"Conquerors aren't born from storms, Kaelthos," Zephyr said, his tone carrying calm against the chaos. "They're forged by struggle, scar by scar, choice by choice. You'll see the difference between power and purpose."
Kaelthos laughed, a sound like thunder rolling across endless plains. "Then come, little shadow. Come and break yourself upon the storm."
---
The Storm Breaks
The Warlord struck first. A lightning spear, vast as a tower, tore through the clouds and stabbed toward Zephyr. The ground exploded in a fountain of molten stone, sending shards raining down like knives.
But Zephyr was already moving. His body flickered, shadows rising with him. He cut the bolt in half, his blade scattering it into harmless streams of light. The system chimed faintly in his vision:
Shadow Veil (Mastery Increased).
Kaelthos growled, swiping his claw through the storm. The very air became a weapon—winds sharpened to blades, slicing toward the party.
