VIRELIA, VALKORON.
The skies above Valkoron rolled with distant thunder, a constant rhythm that had sometimes, long since become part of the great Storm Lord's domain.
The citadel Valkoron stood like a monolith beneath the swirling heavens, carved into the jagged cliffs where sea met sky. Storm clouds were forever gathered above it, trailing long fingers of lightning down the mountain sides as if the skies themselves bowed to the Stormborne bloodline.
At the peak of the central tower, the Storm Lord stood alone in his solar.
Valerian Stormborne, Warden of the Eastern Tempest, was a man carved from the fury of the world itself.
His back was straight as a sword's spine, his long, sun-blonde hair braided and bound with silver clasps.
Steel-gray eyes scanned the parchment in his hand, his face unreadable save for the faint tightening of his jaw.
He was tall, a towering 6'4, with broad shoulders and arms marked by the scars of old wars no bard dared sing of.
In stillness, he commanded attention; in motion, the air around him seemed to stir as though the storm itself responded.
Power clung to him like a second skin. So did impatience.
He held the wax-sealed letter from Caelmont, his thumb brushing the black insignia of the Aether throne stamped at its edge.
Behind him, the heavy doors opened unannounced. Only three men in the world were allowed such an offense.
"Bad news?" Kaelen Thorn asked as he entered, his cloak still damp from the walk through the courtyard.
"You have that look again....the one you wore before you leveled the Eastern Isles."
Valerian turned. "Caelmont has sent word."
Real Stormbane and Therion Neil followed Kaelen in, each of them settling around the hearth like hounds who had grown too old to wait for permission. Friends, yes, but not foolish ones. They knew when silence held weight.
"What's the Circle want with you?" Therion asked, crossing his arms.
Valerian dropped the letter on the nearest table. The red wax seal of the Aether Throne cracked under the weight of its meaning.
"They've summoned the ruling lords of the five nations to Caelmont by the next solstice," he said.
"The Circle of Accord meets every solstice," Therion said. "Why is this one different?"
Valerian's expression darkened. "Because this time, it's not ceremony. It's crisis. The north and south might go to war if this issue is not resolved properly."
"The Aurelia matter?" Kaelen asked, already knowing.
Valerian nodded.
"Neris has refused the marriage. Claims she's Cursed now, and refused to marry a cursed bride that may impair his bloodline."
"And Azarion won't let it go," Rael murmured. "He wants the promise honored as always."
Kaelen gave a dry snort and raised a brow. "Knowing Azarion he won't back down. He will say the promise was sacred. Bound in blood and sealed in fire."
""And now the Circle must mediate," Therion said. "Because two lords threatening to draw swords over a broken engagement is bad for balance."
"Yes. Neris is demanding the Circle of Accord intervene," Valerian said. "To prevent war, they call us all..so we may sit and play at justice, which I doubt Azarion will care about if it doesn't go his way."
Therion exhaled slowly. "You knew this was coming."
"I did." Valerian stepped toward the hearth, the flames casting bronze light across the silver threading of his tunic.
"What they don't realize is that this isn't just about a broken betrothal. It's about Aurelia herself. If Neris walks away, it unravels more than a promise....it shakes bloodlines. Legitimacies. Secrets."
"What do you mean?" Rael asked his lord.
Valerian's voice dropped. "Azarion is obsessed with the prophecy. The one spoken by Elyria Venn, High Oracle of the Aether Throne. Of a child, blessed by the gods, who will unite the shattered realm."
"That old thing?" Real scoffed. "It's been decades. No child like that's been born."
Valerian's brow furrowed. "Azarion still believes. Fervently. And he doesn't care how he achieves it."
"So he wants his daughter to marry the lord of winter just for this prophesy?. Therion asked. " But what does the prophesy have to do with his daughter's marriage?."
""He believes a child born of inter-nation blood will fulfill it. That crossing ancient bloodlines will bring the prophecy to life. It's the same logic behind his own marriage." Valerian replied.
Kaelen gave a low whistle. "He's mad."
"Mad, yes," Therion said. "But driven. If the child carries his blood, he doesn't care who pays the price."
Kaelen leaned forward. "Do you believe she's truly Cursed?"
Valerian's eyes sharpened. "I believe she is something they don't understand. And men destroy what they do not understand. But during the night that Ishara led a siege on Ashmere, she was truly Cursed that night."
A long silence stretched between the four.
Then came a soft sound...like the creak of leather boots on stone.
Valerian's eyes darted toward the door. "Come in, Vaelric."
A sigh was heard and from the shadows just beyond the threshold, a boy stepped forward.
Barely past seven summers, Vaelric Stormborne bore his father's sharp jaw and keen eyes. His black tunic was slightly wrinkled, boots half-laced, but his chin was lifted with stubborn pride.
"I wasn't eavesdropping," he said immediately, though no one had accused him. "I was just walking by."
Kaelen smirked, nudging Rael. "He lies as poorly as his father did."
Valerian's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "You heard enough."
"I heard about the meeting in Caelmont," Vaelric said, stepping closer. "I want to go with you."
Therion raised a brow. "And what does a boy of seven hope to do at a Circle of Accord?"
"I want to see it uncle. The cities, the court, the other lords." Vaelric looked up at his father. "And I want to be there for the judgement."
"Why are you interested in this?," Valerian asked his son, sensing his curiosity.
Vaelric hesitated, then straightened. "Because I want to see how kings judge and pass verdict."
His father tilted his head.
"As a future king," Vaelric added, "I think you and my uncles would agree it's good training."
He lifted his chin higher, attempting nobility. His nose almost touched the clouds.
Real snorted. "Storms. Valerian should take notes. The boy's got charm."
Valerian gave him a withering look. His friends laughed.
Valerian regarded his son in silence. The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the soft rumble of thunder rolling over the distant sea.
The Storm Lord stepped forward, his boots thudding softly against stone. His son looked up at him with fearless eyes...the same steel gray, though not yet sharpened with age.
"You know Caelmont is not valkoron and it's not a place for games," Valerian said. "It's not a child's tale. It's politics, threats wrapped in pleasantries. Treachery served with honeyed tongue."
"I'm not a child," Vaelric said stubbornly.
"You're seven."
Vaelric frowned. "Seven and a half. And a stormborne"
Rael chuckled again, whispering, "He's got your mouth."
Kaelen gave a quiet, approving nod at that.
Valerian sighed. He studied his son for a long moment. There was something in the boy's gaze...a spark of purpose, of eagerness, of potential, Of danger, too.
"Very well," Valerian said at last.
Vaelric blinked. "Really?"
"But..." Valerian's voice deepened, a crack of thunder beneath it. "You'll obey every command. You will speak only when spoken to in council. You'll not wander alone, not meddle in conversations that don't concern you, and you will not get into trouble."
Vaelric nodded eagerly. "I won't. I promise."
"If you dishonor our house, I'll send you home myself in a thundercloud. Do you understand?"
"Yes father".
Valerian knelt to his son's height and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Swear it. On your name."
Vaelric nodded, breath caught between excitement and reverence. "I swear it."
"On our name."
Vaelric nodded, chest rising with pride. "On our name."
Valerian stood again. His presence filled the room like a gathering storm. Behind him, his friends exchanged a look.
"Then pack," he said. "We leave at dawn ... in two weeks."