Ryn woke to the taste of lightning.
His lungs burned with each breath, not from lack of air but from the sheer *charge* of it—ozone and something older, something wild. He floated in an endless expanse of churning clouds, his body weightless yet thrumming with energy. The wound from Malrik's void-blade was gone, but so was the solidity of flesh. When he looked down, he saw only a shimmering outline of himself, flickering like heat haze.
*Am I dead?*
The thought should have terrified him. Instead, the storm whispered through his consciousness, its voice a chorus of a thousand winds:
*Not dead. Not yet.*
A figure coalesced from the tempest—a man with Ryn's sharp cheekbones but broader shoulders, his silver hair moving in an unfelt breeze. His eyes glowed the same impossible blue as the Heartwind Stone, pupils shaped like tiny whirlwinds.
**[The First Stormcaller | Astra Incarnate]**
*Ancient progenitor of the Kael bloodline*
*Bound his soul to the eternal storm*
*Current mood: Disappointed but hopeful*
**"Five generations,"** the First spoke, his voice resonating in Ryn's bones rather than his ears. **"Five times the stone tested your lineage, and five times it found them wanting."** A spectral hand gestured at Ryn. **"Until you."**
Ryn tried to speak, but the storm stole his words, scattering them into the void.
The First smiled, a flash of white in the gloom. **"Words are unnecessary here. Your soul speaks plainly enough."**
He waved a hand, and the clouds parted like a theater curtain, revealing scenes from Ryn's life painted in living mist:
- *A child of no more than four, giggling as an errant breeze carried his toy boat safely back to shore when it drifted too far*
- *His father's calloused hands adjusting his stance in the training yard, murmuring about "listening to the wind's rhythm"*
- *The massacre, the void-blade drinking the torchlight as it swung*
- *Lira's last defiant grin before she vanished over the cliff's edge*
The final image lingered, pulsing with golden light.
**"She still breathes,"** the First said. **"The wind carries her scent to me—bloodied but unbroken."**
Ryn reached for the image, but it dissolved into vapor. His frustration sent miniature cyclones spinning through the clouds, their howls echoing his rage.
The First watched the display with raised eyebrows. **"Control, descendant. The wind answers your emotions, not your commands."** He drifted closer, the storm quieting around them. **"Tell me, when you called the gale to strike down Malrik's houndmaster... did it feel like bending the air? Or like the air was bending *you*?"**
The question caught Ryn off guard. He remembered the rush of power, the way his anger had shaped the wind's fury—but also the exhaustion afterward, as if something vital had been ripped from him.
The First nodded as if Ryn had spoken aloud. **"Because you were stealing whispers of *my* power. But now..."** He placed a glowing hand on Ryn's chest. **"The stone has awakened your birthright."**
Fire erupted behind Ryn's ribs.
Visions not his own flooded his mind:
- *The First standing atop Mount Valthorn, his arms raised as he summoned hurricanes to shatter an invading fleet*
- *A younger Malrik—barely older than Ryn was now—kneeling reverently before the Heartwind Stone, his eyes full of awe*
- *That same stone being sealed beneath Kael Manor's foundations as the First whispered his final words, his body dissolving into the storm*
The last image burned brightest: Malrik, years later, standing over the stone with his void-blade raised. Not in reverence now—in *hunger*.
The visions vanished as suddenly as they'd come. Ryn gasped, his spectral form flickering wildly.
**"Malrik sought the stone's power but couldn't wield it,"** the First said, his glow dimming. **"The storm rejects those who would chain it. So he turned to the void instead—feeding it sacrifices, letting it fester in his soul."**
A new image formed: Malrik's helmet melting and reforming into its crown-like shape, the void pulsing within.
**"You have minutes before your body dies,"** the First said. **"Will you fade into the storm... or return as the first true Stormcaller in five generations?"**
Ryn didn't hesitate. He reached for the First's hand—
—and the world *exploded* in blue fire.
**Back in the Crumbling Cavern**
Malrik staggered back as the Heartwind Stone detonated with the force of a hurricane. The shockwave hurled him into the far wall, his armor shrieking against stone.
At the altar, Ryn's body—which had lain still and bleeding moments before—*moved*.
Blue lightning arced across his skin, sealing wounds in jagged lines of living energy. The air itself trembled as he rose, his eyes opening to reveal twin maelstroms of stormlight.
Malrik's void-blade vibrated in its sheath, its hunger warring with something almost like *fear*.
"Impossible," he breathed.
Ryn raised one hand—and the storm answered.