Lightning Throne

The final door stood open.

Beyond it, an immense chamber stretched into darkness, its towering walls lined with glowing veins of pulsing energy. The air inside was different—thicker, heavier, humming with an ancient power that Kael could feel pressing against his skin.

He stepped forward, his pulse matching the rhythmic crackle of static in the air. Veyra and Ryven followed closely behind, their hands instinctively hovering near their weapons. The three coliseum warriors they had brought along stayed back, their expressions uncertain.

No one spoke.

Because they could all feel it.

Something was watching.

At the center of the chamber, the throne awaited.

It was unlike anything Kael had ever seen—massive, constructed from blackened metal and woven with arcs of frozen lightning. Its surface was carved with symbols of the Stormborn, etched deep into its structure like a story waiting to be read.

And standing before it, waiting in silence, was the guardian.

The armored warrior who had summoned the trials, the one who had tested them from the moment they entered the fortress, now faced Kael directly.

The moment Kael stepped into the room, the doors slammed shut behind them.

There was no turning back.

The warrior spoke, their voice steady, unshaken. "You have endured the trials of strength and will." Their helmet gleamed under the flickering blue glow of the chamber. "Now, only one test remains."

Kael exhaled slowly. "Let me guess. A fight?"

The warrior tilted their head slightly, as if amused. "If you wish to claim the Stormborn Throne, you must prove you are its rightful heir. This is not a battle of power, but of mastery."

Kael's fingers twitched. He had felt it the moment he entered the chamber—the energy here was alive, shifting in ways even he couldn't fully understand. This wasn't just a test of raw strength.

This was about control.

The warrior raised a hand, and instantly, the entire chamber reacted.

Lightning erupted from the throne, streaking across the walls and floor, forming a vast storm that surged outward like a living force.

And at its center, the guardian vanished.

Then, they attacked.

Kael barely had time to register the movement before the warrior was on him—faster than anything he had faced before. A blade of pure electricity formed in their grasp, cutting through the air as Kael twisted away, narrowly avoiding the strike.

The energy in the room flared, pulsing in waves, and Kael felt himself losing control.

His own charge—**his power—**was being thrown into chaos.

Veyra moved to help, but the guardian lifted a hand—and an invisible force slammed into her, launching her back.

"No interference," the warrior commanded.

Kael grit his teeth. He was on his own.

The fight shifted instantly.

Every time Kael moved, the storm moved with him.

The air itself became an extension of the battlefield, responding to the guardian's presence. They weren't just fighting Kael. They were bending the entire room against him.

Kael ducked under another strike, rolling across the floor as lightning coiled around his arms, unstable and uncontained.

He struck out with a blast of energy—but the guardian didn't even try to block it.

Instead, they redirected it.

Kael's own attack twisted midair, reversing course and slamming into his chest before he could react. The impact sent him skidding across the ground, the charge running through his body and scrambling his senses.

Ryven winced. "That looked painful."

Veyra forced herself to her feet, her fists clenched. "They're not just stronger. They're controlling the current itself."

Kael coughed, forcing himself up. He couldn't fight this like a normal battle.

The guardian wasn't using brute force.

They were flowing with the storm.

Kael's mind raced. His instincts screamed at him to counter, to push back with everything he had—but that was exactly why he was losing.

The more he fought, the more he was being turned against himself.

That was the lesson.

This wasn't about who was stronger.

It was about who understood the storm better.

Kael exhaled, his muscles relaxing.

He closed his eyes.

Felt the energy, not as an obstacle—but as part of him.

When the next attack came, he didn't resist.

The blade of energy sliced toward him—and instead of dodging, Kael stepped into it.

The weapon passed through him harmlessly.

The energy bent around his body, as if it had always belonged to him.

The guardian paused.

Kael opened his eyes, and for the first time, he wasn't struggling.

The lightning crackling around him obeyed him.

The storm recognized him.

The guardian lowered their weapon.

"You understand now," they said.

Kael straightened, the energy pulsing at his fingertips. He did.

"Power is not domination," the guardian continued. "It is not resistance. It is not the ability to crush your enemies."

Kael nodded. "It's about balance."

The guardian studied him for a moment before nodding. Then, with deliberate slowness, they stepped aside.

"The throne is yours to claim."

The room fell silent.

Kael turned toward the Stormborn Throne, feeling its power coiled within the metal, waiting for him.

This was it.

The moment everything changed.

He took a step forward—then another—until he stood before it, the arcs of energy welcoming his presence.

Then, he reached out.

The second his hand touched the throne, light exploded through the chamber.

His mind was ripped from reality.

Kael was no longer in the fortress.

He was standing in the middle of a battlefield.

A world of storm and flame, of warships clashing in the skies, of warriors wreathed in lightning fighting for their survival.

He saw them.

The true Stormborn.

Not as myths. Not as legends.

As they were.

Kael watched them lead entire fleets, wielding the storm as a weapon unlike anything in existence. He saw their war—their final stand against the Dominion.

And he saw their fall.

One by one, they were torn from the sky. The storm faded, their weapons buried, their name erased.

Except for one thing.

One final warship, carrying the last survivors.

Escaping.

Hiding.

Waiting.

Kael gasped as the vision snapped away, his body slamming back into the throne room.

His breath came in short, uneven gasps. His mind still reeled from what he had seen.

The Stormborn weren't just warriors.

They had been gods of war.

And the Dominion had tried to erase them.

But now?

Kael had claimed the last remnant of their power.

The war wasn't over.

It was about to begin.