Dorian stood at the center of the chamber, his breath shallow, the storm still raging beneath his skin. The air felt thick with the remnants of the magic he had just commanded, a lingering tension that seemed to vibrate with every movement. He could still feel the echoes of the energy inside him—wild, untamed, yet somehow subdued for the moment. It was as if the power was waiting, biding its time, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.
The woman, who had guided him through the storm, now stood a few steps away, her presence unwavering and calm. Galen was beside him, his face still pale from the ordeal, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"We've stopped the unraveling for now," Dorian said, his voice strained, as though it took all his strength to keep the power inside him from surging again. "But the woman's right. This is only the beginning. I can feel it."
"You're not wrong," the woman said, her voice low and measured. "The storm is still alive within you. But it is not just the power inside you that you must control. It is the path you walk now. The heart of the storm calls to you, Dorian Keil. It always has."
Her words sent a shiver down his spine. The heart of the storm. He had heard those words before, but now, they felt more ominous than ever. It was as if the very essence of what he had become—this power, this storm inside him—was leading him toward something inevitable, something far darker than he could comprehend.
"I can't keep doing this," Dorian said, his voice tight with frustration. "This storm—it's too much. I thought I could stop it, but I feel it—it—waiting. It's inside me, and I can't control it. It's like I'm losing myself."
Galen stepped forward, placing a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "You're not losing yourself," he said, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. "You're just starting to realize who you really are. Who you've always been."
Dorian turned to look at Galen, his eyes filled with confusion. "What do you mean?"
Galen's gaze softened, but the unease in his eyes remained. "The storm inside you—it's not something new. It's always been a part of you. You've just never known it."
The woman's voice interjected, sharp and commanding. "He's right. This power didn't choose you, Dorian. It awakened because you are of it. You have always been connected to the heart of the storm, even if you didn't understand it."
Dorian's heart clenched at her words. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to accept that this storm—this dark force—had always been a part of him. But deep down, he knew it was true. He had always felt it, a restless energy deep within him, a force that made him different, made him other. And now, it was undeniable. The power that had awoken inside him was not something he could simply push away. It was a part of him.
But it was also something dangerous. Something that had already begun to tear apart everything around him.
"So, what now?" Dorian asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What do I do with this?"
The woman's expression softened, but there was no warmth in it. Only the cold, hard truth. "You must find the heart of the storm—the source of this power. It is hidden, buried deep beneath the Spire, in a place older than even the magic that sustains the city. If you do not find it, the storm will consume you. And when it does, nothing will be left."
Dorian swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on his chest. The storm was not just an external force. It was a part of the world, a force that was tied to the very foundations of the Spire, to the magic that had created the city—and, somehow, to him.
"And if I do find it?" Dorian asked, his voice strained.
"Then you will face the choice," she replied, her gaze piercing him. "You will either take control of the storm, or you will let it tear the world apart."
The room seemed to close in on him as the gravity of her words sank in. There was no escaping it. The storm was inside him, and it was part of the world around him. If he couldn't control it, if he couldn't understand it, then everything would be lost.
Galen spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "What if you can't control it? What if it's too much for you to handle?"
Dorian's eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his chest. Could he really control something like this? Could he even understand it, let alone wield it?
But then, as he thought about the years of being nothing—the years spent hidden in the shadows, under the weight of those more powerful than him—something stirred inside him. The storm wasn't just power. It was a chance. A chance to rise above, to break free from the chains that had bound him for so long.
"I have to try," Dorian said, his voice firm with resolve. "I won't let this destroy everything. I won't be the one who burns it all down."
The woman's eyes softened just slightly, but she didn't offer comfort. Instead, she gave a slight nod. "Then you must go to the heart of the storm. You will need allies, but more than that, you will need to understand the source of the power you carry."
Dorian turned toward the door, his pulse quickening with every step. The heart of the storm was out there, hidden beneath the Spire, a place older than magic itself. The thought of facing whatever lay ahead filled him with dread, but there was no other choice. The storm had found him, and it was up to him to decide what it would become.
"We'll need to move fast," Galen said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his eyes. "The unraveling has already begun. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to stop it."
Dorian nodded, his heart heavy but determined. He didn't know what awaited him at the heart of the storm, but he couldn't back down. He had to face it, for the sake of the city, for the sake of everyone who would be caught in the storm's path if he failed.
With one last look at the woman, who had guided him this far, he turned and walked toward the door.
The storm was waiting.