The sky above the world cracked like old glass.
Across kingdoms and wastelands, oceans and altars, even the blind and the damned felt it—the return of a force not seen since the old wars. The beacon from the Last Throne did not simply shine. It resonated. And those who heard it could no longer remain still.
But in the north, where ice ruled like a tyrant, one did not wait.
He moved.
Veyrian, Warlord of the Stormborn
He stood tall on the peak of Mount Galehowl, his armor humming with tempest-forged runes, a cloak of lightning spiraling from his shoulders like a living storm. In his hand, the Titan Core pulsed—a jagged shard of pre-creation, hungry and seething.
The winds screamed around him, revering and fearing.
"Summon the Stormbreakers," Veyrian commanded.
Below him, a hundred warriors clad in storm-silver rose from the frost-temples of ice. Their faces were obscured by helms of thundersteel, their weapons born from the bones of stormbeasts slain by Veyrian himself.
"The Sovereign reclaims what we bled to shatter," he said, voice low, thunder layered beneath it. "We will remind him of cost."
A warrior stepped forward—Kaelith, Veyrian's first disciple.
"He bears the Eclipsion once more. He is not the same man we shattered."
Veyrian did not blink. "No. He is stronger. That is why we strike now—before he is whole."
From the vaults below, chained by twenty seals, they raised Arstorm, the First Stormbreaker—a leviathan of wrath caged since the First War. Its eyes burned with frozen lightning. As its chains broke, the northern sky split.
And Veyrian mounted it.
"Ride!" he roared.
And the storm answered.
Whispers in the Garden
Far to the south, in the Garden Beyond Time, the wind carried foreign currents.
Aralya's gaze turned skyward. Her eyes darkened with knowing.
"They move," she said.
Zeirion, still cloaked in the energy of the Last Throne, nodded. "The storm wakes too soon."
She turned to him, lips tightening. "We are not ready."
He reached toward her, and for the first time, his expression shifted—concern, not for the war, but for her.
"I will not let the storm touch you."
Her laugh was soft, sad. "You forget who walked beside you when the stars bled. I fear no storm."
Then, the petals around them curled inward.
Warning.
The Veil trembled.
A vision formed in the sky—an illusion cast by one who dared challenge fate.
Veyrian's voice echoed into the realms.
"Zeirion Althar. Sovereign of all. Breaker of the Chains.
You wear the crown of silence once more.
But we remember.
And we ride now—not to beg, not to kneel—
But to shatter you again."
The message ended.
The garden's heart pulsed.
Zeirion turned to Aralya, his voice calm. "Then let the winds come."
He stepped into the air.
And the skies broke open.
Clash Above the Shrouded Spire
The Stormborn did not wait for war.
They brought it.
Above the Shrouded Spire, where clouds churned like beasts and stars dared not shine, Veyrian descended upon a fortress city loyal to Zeirion's banner. He raised his blade, and the winds howled as one.
"Erase them!" he thundered.
But before the first strike could fall—
A tear appeared in the sky.
And Zeirion stepped through.
Not flew.
Stepped.
Like he owned the sky itself.
Eclipsion burned with silent fury. His cloak billowed with the weight of realms.
Veyrian stared down at him. "You always arrive late."
"And you," Zeirion replied, "always overstay your welcome."
With a flick of his wrist, the sky bent.
The two clashed.
Not with sound.
But with silence so complete that the world stilled to witness.
Storm vs Sovereign
Arstorm breathed a tempest of pure destruction.
Zeirion raised his blade and cut the storm in half.
Lightning screamed as it died. The wind itself recoiled. Veyrian lunged, Titan Core raised, fury unleashed.
Their weapons met.
A continent trembled.
On the horizon, stars dimmed as the echo of their battle reached them. Every strike was a page written in the Book of Ends.
Eclipsion burned brighter. The Titan Core cracked slightly.
"You're fading, Veyrian," Zeirion said, his voice a death sentence.
"And you're still bleeding," Veyrian spat.
But before the warlord could speak again, Aralya appeared—her presence gentle, yet undeniable.
She floated beside Zeirion, eyes on Veyrian. "This is your last warning."
Veyrian hesitated—not out of fear, but because he remembered her. The one who had silenced a thousand kings with nothing but a whisper. The Lady of Moonlight.
He cursed. "This is not over."
"No," Zeirion agreed. "It is only beginning."
With a wave of his hand, Zeirion broke the storm.
Not the beast.
Not the men.
The storm itself.
The sky cleared.
And Veyrian fled with what was left of his legion.
Below, the World Watches
Word spread like wildfire.
The Sovereign of All had broken the storm with a single strike.
The Hollow Court fell into frantic silence.
The Awakened Legions paused in their march.
In distant ruins, the ancient one chained in shadow stirred and smiled.
And from beyond the stars, something far older whispered:
"He awakens… too soon."
Certainly. Here is the next immersive chapter of Sovereign Beyond Fate.