The first thing Ryn noticed was the smell.
Not the usual evening scents of Luthros Harbor – the salt-brine tang of the docks, the yeasty warmth from the baker's ovens, the faint metallic bite of the blacksmith's forge. No, this was something darker. Sharper.
Woodsmoke.
Ryn Kael, twelve years old and barefoot, skidded to a stop in the middle of Merchant's Way. His chest heaved from running – he'd been racing shadows again, his own private game to test his speed. The cobblestones were cold beneath his feet, the night air crisp with the promise of autumn.
But now the wind brought something else.
He turned his face upward, nostrils flaring. The smoke wasn't coming from the city below. It drifted down from the hilltop, where the white stone walls of Kael Manor should have glowed in the moonlight.
Where there should have been light, there was only darkness.
Where there should have been peace, something was very wrong.
Ryn ran.
His bare feet slapped against stone as he took the steps three at a time, the winding path up to the manor blurring past him. The wind that usually danced at his back now pushed him forward, urgent and keening.
"Father!" His voice cracked on the word.
The iron gates lay twisted on the ground, the metal bent outward as if struck by some tremendous force. Ryn barely slowed, ducking under the wreckage. His tunic caught on a jagged edge, the fabric tearing with a sound like a gasp.
The courtyard was a nightmare.
Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls. Old Man Haren, who'd taught Ryn how to hold a practice sword. Lissa, the kitchen maid who always sneaked him extra honey cakes. Their eyes stared blankly at the starless sky.
Ryn's stomach heaved. He pressed a hand to his mouth, tasting bile.
A crash echoed from the inner courtyard. The sound of stone shattering.
Ryn moved without thinking.
He found his father on his knees in the ruined garden, where the Kael family had taken tea every summer evening. The marble fountain lay in pieces. The rose bushes were blackened husks.
**[Lord Edric Kael | Wind Astra]**
Blood painted his father's silver hair crimson, dripping from a gash across his forehead. One arm hung limp at his side, the other pressed against his ribs where dark stains spread across his blue coat.
Opposite him stood a nightmare in black iron.
**[Lord Malrik | Void Astra]**
The warlord's armor absorbed the moonlight, making him seem more shadow than man. His helmet was fashioned into the snarling visage of some forgotten beast, the eye slits glowing faintly red. In his hand, he held not a sword, but an absence – a blade-shaped void where light itself died.
"Pathetic," Malrik's voice rasped, metallic and hollow through the helmet. "The great Stormcaller of Luthros, brought low by a single cut."
Edric Kael coughed, a wet, painful sound. "You... won't win. The wind... always finds a way."
Malrik tilted his head, the motion eerily birdlike. "Let's see if it finds you in the afterlife."
He raised the void-blade.
Ryn moved.
Later, he wouldn't remember deciding to act. There was only the wind screaming in his ears, the sudden rush of air as he threw himself between his father and death.
Malrik paused. The beast-helmet turned slowly toward Ryn.
"Well." The warlord's voice dripped with amusement. "The pup has teeth."
Edric's eyes widened. "Ryn... run!"
But Ryn couldn't move. His legs had turned to stone. His breath came in short, panicked gasps. The void-blade hummed inches from his face, making the air itself tremble.
Malrik chuckled, the sound like grinding bones. "Tell you what, boy. I'll let you live." He leaned down until the red eye slits burned into Ryn's soul. "Grow stronger. Train. And when you're finally worth my time..."
The void-blade vanished with a sound like a sigh.
"...I'll kill you too."
Then he was gone, melting into the shadows between one heartbeat and the next.
Ryn collapsed to his knees beside his father. Edric's breathing was shallow, each exhale flecked with blood.
"Listen... to me," his father whispered. He pressed a trembling hand to Ryn's chest. A faint glow pulsed beneath his fingers – Astra, the family's legacy. The wind stirred around them, gentle now.
"The wind... will guide you," Edric said. His voice was fading. "But rage... will drown you."
His hand fell.
The last Stormcaller of House Kael was gone.
And Ryn?
Ryn screamed.
The wind screamed with him, howling through the ruined manor, tearing at the rose bushes, scattering the ashes of Ryn's childhood into the uncaring night.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled.
And the rain began to fall.