That night, Valmere buzzed with rumor.

  Storm user challenges Argent Veil commander.

  Survives.

  Not captured.

  Grey and Lyra returned to the inn cautiously.

  Doors locked.

  Windows barred.

  Grey sat on the floor and opened his status.

  Level 13.

  Storm Pulse (Minor) – Emits localized shockwave.

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  Mana Capacity increased.

  Storm Resonance +5%.

  He leaned back against the wall.

  "You used it," he said quietly.

  Lyra didn't pretend ignorance.

  "Yes."

  "How much?"

  "Less than a breath."

  "But he felt it."

  "Yes."

  Silence stretched.

  Then—

  Grey's vision blurred slightly.

  The room dimmed.

  Status window flickered without command.

  [Resonance Threshold Approaching]

  The air pressure changed.

  Grey's heartbeat synced to distant thunder.

  And then—

  A voice.

  Not spoken.

  Not heard.

  Felt.

  Ancient.

  Fractured.

  "…anchor…"

  Grey inhaled sharply.

  Lyra froze.

  "You heard that," she whispered.

  "…storm seeks form…"

  The whisper vanished.

  Status window stabilized.

  Lyra's emotional state spiked.

  Fear.

  Not of Argent Veil.

  Of something older.

  Grey swallowed.

  "That wasn't you."

  "No."

  He stood slowly.

  "So that's what we're really dealing with."

  The storm above Valmere rolled once across the sky.

  And did not leave.