The Storm Court did not sit on a mountain, or in a castle, or even upon the land. It hovered, ever-shifting, in the heart of the sky—an impossible structure made of thunderclouds, silver spires, and lightning wrought into bridges and towers. It roared and whispered with every pulse of the weather, alive and ancient.
Rose, Basil, and Nimbus stood at the edge of a floating platform made of storm-forged stone. The portal behind them vanished, sucked into the aether with a crackle of static.
"I've been to some chaotic places," Nimbus muttered, wings twitching, "but this? This feels like someone built a palace out of bad moods and pretension."
Rose grinned despite herself. "Feels like home."
The wind guided them forward, unnaturally sentient, curling around their forms and ushering them along a crackling bridge that glowed faintly with magic. As they walked, the pressure of the Court pressed down—each step heavier, each breath thick with power.
Then the grand hall opened before them.
It was vast, cloud-walled and alive with streaks of lightning flickering like nerves through the sky. At its center sat the Maelstrom Regent, a towering figure carved in silhouette, skin like stormclouds, eyes of white-hot lightning. Around the court sat other lords and ladies of the tempest: humanoid, beastly, spectral—all regal, all dangerous.
The Regent's voice boomed, not aloud, but within them.
"She arrives. The one who bears the Breaking Sigil. Chaos given form. The witch who bent storms."
Rose stepped forward. "I'm here. You summoned me. So talk."
Murmurs echoed through the court like thunder under breath. No one spoke to the Regent like that.
But the Maelstrom only leaned forward slightly. "You are powerful. Too powerful to go unclaimed. Mortain seeks you. We must decide if we will oppose him or control you."
Rose folded her arms. "I'm not a prize. I'm not a pawn. And I'm sure as hell not yours."
One of the stormlords rose from their seat, tall and severe. "You threaten the balance! Do you even know what power you hold? That glyph on your skin is older than time!"
"I'm learning," Rose said. "But I'm not going to break the world. I'm going to fix it."
Laughter rolled through the clouds like distant thunder. The Regent raised one hand and silence fell instantly.
"You speak of fixing what was forged to fail." The Regent's tone was unreadable. "And yet… you burn with conviction. Perhaps conviction is enough."
They stood. The room dimmed.
"We will grant you audience. We will watch. If you rise—so will we. If you fall…"
The hall trembled slightly.
**"We will bury you with storms."