The courtyard smelled of rain and smoke, a lingering reminder of the storms I often conjured to keep everyone alert. I stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching the first recruits move through the drills I had arranged.
Darian barked orders, his voice sharp and unwavering. Under his guidance, the fighters practiced formation, precision strikes, and endurance maneuvers. Every movement was deliberate, a test not just of strength but of attention. Even a slight misstep drew a correction — sometimes harsh, sometimes subtle.
The berserker girl moved among the recruits like a hurricane incarnate, testing their reaction to raw force. A punch here, a shove there — nothing fatal, but enough to push limits. One young recruit stumbled under her weight, barely avoiding a devastating strike. She didn't pause. She grinned, eyes blazing, as if daring them to rise and face her again.
The black-flame wielder, quieter but no less intimidating, taught control. Flames danced along his fingers, black as obsidian and curling like serpents. When he released them, they didn't just burn — they marked precision points, forcing recruits to dodge with calculation. One mistimed move, and a controlled arc could have dismembered an unprepared body. The fear in their eyes was fleeting, but it left understanding.
Selvara hovered on the edges, notebook in hand, recording every strike, every misstep, every nuance. Occasionally, she would pause, focusing inward, and a faint pulse of power would ripple through her hands — tiny flashes of divinity she barely understood herself. I noticed, of course, and I didn't intervene. Some sparks needed time to ignite on their own.
Kaelen darted among the recruits, practicing alongside them, sometimes coaching, sometimes demonstrating techniques. Impulsive as ever, he occasionally tripped over his own momentum, but he always landed on his feet, faster, sharper, more aware. I allowed it. Instinct, when honed, could become as lethal as any strike.
I stood silently, the wraiths hovering around the courtyard, keeping watch. Vyre slithered among shadows, striking when a recruit's motion faltered, a reminder that the storm was always present. Eldrin loomed over the training grounds, a sentinel whose presence alone kept the reckless in check.
I spoke finally, voice low but carrying over the drills. "You are the first sparks. You are not equals. You are not soldiers. You are the foundation. The guild will grow, but every new arrival will be measured against what you have learned. You will teach them, or you will break them."
Darian didn't need words to respond — his movements sharpened, corrections more precise. The berserker girl's grin widened; she thrived on challenge. The black-flame wielder's hands flickered with fire as he adjusted arcs, refining the control of the trainees. Selvara's eyes glimmered with curiosity, and Kaelen's energy buzzed like electricity in the air.
This was how the guild would function: a small, lethal nucleus, capable of extending my will without me ever needing to lift a finger. I didn't command their every move — I designed the structure, the crucible, the rules. They enforced it, they lived it. And through them, the storm would multiply.
The day ended with exhaustion in their limbs and awe in their eyes. I said nothing more. The courtyard was left to the lingering drizzle and the faint crackle of the lightning wraiths.
I allowed myself one thought as I walked back to my quarters: This is how it begins. Not with armies, not with allies, not with fame. Only with understanding. Only with power. Only with the storm.
And already, far beyond the city, unseen eyes were beginning to notice. The boy with blank stats had formed something no one else could touch. A guild without a guildmaster, a force of one and many, anchored by a storm they could barely comprehend.