Thorns & Thunder The Storm Court Chronicles

The wind carried strange whispers as it blew through the sky.

Elira Vey stood nervously at the edge of the forbidden ridge, each step pressing into the untouched earth beneath her feet. It felt wrong to cross the thorny barrier that marked this place. She shouldn’t have broken the rule and stepped away from the flickering glow of the last lantern tree. But she had to come; Arlen's screams had pulled her in, and the bloodstained path he left behind was too much to ignore.

Before her stood the Storm Altar, and her heart raced nervously in rhythm with the winds shifting overhead. The stones beneath her soles seemed to be alive with an ancient energy, as if the earth remembered something important. Or maybe it was just watching her.

“I’m not here for you,” she murmured, her voice shaky. “I just want to save my friend.”

The silence around her felt thick. No birds chirped, no gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Even the evening was unusually quiet, missing the familiar hum of insects. The sky shifted to a soft gold hue, with stars just starting to peek out, but there were no storm clouds in sight, and the air felt eerily calm.

She couldn’t shake off the tingling sensation on her skin.

Arlen had vanished two hours earlier during the dusk ceremonies. One moment he was beside her, playfully tugging at her hand, joking about the braid that kept falling into her eyes. Then just like that, he was gone, yanked away past the fire circle and into the screeching shadows of the forbidden grove. She had followed the blood trail, desperate to reach him.

“Elira…”

His voice broke through the stillness, barely a whisper carried on the wind. But she heard it. Her eyes darted toward the altar, and there he was—Arlen, shadowed and bruised, trapped within a mesh of glowing, thrumming vines.

Something twisted within that net of vines.

Without thinking, she ran.

The moment her foot crossed the boundaries of the altar's magical markings, everything shifted.

The air ruptured.

Suddenly, the wind slammed against her like a wall. A brilliant flash of lightning—sharp, silver, and unnatural—split the sky in a roaring clash. There were no dark clouds above, no rain—just blinding light. Pure, electric, divine light that surged from her being.

It shot from her hands, her chest, her very breath. Elira screamed, fell to her knees as the energy exploded from her palms and struck the altar stone. The vines began to twist, shrieking in agony, turning to charred threads as they released Arlen in a plume of ash and steam.

He slumped to the ground.

And Elira? She felt a different kind of fire.

Not the kind that hurts but a strange, impossible kind.

Her veins glowed like heated metal, her hair gently lifted as if pulled by an invisible force. Each breath she took was hard, yet with each exhale, the wind danced around her, eager and alive. The lightning seemed to bend to her will.

And then—he appeared.

Not Arlen. The other one.

A figure stepped from a tear in the air, wrapped in violet mist that flickered like a cloak around him. He was tall and wiry, dressed in a dark coat covered in shifting sigils that looked like storm maps. He moved in a slow, deliberate manner, almost regal, like a shadow of a storm.

Prince Kael Rhendair. The heir of the Storm Court—the very one Elira had been warned about her entire life. 

His eyes flickered silver in the darkness.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth with a mix of amusement and something much darker, “it’s you.”

She had no clue what he was implying, but before she could ask, her weary body buckled, and she fell forward. The light faded from her body like a distant memory. The storm flooding her mind turned into a crashing wave.

And then it all went black.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself in a room that felt too grand to be real.

Delicate, cloud-like curtains drifted on unseen breezes that felt otherworldly. Marble stairs twisted down to a ground made of sky glass, like the magical material used to seal away the Veil. Above her, stars spun with an intensity that made her dizzy.

This place, she recognized from hushed tales—Storms Court Sanctum—the heart of the Rhendair bloodline, a place she thought was only a myth, both sacred and unreachable.

And also, very unwelcoming.

“You’re lucky,” a voice floated from behind her. “If that lightning had struck just a tad off, you’d have been nothing but ashes. Yet here you are.”

Elira turned to see Kael again, seated comfortably like a king who hadn’t yet claimed his throne, studying her with a curious tilt of his head. His coat fluttered in a breeze only he seemed unaffected by.

He wasn’t classically handsome; his features were sharp, and his energy felt raw. But there was something magnetic about him—the lightning seemed to dance around him, hovering close as if enthralled.

“What did you do?” she croaked, still shaky.

“Me?” He got to his feet. “You’re the one who brought forth lightning from an empty sky. Quite the entrance, really. A bit too dramatic, even for a prophecy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to steady herself.

He stopped in front of her, studying her closely.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I—”

“You are. But it’s interesting; I don’t think you even know it.” His voice turned softer, “That makes you more dangerous than you know.”

Her heart raced faster. She pushed herself to her feet, wobbling slightly. “Where’s Arlen?”

“He’s alive. For now. But he’s not the one our seers cried out about.”

“What do you mean?”

Kael sighed, looking slightly weary. “I’m not one for theatrics. But this magic you've summoned? It’s forbidden, ancient power, and it streamed from you like it was part of you.”

“I’m just a gardener,” she insisted, feeling utterly confused.

“No,” he replied firmly. “You’re part of a legacy. Of two courts. One fell. The other is in decline.”

Elira stumbled backward, shaking her head in disbelief. “You think I’m—what? A hybrid?”

“I know you are.”

Her mind reeled. The Storm Courts had put an end to any crossing of bloodlines for ages. Anyone caught was erased from record, their ancestry burned from history. It was more than just forbidden; it was an impossibility.

And yet she had called forth lightning, stepped onto sacred ground, and here she was alive. All her life, she'd felt different, a bit too fast, too sharp, too drawn to the sky—as if something within her was waiting to break free.

Kael’s eyes darkened, deep and intense.

“The Veil is breaking, Elira Vey. The very thing that keeps our skies clear? It’s starting to splinter. The seers say a storm child might mend it—or cause it to collapse completely.”

“And you think I’m the storm child?”

He didn’t respond directly. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers across her temple. A jolt of energy passed between them. She flinched but didn’t recoil.

His smile didn’t feel warm.

“I don’t think,” he murmured firmly. “I know.”

Later, as she stood at the edge of the Sanctum, overlooking a sky that felt surreal, she took in the floating islands below, glowing softly like dying embers. Between them lay storm clouds, fierce and stretching across the sky. The Veil shimmered, cracked and hazy.

Kael stepped beside her.

“Why me?” she asked quietly.

“Because you survived,” he replied simply.

“That’s not really an answer.”

“It’s the truth, and sometimes, that’s enough.”

They fell into a silence that stretched between them, feeling the wind swirl around them. When her shoulder brushed against Kael’s sleeve, her breath caught in her throat—something deep inside her felt recognized.

“Is this what it feels like?” she whispered. “To be storm born?”

Kael kept his gaze forward, but his voice broke slightly.

“It’s like being on fire in a world made of kindling. You either learn to hold back, or you end up burning everything you care about.”

“And what if you can’t hold back forever?” she asked.

Finally, he turned to her.

“Then you’d better learn how to control it.”

His gaze was locked on her lips, then her eyes. There was a charged tension between them—something primal. Something ancient that felt older than the Sanctum itself.

Elira took a deep breath.

“And if I don’t want to get mixed up in your battles?”

He leaned closer, almost invading her space. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver along her skin.

“Then you’ll still be involved,” he said softly. “Because the skies are always watching. They never forget a storm.”

That night, the sky erupted once more.

This time, Elira didn’t run.

She stood at the open window of the sanctum, eyes fixed on the turbulent clouds racing across the stars. She could hear the Veil crying out—a sound only she could hear. Pain twisted through the air as a fragment of the sky fell, burning as it tumbled from the horizon.

Without a sound, Kael appeared beside her.

“It’s begun,” he said quietly.

She didn't question further. Deep down, she already understood.

The balance was falling apart.

Somewhere out there, something was on the way.

Something that remembered her.

The storm wasn’t noisy when it started.

It crept in quietly, almost like a breath caught in a heartbeat—unnatural and on the verge of something big. From the high towers of Caer Azural, where the Storm Court held sway, Prince Kael Rhendair stood still as a statue, his silver-blue eyes locked onto the horizon. There, a jagged line of lightning split the clear sky, twisting and curling like ribbons of flame.

His heart clenched at the sight.

That wasn’t a storm generated by his people.

That was hers.

Down below, the sacred storm fields glimmered softly, swirling with the magic of winds that belonged only to those approved by royal blood. But someone had crossed the line. Someone had dared to meddle with the storm.

Kael quickly turned away from the balcony, his stormcloak whipping behind him, like a flag fluttering in a fierce wind. “Marshal Jareth!” he called out as he strode down the curved staircase made of pale stone.

When he reached the scr