a flick."
Roran (17) laughed, heaving his practice sword: "Respect your elders! Boran forged those toothpicks for a warrior, not a dancer!"
Kael braced, blades crossed—CLANG!—skidded back a step. "I hauled his anvil up Cinderpeak twice for Windstrike. Skyrend cost me three frost-lion fangs. Worth every scar."
---
The Fire Princess's Stage
Varyndor's Sunspire Arena
Princess Aelara (12) stood serene as three Varyndor champions charged her. No armor. No weapon.
Varek(to Marinos ambassador): "Observe the pinnacle of refined power."
Aelara raised one hand. Fire coalesced—not wild, but sculpted. Three whip-thin lashings of white-hot flame snapped out, disarming swords, melting spearheads to slag before they touched her. The champions froze.
Aelara sighed, bored. "Again?"
She clenched her fist. The fire whips vanished. The champions bowed, trembling.
Varek smiled. "Emberheart does not waste flame on ash."
A servant whispered:"Word from Blackhold, sire. The Stormboy trains with blades."
Varek waved a dismissive hand. "Let Toran play with dead branches. True power needs no steel."
---
Blackhold Weapon Rack
Talin (polishing a dented hatchet): "Admit it. You hate Frostbite 'cause it makes your hair stand up."
Kael ran a thumb over Skyrend's wolf-head pommel. "The blades are quiet. Just me, the steel, the fight."
He didn't say: Frostbite vibrates with trapped lightning. It pulls at the storm in his blood like a lodestone. Windstrike and Skyrend let him fight without waking the god in the cage.
Roran dropped his armor with a crash. "Father won't let you ignore it forever. That axe is Altheria's heart."
Kael stiffened. "My heart's here. In Blackhold stone."
Roran gripped his shoulder. "Aye. But even stone needs testing." He paused, grin widening.
"Speaking of… pack your blades, pup. And Frostbite. You leave for Ironwood Vale at week's end. Six months. Maybe a year."
Silence. Talin's polishing rag froze.
Kael blinked. "Ironwood? The ghost forest? Why?"
Roran:"Old Man Wrynn lives there. Fought beside Father against the Ice Giants. Knows more about fighting with magic than against it. Father says it's time."
Talin groaned. "Six months? Who'll stop Roran from beating me senseless?"
Kael met Roran's eyes. A challenge sparked there. Not just training. A trial. "Does Elyna know?"
Roran snorted. "Who d'you think chose Wrynn? 'Blades need worthy stone to sharpen against,' she said. And you're taking Frostbite. No hiding from thunder in the Vale, brother."
---
Blackhold High Wall
Elyna watched Kael absorb the news below, his small frame straightening with defiant excitement.
Elyna:"Wrynn will break him. Or make him."
Toran:"His control is steel-deep. But steel bends before it breaks. The Vale… bends things. Especially magic."
Elyna(eyes on Frostbite's runes): "He needs to see the storm isn't just destruction. It's part of him. Wrynn understands that dance."
Toran:"And if the Vale awakens more than control?"
Elyna's smile was a sliver of winter sun. "Then Varek's 'dead branch' might just set his empire ablaze."
---
The Weight of the Axe
Kael stood alone at the armory door. Windstrike and Skyrend felt light at his hips. He reached back, fingers brushing Frostbite's icy haft. A low thrum vibrated up his arm – not pain, but potential.
Somewhere south, a princess shaped fire like a sculptor.
Somewhere east, a Stoneheart cracked mountains with her fists.
Here, a storm-prince touched the weapon that demanded his truth.
"Six months," Kael whispered to the axe. "Then we see who hides."
He walked toward the keep, the dawn sun glinting off Windstrike and Skyrend. Behind him, Frostbite's runes glowed faintly blue in the shadows, waiting. The silence of steel wouldn't last forever.