The carriage rattled over the cobblestone streets, wind tossing my hair as I leaned back, one arm resting casually on the edge of the door. Beside me, Kaelen — my second-in-command, ever energetic and reckless — sat quietly, hands folded, trying not to fidget.
"You're calm," he finally said. "Even with all those guilds waiting for you. You don't seem… nervous."
I smiled, faint, dangerous. "Nervous?" I repeated. "No. They don't know what storm they're inviting themselves into. And if they try to provoke it…" I let the words hang, letting the faint hum of the lightning wraiths in my mind underline them. "…they'll learn fast."
Kaelen's eyes flicked to mine. "You'd fight them all?"
I tilted my head, calm but lethal. "If they left me no choice? Yes. I built this guild myself. I don't take orders. I don't answer to councils or kings. And I certainly don't bend to threats."
He swallowed. I knew he was picturing a dozen guild masters collapsing under a single strike. That wasn't far from the truth.
The guild hall loomed ahead, massive and ornate, its walls lined with banners representing every guild in the capital. I stepped off the carriage first, feeling the storm pulse faintly across the streets, warning the city — subtle, quiet, enough to let them know I wasn't just a boy anymore.
The doors opened. Guildmasters, their cloaks heavy with sigils, turned at our entrance. Whispers ran through the room, the kind that only bloom when something unprecedented enters their world.
I didn't move fast. I didn't raise my voice. I let the aura do the talking — the lightning barely visible along my veins, the wraiths coiling in shadow, watching from the edges of perception.
A tall man with a gilded cloak stepped forward. "Ashura Bellet. The boy who cleared calamity and catastrophic dungeons alone. And now… a guild. You tread on dangerous ground."
I let a faint smirk slip. "Ground isn't dangerous if you're the storm that walks it."
The man's lips curled in disdain. "You think arrogance is a shield?"
"It is, if it's backed by action," I replied smoothly. "And by now, I think you've seen what happens when words aren't enough."
Murmurs swept the hall. Guilds that had ignored whispers now looked at me with calculation. Some with fear. Some with envy. A few with disbelief.
Another guildmaster, shorter, wiry, stepped forward. "You've built a guild that answers only to you. Do you intend to remain isolated, or will you join the council?"
I laughed, soft, but sharp. "Join the council?" I shook my head. "I didn't forge a guild to sit under a table debating politics. I built it to grow, to challenge, to survive. And if you all threaten it… well, then I suppose a demonstration is in order."
I let the words hang. The air in the room stiffened, tension thick enough to taste. Every guildmaster there knew — I wasn't bluffing.
Kaelen gave a low whistle beside me. "You just told a room full of elders you'd fight them all if they made you mad."
"Not if," I corrected him, voice low, calm. "When."
The rest of the conference became a game. Words, subtle threats, layered politicking — all of it meaningless unless tested. I navigated it like a storm, calm at the center but ready to strike at any provocation.
By the end, the guildmasters left with their plans unchanged on the surface. But beneath their composed expressions, every single one knew one thing: Ashura Bellet's guild was not to be trifled with.
And if they tried, I'd make sure the storm answered.