Within the highest spires, far above the sea-battered cliffs of Virelia, Valkoron shimmered beneath a moody sky, its high towers cloaked in mist and rain that wept quietly against ancient stone.
The storm had passed, but the skies above Valkoron still wore a shade of mourning.
Clouds clung to the towering spires of the storm-castle, swaying like ancient ghosts as the wind howled through the narrow, jagged corridors. The flags of House Stormborne flapped violently, bearing the sigil of a silver thunderbolt splitting a black storm cloud on a deep navy field, with jagged lightning patters along the edges, stitched in silver and ice-thread.
But deep within those stone halls, all was too quiet for celebration.
Vaelric Stormborne sat by the wide windowsill of his chamber, his knees tucked to his chest, steel-gray eyes watching the path that led from the castle gates to the distant horizon.
Seven winters old today. A prince. A Stormborne. And yet...just a boy waiting for his father.
His father promised him that he will be there on his birthday, to celebrate with him.
He had waited all day.
A thousand footsteps had echoed through the halls, none of them his father's.
"Your Grace," a gentle voice stirred behind him. "The cake has been prepared."
A tall woman entered the chamber. Elegant despite her years, with silver-streaked hair braided in the Stormborne way, and robes of deep navy lined gold.
She was Lady Aelira, dowager duchess of Valkoron...his grandmother and the only mother he had ever known.
"I thought we might share a bite together, little wind," she said gently, setting the tray down beside him, carrying a single layered cake carved with miniature lightning bolts and a sugar-crafted dragon at its peak.
Vaelric didn't move.
"He said he'd come, Grandmother." He muttered, voice flat.
"I know, child."
"I know, my heart," Aelira said softly, lowering herself beside him with the grace of a queen. "But you know what duties rest on a Storm Lord's shoulders."
"He promised.He looked me in the eyes and said he would ride the winds themselves to be here. He said he wouldn't miss this one."
"And your father does not break promises lightly. There must be trouble in Caelmont. He wouldn't...."
Vaelric's voice was small. "Does he even love me?"
Aelira stiffened, then reached for his hand. "More than anything. Never forget that."
Lady Aelira lowered herself onto a nearby cushion with effort, her joints cracking softly. "Your father was called to Caelmont. A border dispute with Terravorn. The Calestarch requested his presence himself."
Vaelric turned slowly toward her. "So I'm less important than a field?"
Aelira winced. "Don't say that."
"It's true." He looked away, voice smaller. "He always breaks his promises."
She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled back.
"Eat your cake," she whispered. "You'll feel better."
But Vaelric's fingers curled into a fist. The walls of the room seemed to tremble, or perhaps it was the storm returning. He felt it in his bones...that flicker of raw energy that only Stormborne blood knew. It pulsed when he was angry. Or hurt.
He leapt from the windowsill, shoving the cake aside as it nearly toppled.
"Vaelric..."
"I don't want it." His voice cracked. "I don't want cake or candles. I want my father!"
Before Aelira could stop him, the boy ran...out of the chamber, down the marble stairs, past startled guards and maids. Barefoot, cloakless, and furious.
Outside, the wind whipped like a living thing. Lightning far off lit the edge of the sky.
Vaelric didn't stop.
He fled past the courtyards, through the outer gardens where the thornvines grew wild, and down the winding trail beyond the keep's walls. His feet scraped against rocks and roots, but still he ran.
Because he knew where to go.
The Forbidden Forest....a place of whispers and shadows. The place where the One-Eyed Witch was said to live.
They said she could grant your deepest wish… if you dared to ask.
And Vaelric, who felt his father doesn't love him enough was willing to try.
The forest swallowed him. Branches scraped his arms like warning fingers. Leaves hissed. Even the wind here had a different voice...older, crueler, less patient.
But Vaelric pressed on.
The deeper he went, the colder it grew, though the trees were full of green. The light changed too. Strange patches of silver-blue shimmered through the canopy, bending like mist. Time seemed to stretch.
Until he found it.
A crooked house crouched beneath a cluster of ancient trees, half sunken into the earth like a buried creature's skull. Its roof was a patchwork of moss and broken shingles. The windows glowed faintly green, as if breathing. Symbols...worn, foreign, and humming...were carved into the stone walls.
And in front of the door sat a small, empty bowl.
Vaelric stood frozen.
He had never seen real magic up close. Not like this. Not dark and old and alive.
He stepped closer.
The wooden door opened before he could knock. No creak. No wind.
Inside, it was warm. Dusty. Lit by soft candlelight and something… else. Something that wasn't fire.
There were bottles on shelves, stacked to the ceiling. Bones of birds. Vials of colorless smoke. A cloak that moved on its own, hanging from a hook.
And her.
The One-Eyed Witch.
She was not what he expected.
Old, yes, with skin like bark and hair like twisted wire. But her single eye gleamed gold. The other socket was covered by a veil. Her hands were long and too thin. She moved slowly, like someone who didn't need to hurry because she already knew everything.
One single eye, pale and gray as frost, regarded Vaelric's approach without surprise.
Child or not, he felt as though she had been expecting him.
She studied him in silence. Then her lips cracked into a smile.
"Well then," she whispered. Her voice was like leaves rustling over grave soil. "What is it that you seek, little prince?"