CHAPTER 42 — Stormthread, As Advertised
Aiden didn't realize how hungry he was until he smelled bread.
Not the faint, background scent of the Academy kitchens drifting through corridors. Fresh bread. Warm. Heavy in the air, cut with steam from stew and the sharp, bright notes of herbs.
His stomach growled loud enough that the pup whipped its head up and glared at his ribs like they'd betrayed them both.
"Yeah, yeah," Aiden muttered. "Working on it."
The corridor outside the Verdant Hall opened into one of the main walkways—a wide stone spine that cut across the Academy's inner ring. Students streamed along it in both directions, morning classes shifting into midday.
Conversations buzzed. Cloaks brushed. Boots thudded.
Ordinary noise.
After the marsh and the Verdant Hall, it sounded almost… gentle.
Aiden blended into the flow, cloak hood down, the pup tucked under one arm so it wouldn't decide to fight anyone's ankles. Its fur still crackled faintly, but the worst of the static had settled. For now.
He didn't get more than ten steps before the whispers started.
"—that's him—"
"—back already—"
"—stormthread—"
A pair of second-years in arcane sashes glanced at him, then very obviously pretended not to look. A first-year with a trainee bow dumped half her books when the pup sneezed a spark in her direction.
"Sorry," Aiden said automatically, bending to help her.
She turned scarlet. "I—it's fine—sorry—Stormbound, I mean, Raikos, I mean—"
"It's just Aiden," he said, passing her the top book. "And he"—he nodded at the pup—"is sorry, too."
The cub blinked at her with solemn lightning eyes and licked the air.
She made a small squeaking noise that might someday evolve into a word and fled.
Aiden sighed.
This, he thought, is what Elowen meant about names feeling prophetic.
He pushed on.
As he rounded the last corner toward the dining hall, a familiar voice rose above the rest.
"—I'm telling you, it was like if guilt had muscles and a knife."
Myra.
Of course.
The dining hall doors stood open, releasing waves of heat and the clang of utensils. Aiden stepped through and spotted his Cohort instantly.
Stormthread, he corrected himself.
They'd claimed a table along the wall where two long benches met at a corner. Myra sat with one boot hooked on the bench, halfway through acting out something with both hands, knife forgotten in her bread. Nellie leaned forward, eyes wide, a spoonful of stew hovering somewhere between bowl and mouth.
Runa listened like she listened to everything—quietly, completely—arms folded, hammer propped against the wall within reach. A half-eaten loaf sat near her elbow, neatly sliced. There was an extra bowl of stew at the empty space beside her.
Aiden's space.
As he approached, Myra's story hit a dramatic point.
"—and then she just walks into our dorm like she owns the place," Myra was saying, "and says 'Rest. You earned more than you know.' Do you understand how hard it is to be a menace when someone says that at you?"
"That is not what she said," Runa muttered.
"Close enough," Myra said.
Nellie smiled around a mouthful of stew. "She did say we were trouble."
"The necessary kind," Runa added.
Myra saw Aiden over Nellie's shoulder.
Her expression flipped from mid-story intensity to relief so fast it made his chest ache.
"There he is," she said. "Our resident swamp magnet."
Nellie twisted around. Her eyes skimmed his face, then his shoulders, then the pup.
"Are you okay?" she blurted.
He managed a tired half-smile. "Define okay."
"Breathing," Runa said.
"Not shaking," Myra suggested.
"Not currently being haunted by marsh fog," Nellie added.
Aiden considered.
"Two out of three," he said, dropping onto the bench beside Runa.
The pup leapt from his arm to the table, sniffed his bowl, then Runa's, then decided Nellie's was clearly the best and crawled toward her with blatant intent.
Nellie laughed weakly and nudged it back. "No, that's mine. You had a whole fish chunk on the way back."
The cub flopped down between their bowls with a theatrical sigh, chin on its paws.
Aiden reached for the spare stew.
"You look less like you're going to explode," Myra observed, leaning her elbows on the table. "So either Elowen fixed something, or she just pressed you into a neat little cube of anxiety I can't see yet."
"Little of both," he said, picking up a spoon.
"Report," Runa said simply.
Aiden hid a smile in his first bite.
Stew hit his tongue—thick, salty, hot enough to sting. His whole body shivered in grateful agreement. When he'd scraped enough hunger off the edges to think again, he set the spoon down.
"The Warden tested the wards," he said quietly. "Pushed them. Tested me, too."
Nellie's fingers tightened around her bowl.
"We saw the shimmer," she whispered. "Felt it. But after you and Veldt stepped forward, the pull… sharpened. Like something got very interested, very fast."
Myra frowned. "So it looked straight at you again?"
"Yeah." He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the memory of that weight. "Only this time it didn't talk. Not in words. Just… measured. Then left me with this feeling."
He traced a spiral in spilled broth on the table. A line through it. Crooked.
"Not ready," he said.
Myra's eyes flashed. "Rude."
Nellie blinked. "I thought… that's good? Right? If you were ready for whatever it wanted, it might have—"
"Taken me," Aiden finished softly. "Yeah. Elowen said the same thing. She was… very glad it was disappointed."
He hadn't realized until he repeated it how much those words had lodged under his ribs.
Runa watched him quietly. "And the mark?" she asked.
He hesitated.
"They told you about that?" he asked Nellie.
She nodded. "Runa said it looked like a storm scratch. Familiar-wrong."
"Yeah." He exhaled. "It… carved my surge pattern into the mud. Like a dog putting its paw on a door."
Myra made a face. "Nope. Hate that. Zero out of ten, do not recommend."
"I don't understand," Nellie said slowly. "Marks don't just… move. Not that way. Yours are in you. The Thorn. The storm. They're… threads in your bones now. For the Warden to copy them outside…" She shivered. "It shouldn't be possible."
"It is," Runa said. "We saw it."
Aiden nodded. "Elowen said it means something changed. Curiosity becoming intent, or… whatever her exact words were. Either way, it's paying attention. More than before."
Myra squinted at him. "And you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you paying attention back?" she asked.
He thought of the stillness in the Verdant Hall, the way his storm had curled closer when he said the word me.
"Trying to," he said. "Elowen's making sure I don't just… run toward it because I'm scared of being afraid."
Myra pointed a knife at him (gently). "If you decide to run toward anything, we're going with you."
"Terrible idea," Runa said.
"Don't care," Myra said.
"Same," Nellie whispered.
Aiden swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.
He reached out and pressed his fingers over theirs on the tabletop.
"Stormthread," he said quietly.
Nellie's eyes shone. "Stormthread," she echoed.
Runa grunted, which for her was basically an oath.
Myra grinned. "As advertised."
The pup, not to be left out, snapped at a passing spark and made a tiny warbling sound that was absolutely, definitely agreement.
---
Word moved fast in the Academy.
By the time they finished eating and staggered toward the training notice boards, the hall outside was already clogged with students craning their necks, arguing, and frowning at schedules as if sheer frustration could rearrange ink.
"Excuse me—sorry—coming through—" Myra wove through the knot with the precision of someone who was very used to crowds and very unwilling to be trapped by them.
Runa followed like a battering ram conducted by politeness.
People moved.
Nellie tucked herself between Aiden and the wall, clutching her satchel like a shield. The pup rode on Aiden's shoulder now, claws curled into his cloak, little head swiveling as if it could memorize every sound at once.
The main board was a beast.
Half the wall was covered in big, clean script: TRACK SCHEDULES, ORIENTATION ROSTERS, CURFEW REMINDERS, a dire warning about climbing roof trees without permission. Below that, sheets were pinned in columns.
VERDANT HEALER.
SCOUT-BINDER.
ARCANE CHANNEL.
STONEGUARD VANGUARD.
And, shoved a little to one side, a smaller column with fewer names.
STORMBOUND PROVISIONAL.
Aiden exhaled.
"There," Nellie whispered, pointing. "Bottom."
They leaned in.
The header read:
STORMBOUND PROVISIONAL — STORMTHREAD COHORT
Under it, the list was short.
Aiden Raikos — Core: Stormbound Mark
Orientation: Verdant Hall (completed)
Special Training: Mon / Wed / Fri — 6th Bell — Verdant Hall, Inner Circle
Myra Lynell — Auxiliary: Scout-Binder / Shadow Instinct (Dormant)
Joint Sessions: Tues / Thurs — 4th Bell — South Range (Track Integration)
Elenora Tinkwhistle — Auxiliary: Verdant Healer / Thread Sight
Joint Sessions: Tues / Thurs — 4th Bell — South Range (Track Integration)
Runa Ironjaw — Auxiliary: Vanguard Stoneguard / Corebearer Candidate
Joint Sessions: Tues / Thurs — 4th Bell — South Range (Track Integration)
Cohort Sessions (All): Sat — 2nd Bell — Field Observation (Location: variable)
Below that, a final line in a different hand.
Additional oversight: Northreach Wardscribe (upon arrival).
"And there's our new friend," Myra said, tapping the last line. "Northreach Wardscribe. Calling it now: going to be old, cranky, and allergic to fun."
"Northreach?" Runa frowned. "That's… farther than most of our teachers come from."
"What's so special about Northreach?" Nellie asked.
Runa's mouth tightened. "Old storms. Old wardlines. Old problems that never sank properly."
Aiden's storm gave a low, warning thrum.
"We knew they were bringing someone," he said. "Elowen mentioned it. Someone who remembers the last time a Warden pressed this close."
Nellie looked up at him. "Last time?"
"Apparently it's not a yearly festival," he said dryly. "There was something, decades ago. Maybe worse. We'll probably hear the whole depressing story in class."
"Probably with diagrams," Myra said.
"Definitely with diagrams," Nellie said, a little too eagerly.
Myra eyed her. "You like diagrams?"
"They make sense," Nellie said. "Most of the time. People don't."
"That's fair," Aiden murmured.
He stared at the Saturday line a second longer.
Field Observation (Location: variable).
"The marsh," he said quietly.
Nellie nodded. "Threads."
Runa's hand dropped to her hammer. "Trouble."
Myra sighed. "Homework."
Aiden huffed out a laugh he didn't quite feel.
Behind them, a voice said, "You lot are blocking the board."
They turned.
A boy stood a few steps back, arms crossed. Second-year by the cut of his cloak, Arcane Channel sigil stitched in pale blue on the shoulder. His hair was dark and too neat; his eyes were the sharp grey of storm clouds that had decided not to rain yet.
He wasn't alone. Two other students hovered behind him—one with a beast core hanging from her belt, one with an ink-stained collar.
"We're done," Runa said, not moving.
The boy squinted at Aiden's shoulder. "That the storm cub?"
The pup met his gaze and crackled.
Aiden's storm lifted its head.
"Yes," Aiden said slowly.
"Heard it screamed lightning at the Gate," the boy said. "Nearly fried a warden's spear. Heard you almost brought the wards down."
"People hear a lot of things," Myra said pleasantly. "Most of them are stupid."
His gaze flicked over her, then Nellie, then Runa. Lingering on the hammer.
"Relax," he said. "If you torch the school, it's not my dorm that floods first."
Nellie blinked. "Wh—"
He jerked his chin toward the Stormbound column. "Stormthread," he said. "Cute name. Just remember your storms hit other people's houses too."
Myra bristled. "You got something to say, lightning-boy-who-is-not-ours?"
"He just did," Runa said.
The boy raised his hands in a mock placating gesture. "Just advice," he said. "Some of us like our wardlines not broken. Enjoy your special supervision."
His friends smirked.
Then they moved on.
Aiden watched them go.
His storm seethed, but not in the old way.
Not wild.
Focused.
He exhaled slowly.
"That was unnecessary," Nellie whispered.
"Most people are," Runa said.
Myra slid her knife back into her boot. "Say the word and I'll rearrange his diagram-loving face."
Aiden shook his head. "It's fine."
"It's not," Nellie said quietly. "But… we can't fix everyone's fear. Not at once."
He glanced down at her.
She met his eyes, a wry, tired little half-smile tugging at her mouth.
"I can feel the threads," she said. "They're… loud. All tied to you now. To us. Everyone's waiting to see if we trip and take the wards with us."
"Fun," he muttered.
"Terrifying," she corrected.
Runa grunted. "Then we don't trip."
"Excellent summary," Myra said. "Plan for today: don't trip, don't break wards, don't get kidnapped by ancient fog."
"High bar," Aiden said.
"Low standards," she shot back.
Despite himself, he laughed.
The pup nuzzled his jaw, tiny sparks snapping harmlessly against his skin.
They stepped away from the board.
Schedules pulled other students in around the space like water closing over a stone.
Stormthread walked together down the hall, four cloaks brushing, one small storm at their center.
---
Afternoon classes blurred.
Not because they were dull—although the lecture on "Foundations of Core Theory" did its best—but because Aiden's attention kept snagging on little things.
How his storm flared when a window let in more sky than usual.
How Nellie's fingers twitched whenever a teacher drew diagrams of wardlines.
How Myra's gaze went immediately to every high point in a room, mapping exits.
How Runa sat like a shield no one had asked for but everyone relied on anyway.
By the time dusk was bleeding into the edges of the windows, he was tired in a different way.
Not storm-tired.
Thread-tired.
"Food," Myra declared as they spilled out of their last shared lesson. "Then collapsing. Then maybe sleep. Then regretting everything in the morning."
"Ambitious plan," Runa said.
"We should check the late postings first," Nellie said, clutching her books. "Sometimes they put notices up at the end of the day."
Myra groaned. "You and your notices."
"They tell us things," Nellie protested.
"Rumors tell us things," Myra said. "Notices tell us homework."
Runa tilted her head toward the main hall. "Quick look," she said. "Then food."
"Democracy," Aiden said. "We love to see it."
They made their way back to the notice boards.
The crowd was thinner now—most students had already fled toward dinner or practice yards. Torches had been lit along the corridor, their light mixing with the faint green glow of embedded runes.
A new sheet had been pinned under the general ANNOUNCEMENTS header.
It was short.
ARRIVAL: NORTHREACH WARDSCRIBE
Guests are reminded to respect Academy guidelines.
Stormbound Provisional Cohort to report to Verdant Hall — First Bell tomorrow.
"That was fast," Myra said.
"Tomorrow," Nellie whispered. "First bell."
"Before regular classes," Aiden said. "Of course."
He read the little line again.
Northreach Wardscribe.
The word pulsed in his storm like someone had shouted into a cavern.
"Do you think they're already here?" Nellie asked.
"Probably not," Myra said. "They'd make a bigger production out of it. Trumpets. Banners. Haunted fog."
"We don't do trumpets," Runa said.
"Haunted fog, then," Myra said.
"Fog is not haunted," Runa replied. "It is weather."
Aiden opened his mouth to joke—
And the air in the corridor changed.
Not dramatically.
No crack of thunder, no flare of wards, no scream.
Just a shift.
Like someone had opened a window in a room he couldn't see.
The torches flickered once.
The embedded rune lines along the floor brightened half a shade.
Somewhere, a bell chimed—not one of the usual Academy bells. Lower. Older.
The pup, perched again on his shoulder, went rigid.
Nellie's breath caught.
Myra stopped mid-word.
Runa's hand dropped to her hammer.
Aiden turned as footsteps sounded at the far end of the hall.
Not hurried.
Not slow.
Measured.
A figure approached through the torchlight—cloak hood up, travel-worn edges darkened by old weather. The fabric wasn't Academy green. It was a deeper color, almost black, laced with thread that glittered faintly like frost.
As they drew nearer, the hood tipped back.
The Wardscribe was… not what Aiden had expected.
Not frail.
Not ancient.
Middle-aged, maybe, with iron-shot hair braided close to the scalp and a face lined more by weather than years. Their eyes were a pale, nearly colorless blue, the shade of sky right before a storm breaks. Simple metal rings gleamed on their fingers, etched with runes so old Aiden's eyes refused to track them.
They walked with a staff that wasn't really a staff.
It was a length of pale wood carved in tight, spiraling patterns, capped with a bound cluster of stones and bone shards that hummed faintly, as if remembering wind.
Every time the staff touched the floor, the hallway's runes flickered in reply.
The Wardscribe's gaze swept the corridor.
Students who'd been lingering pretended very hard they had somewhere else to be.
The Wardscribe's eyes passed over Aiden's group—
Then stopped.
On him.
On the pup.
On the faint, stubborn blue flicker still hiding at the edges of his irises.
For a heartbeat, Aiden felt the same sensation as at the wardline.
Measured.
Weighed.
Not by the Warden this time.
By someone who knew exactly what they were looking at.
The Wardscribe's gaze flicked to the Stormbound posting, then back.
"Stormthread," they said.
Their voice carried easily.
Not loud.
Just… shaped.
Aiden swallowed. "That's what they keep calling us."
"Hm."
The Wardscribe stepped closer.
Up close, the old marks on their staff were clearer. Some lines matched the familiar, gentle curves of Academy runes. Others cut across them in harsher angles, like scars.
Up close, the air around them smelled faintly of sea salt and pine sap—and something electric under it all.
"My name," they said, "is Kethel Auris. Northreach Wardscribe. I have walked more wardlines than you have climbed stairs."
Myra's mouth opened.
Runa elbowed her once.
Kethel's pale gaze rested on Aiden.
"And you," they said, "are the boy the Warden has noticed."
Aiden's storm rose like a wave.
He kept it behind his teeth.
"Unfortunately," he said.
Kethel's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
"Tomorrow," they said, "we will see how unfortunate. First Bell. Verdant Hall. Bring your Cohort."
Their gaze brushed over Myra, Nellie, Runa. The pup. The marks under Aiden's skin.
"And," Kethel added, turning away, "bring whatever courage you can find before breakfast. You will need it."
They walked on, staff tapping in time with the Hall's breathing.
The torches steadied behind them.
The rune lines dimmed back to normal.
Aiden realized he'd been holding his breath.
He let it out slowly.
"Well," Myra said hoarsely. "I take back what I said. I miss diagrams."
Nellie's fingers shook on her satchel strap. "Tomorrow," she whispered.
Runa watched Kethel's retreating back, expression carved in stone.
"Tomorrow," Aiden echoed.
His storm answered in a low, tense rumble.
Not eager.
Not resigned.
Ready.
Or as close to ready as a boy with too many marks and a Cohort named after a stormthread could be.
Outside, beyond the walls, fog shifted over the marsh.
Inside, under old stone and older wards, threads began to tighten, pulling toward First Bell.