Kael Varyn clung to the slick stone of Torren's fortress parapet, rain hammering his black cloak as lightning split Eryndor's storm wracked sky. His lean frame tensed scarred hands gripping the jagged edge muscles burning from the climb. Below floating isles shimmered faintly, their edges frayed by the tempest. The Crown of Eryndor waited in the tower above—a cursed relic pulsing with blue runes, his only hope to free his sister Lyra from warlord Torren's grasp. He'd steal it or die trying driven by a love that fueled his every move.
"Move it, Kael," Joren hissed from a lower ledge, his wiry frame taut. Their crew three roughnecks—hovered nearby, daggers glinting. "Guards change in ninety seconds."
Kael nodded, hauling himself through a cracked window into the tower's upper chamber. The air thickened with ozone and a dark hum magic. The Crown of Eryndor sat on a basalt pedestal with its jagged silver band writhing with life. His fingers tingled storm magic stirring, but his breath caught as a figure emerged from the shadows, a woman robed her staff glowing faintly. Sharp green eyes met his, a scar tracing her cheek and an electric pull surged through him. Sylvara.
"Who are you?" he demanded, daggers half-raised, heart pounding not just from the climb.
"Someone who hates Torren more," she replied voice low and husky, stepping closer. Her gaze lingered, a mix of challenge and something deeper. "Take the crown thief, but don't linger."
Their eyes locked, a current passing between them—dangerous, intoxicating. Kael's magic flared drawn to her arcane aura and for a moment, the storm outside faded. He shook it off, lunging for the crown. The room screamed as runes flared red, a storm beast erupting claws of lightning thunderous eyes. Kael dove daggers flashing, but the beast raked his arm searing pain exploding. The crown skidded away.
Sylvara's staff flared silver light chaining the beast. "Now!" she shouted, her voice cutting through his haze. He scrambled, snatching the crown with heir hands brushing her touch warm, electric. Their eyes met again, a heartbeat of raw intensity before she shoved him toward the window. "Go!"
He grabbed the ledge, her presence behind him a magnetic pull. Joren and the crew burst in blades drawn. Ryn swung his axe, swatted aside blood spraying. Talia's crossbow bolts fizzled. The beast thrashed, but Sylvara's chains held her breath ragged as she fought. Kael's wound burned, yet his gaze darted to her—her strength, her grace, stirring something fierce within him.
"Down!" Sylvara cried, a blast of light staggering the beast. Kael seized Joren dragging him out. They rappelled Sylvara close her robe brushing his arm sending shivers through his soaked frame. Guards shouted, torches flaring in the rain. They hit the ground sprinting for the forest the beast's roar fading.
In a crumbling ruin, Kael slumped against a pillar panting. Sylvara lowered her hood, rain glistening on her skin as her eyes searching his. "You're welcome," she said, voice soft but edged with heat.
"Who are you?" he snapped clutching his wound, but his tone betrayed a hunger. Her closeness, the way her scar caught the light ignited a fire he couldn't suppress.
"Sylvara," she murmured, kneeling beside him dabbing his arm with a stinging vial. Her fingers lingered tracing his scars and their gazes locked. The air crackled—magic, desire and danger. He caught her wrist, their faces inches apart, breath mingling. "Why help me?" he whispered, voice rough.
Her lips parted a flicker of vulnerability. "I need the crown destroyed. And… you intrigue me, thief." Her hand slid to his chest, feeling his racing heart, before she pulled back leaving him aching.
Joren peered over breaking the spell. "What's that?" he asked, eyeing Kael's wrist where a rune glowed.
"Nothing," Kael lied while yanking his sleeve down, but his pulse thundered for Sylvara. The storm raged, Torren would come and this rune—this woman—promised a tempest of a different kind.