The storm inside Dorian was louder now, more insistent, a constant pressure pushing against the walls of his mind. The air in the chamber pulsed with an energy that seemed to vibrate in sync with his heartbeat. Each breath he took felt heavier, as if the weight of the entire world was pressing down on him. The symbols on the walls were no longer just marks—they were alive, alive with the same energy that was coursing through his veins.
"You can control it," Galen's voice came through the haze, quiet but insistent. "But you have to focus. You have to believe."
Dorian's fingers twitched at his sides. He could feel the power swirling around him, thrumming with potential. But beneath it, there was something darker. Something that tugged at him, urging him to release it all—to unleash the storm that had been growing inside him since that night in the alley.
"Focus," Galen repeated, stepping closer. His voice was tight, filled with a fear Dorian couldn't ignore. "You don't have to destroy it. You just need to stop the unraveling. Don't let it take you."
Dorian closed his eyes, his mind spinning as he fought to gather his thoughts. The power… it felt so close. His hands clenched, and he could almost feel the energy crackling at his fingertips. He was so close to grasping it. So close to finally taking control.
But can I control it? he thought.
His thoughts were fragmented, torn between the wild surge of magic within him and the small, rational part of his mind that was screaming for him to stop, to turn back before it was too late.
The woman's voice broke through the chaos, sharp and unyielding. "The longer you hesitate, the worse it will get. If you don't control the storm now, it will control you."
Dorian's heart pounded harder as her words echoed in his mind. The woman was right. There was no turning back. The storm inside him was growing stronger with every passing second, feeding off his hesitation, his fear. The wards, the city, the very fabric of reality itself were tearing apart. If he didn't act now, everything he knew would crumble.
But how? How could he control something so wild, so ancient, so destructive?
He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the symbols around him. They pulsed with an intensity that was almost unbearable, but Dorian could feel them calling to him. They weren't just decorations. They were alive. They were the very foundation of the wards, the same wards that had kept the Spire—and everything inside it—safe for centuries.
Dorian took a step forward, his mind swimming with the gravity of the moment. His hand reached out, trembling, and he touched the nearest symbol on the wall.
At once, the power surged. The ground beneath him trembled, the walls of the chamber vibrating with energy. The storm inside him roared to life, a wild, uncontrolled force threatening to consume him whole.
But then, in the chaos, something clicked.
It's not about control. It's about understanding.
Dorian closed his eyes again, forcing himself to breathe deeply. He could feel the power surging through him, but this time, he didn't resist it. Instead, he opened himself to it—let it flow, let it guide him. He didn't need to force it. He just needed to align with it.
The symbols on the wall flared brighter, and for a moment, Dorian saw the world around him shift. The room began to warp and twist, but this time, he didn't panic. Instead, he focused—on the symbols, on the energy, on the city above, and the storm that was beginning to consume it all.
For the briefest of moments, Dorian understood. The power was not something that could be tamed or controlled. It was something that needed to be understood, something that needed to be embraced. The storm was part of him, and he was part of it.
The woman's voice was sharp in his ear. "Good. Now focus on the wards. The magic that holds the city together—stop it from breaking down."
Dorian's mind whirled. He could feel the wards stretching, straining, on the verge of snapping. He could feel the pulse of the storm as it fed on the unraveling magic. The more he focused, the clearer it became: the storm wasn't the enemy. The enemy was the breaking, the unraveling, the collapse.
He reached out again, extending his will toward the wards. The energy around him intensified, and the symbols on the wall began to glow even brighter, responding to him.
It was like a dam breaking inside him, the force of his will pushing against the tide of magic, forcing the power to bend—not to his control, but to his understanding.
And slowly, painfully, the storm began to calm.
The chamber grew still. The rumble that had been shaking the walls faded, the intense energy around him dissipating into the air. Dorian's hands were still trembling, but now it was a tremor of exhaustion, not panic. He stood there for a long moment, his eyes closed, his body sagging under the weight of what he had just done.
"You did it," Galen said, his voice a mix of awe and relief.
Dorian opened his eyes, slowly turning toward the others. The storm inside him had quieted, but its presence was still there, like a living thing curled inside him. He didn't know if it would stay calm or if it would stir again, but for now, he had pushed it back.
"It's not over," the woman said, her voice low and somber. She stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Dorian. "This is only the beginning. You've slowed the unraveling, but you haven't stopped it. There's still work to be done."
Dorian nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. "Then what do we do now?"
The woman's lips curled into a grim smile. "Now, you need to learn how to master the storm. And to do that, you'll need to understand what it is. You'll need to learn its true nature."
Galen stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "And how do we do that?"
The woman's eyes flickered to him, a shadow of something ancient in her gaze. "We begin by finding the heart of the storm. The source of the power that is tearing everything apart."
Dorian's mind raced. The heart of the storm. Was that what he had felt? That dark, pulsing power that had first called to him? The woman was right—the true nature of the storm had yet to be understood.
But Dorian also knew that the road ahead would not be easy. The storm inside him was not done. It would continue to test him. And if he didn't find a way to wield it—if he didn't find the heart of the storm—then everything he had just done would have been for nothing.
He had made it this far. But he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of a much darker journey.