Rain lashed against the stone walls of Eldergrove Academy as thunder rolled across the distant hills. Inside the dormitory, the tension was unbearable. Arya sat at the window, staring at the storm, her fingers tapping nervously against the sill. Her thoughts were a tangled mess—about Damien, about her dreams, about the mysterious markings still glowing faintly on her arm.
"Storms always stir something up," mumbled Liora from her bed, flipping through her old spellbook. "Magic gets wild during the thunder. You feel it too, don't you?"
Arya didn't answer. Something was stirring—something deep. Her heart pulsed harder with every rumble of thunder. She turned suddenly, her eyes wide. "Liora, did you feel that just now?"
The room fell silent. Then, boom! A sudden clap of thunder rattled the entire tower. Liora's eyes widened as her spellbook slammed shut on its own. "Okay, yeah. I felt that."
A sharp knock echoed through the door. Arya moved quickly, cautious but unafraid. When she opened it, a gust of wind blew in a hooded figure, soaked from head to toe, eyes shadowed beneath the hood.
"Who are you?" Liora asked, standing beside Arya.
The figure slowly pulled back the hood, revealing a boy—no older than sixteen—with storm-gray eyes and jet-black hair that clung to his face.
"My name is Cael," he said in a low, clear voice. "I was told to find Arya."
"By who?" Arya demanded, already stepping back.
Cael's gaze met hers. "By someone who knew you'd soon face the truth."
The room froze. Arya didn't know why, but those words felt like a key in a locked door inside her chest. She felt drawn to him, not by charm or magic—but by fate.
Liora narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by 'truth'? Start talking or start walking."
Cael glanced around before reaching into his coat. He pulled out a small, weathered map—old parchment with glowing ink symbols etched across it. "This map leads to a place long hidden. A vault, protected by ancient magic. And it only opens for her."
Arya hesitated. "Why me?"
"Because you're the last of the Stormbound," Cael said. "And time is running out."
Before Arya could ask more, the lightning outside flashed—briefly illuminating something outside the window. A figure in black, watching from the hill beyond the gates. And then it vanished into the darkness.
"Arya…" Liora's voice quivered. "You're being hunted."
But Arya's jaw was set. She reached for her satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and nodded at Cael. "Then let's stop running."
The storm outside only grew stronger, as if the world itself was reacting to what had just begun.