Dust and debris clouded the air, the impact of William’s body tearing through the ruined landscape like a cannonball. The world spun as he tumbled through broken trees and shattered stone, pain lancing through his ribs before he finally came to a violent stop. His back slammed into the remnants of a collapsed wall, sending another explosion of dust into the air.

  Silence followed.

  Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat. Her head snapped toward where William had stood just moments ago. But he was gone.

  In his place stood a lone cloaked figure, a sinister smile curling upon their lips. The air around them felt wrong—heavy, suffocating. Aurelia’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger as she raised it, her instincts screaming at her to act. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice steady despite the cold tendrils of unease creeping up her spine.

  The figure didn’t answer. Instead, their gaze found hers—scarlet eyes, the same shade as William’s, but twisted, darker, laced with something ancient and menacing.The moment their eyes met Aurelia’s pulse quickened. Fear curled in her chest like a vice, her limbs frozen beneath the weight of that gaze. She willed herself to move, to fight, but her body refused.

  But the figure barely acknowledged her struggle. With a glance at Elara, they turned away, striding toward the direction William had been flung, their movements unhurried—almost leisurely, as if they already knew the outcome of this encounter.

  William groaned, pain searing through his body like molten fire. His vision blurred as he coughed, the taste of iron thick in his mouth. Blood dripped from his lips, staining the cracked earth beneath him. He barely had time to register what had happened—one moment, he had been standing, the next, he had been launched through the landscape like a ragdoll.

  What the hell was that?

  Gritting his teeth, he forced his trembling hand to move, fingers curling around the hilt of Stormrend. The familiar weight of the blade grounded him, but when he tried to rise, his limbs refused to obey. A sharp bolt of pain shot through his ribs, stealing his breath. His muscles screamed in protest, his body unwilling to move.

  Footsteps echoed through the silence.

  William's sharp gaze flickered upward, locking onto the approaching figure. A presence loomed over him, the air thick with an oppressive energy that sent a primal warning through his instincts.

  “As expected of the One who Inherited the Storm,” the figure mused, their voice smooth yet edged with amusement. “That didn't kill you.”

  With deliberate slowness, the figure reached up and pulled back their hood. Pale, almost ethereal white hair cascaded down, stark against the ruined backdrop. But it was the eyes that caught William’s attention—scarlet red, gleaming with something dark and unreadable. Menacing. Unnatural.

  William forced his fingers to tighten around Stormrend’s hilt. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move, to fight, but his body felt heavy, drained from the sheer force of that single strike.

  The stranger tilted his head, a wicked grin stretching across his lips. “Get up,” he commanded, voice laced with anticipation. “Show me what you can do.”

  Within the depths of his mind, William found himself standing before Michael, his split personality—a force as untamed as the storm itself.

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  "Can you fight him?" William asked, his voice steady despite the uncertainty pressing at the edges of his mind.

  Michael met his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “I’ll try,” he answered.

  In the real world, a shift occurred.

  William's black hair bled into a deep crimson, strands turning the color of fire and blood. His pupils darkened into endless voids, an unsettling contrast against his scarlet irises. A slow, almost amused smile curled his lips as he rose to his feet, the pain that had wracked his body seemingly forgotten. His stance was different—looser, more fluid, exuding a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

  “I’ll fight you,” he declared, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of William’s exhaustion and pain. “He’s too weak right now.”

  The cloaked figure’s gaze flickered with intrigue before his smile widened. "There you are," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "The Storm.”

  Aurelia, still paralyzed by the unnatural fear clawing at her chest, felt Elara’s touch on her arm, breaking the invisible hold.

  "William is in danger—we need to help him," Elara urged, her voice tight with concern.

  Aurelia swallowed, nodding as she fought to steady herself. Her body still resisted, her limbs heavy with lingering dread, but she forced herself to move.

  Then the clash of battle erupted.

  Aurelia's head snapped toward the sound, expecting to see William struggling to fight—but what she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

  The figure standing in his place wasn’t quite him. His stance, his aura, even the way he carried himself—it was familiar, yet wrong.

  His hair, no longer black, burned a deep crimson.

  Who is that? she thought, her pulse quickening. He looks like William, but…

  Michael shot forward, the ground beneath him cracking from the sheer force of his movement. Lightning crackled around his body, illuminating the battlefield in violent flashes. Stormrend whistled through the air, its edge gleaming with raw power as he brought it down in a ruthless arc, aiming to carve through the cloaked figure’s chest.

  But the stranger was gone before the blade could connect.

  Michael’s strike met only empty space.

  Then—

  A blur of movement. A whisper of displaced air.

  The stranger reappeared to his left, standing just outside the reach of Stormrend. Not retreating—just stepping, shifting, avoiding with an effortless grace that made it seem as though he already knew where each attack would land before it was even swung.

  Michael didn’t pause. He twisted his body, adjusting his grip, and unleashed a flurry of slashes—sharp, precise, lethal. Each swing came faster than the last, sparks flying as the sheer force of his blows split the earth beneath them. But the stranger weaved through the onslaught as if dancing through raindrops, sidestepping one attack, tilting his head just enough to let another pass by harmlessly, blocking a third with nothing more than a flick of his wrist.

  And through it all, he smiled.

  A slow, knowing smile, as if he were playing with a child who had yet to understand the rules of the game.

  Michael snarled, lightning exploding from his free hand. Thunder roared as he sent a bolt of raw energy straight toward the stranger’s chest. The air burned with the scent of ozone, the ground trembled—

  And then, impossibly, the stranger caught it.

  Not dodged. Not deflected. He caught the lightning in his bare hand.

  The crackling energy sizzled and sparked between his fingers, the blinding glow illuminating his face for a heartbeat before—

  He crushed it.

  The lightning fizzled out like a dying ember.

  Michael’s eyes widened for the briefest moment. Then he lunged again, refusing to let up.

  Aurelia and Elara stood frozen, their breaths caught in their throats. They could barely keep up with the battle, their eyes struggling to follow the speed of the movements. It was as if reality itself was distorting around them—blades clashing, lightning flashing, footsteps echoing faster than they could register.

  But it was too fast.

  Too unreal.

  It wasn’t a battle.

  It was a game.

  And the stranger was toying with the storm.