The palace was no longer just marble and firelit halls. It had become a place of whispers, veiled threats, and illusions too beautiful to trust.
Kaelen felt it in every step.
The gold didn't gleam as it once had. The royal banners—crimson, azure, emerald—seemed to mask more than they revealed. Even the mirrors in the halls reflected versions of himself he didn't recognize.
A prince.
A storm.
A threat.
And now, an invitation.
The Circle of Crowns
Kaelen stood outside the Chamber of the Crowned, dressed in the formal black and silver of his station. The tunic bore no sigils, no emblems—only thread shaped like cracks of lightning across the cuffs and shoulders. A quiet rebellion against tradition.
The doors opened.
Inside, Seris stood in flame-red robes, her hair pulled into a high braid like a warrior queen. Aedric sat with a scroll in one hand and a frozen goblet in the other. Zevien leaned casually against a pillar, wind brushing against his skin as if it clung to him.
This was the Circle of Crowns—the inner council of heirs.
And now Kaelen had a seat at the table.
"You're late," Seris said flatly.
"Had to remind myself I'm not dreaming," Kaelen replied.
Zevien smirked. Aedric did not look up.
Seris continued, "Today's session concerns the recent border incident with Myrelan."
Kaelen raised a brow. "Myrelan? I thought we had peace treaties signed."
Aedric responded coolly, "A patrol was ambushed. Tracks lead to their territory."
Seris added, "King Orellan denies involvement. But we need to prepare for the possibility that the treaty is no longer honored."
Kaelen frowned. "So what's the plan? War?"
Silence.
Then Seris said, "That depends on whether you're willing to fight for the crown you abandoned."
Kaelen's fingers twitched with lightning, but he held it back. "I was a child. I didn't choose to vanish."
Seris rose. "No. But you chose to remain gone."
Zevien stepped between them, voice sharp. "Enough. This isn't the time."
For a moment, the tension crackled—ice, fire, wind, and thunder pressing against one another.
Then the king's messenger arrived, bowing low.
"The king has summoned the Circle," he announced. "All four heirs are to meet him in the Chamber of Legacy. Now."
The King's Revelation
The Chamber of Legacy was darker than Kaelen remembered.
Ancient banners lined the walls, each representing one of the Elemental Crowns through the ages. The floor was carved obsidian, and in the center burned a circular brazier fed by flame, mist, breeze, and static.
King Theron stood beside Queen Vaelora.
His voice boomed across the chamber. "You are the future of Velmire. But storms are gathering, and I must reveal truths that have been hidden for too long."
He gestured, and a servant brought forth a sealed scroll—its wax pressed with a thirteen-pointed crown.
Seris stiffened. Aedric's gaze narrowed. Zevien's wind paused.
Kaelen watched them all, then turned to the scroll.
"The Thorns," the king said, "are not only enemies of the crown. They were once its secret protectors. An elite order of elemental warriors bound by blood oath. Thirteen. One for each unspoken sin of the kingdom's founders."
Kaelen blinked. "You mean they were... royal?"
"Royal and forgotten," Queen Vaelora answered.
She stepped forward now, voice like velvet, but colder.
"We disbanded them generations ago, after one betrayed the crown. But now... they return. Not as guardians. As shadows."
Seris murmured, "You mean to say the Thorns still exist?"
King Theron nodded gravely. "At least one. The Thirteenth Thorn—the one whose power was sealed by royal decree—is active. I have reason to believe they are in Velmire."
Kaelen felt the storm in his chest rumble.
"Why now?" Zevien asked. "Why return?"
The queen answered, her gaze flicking briefly to Kaelen. "Because prophecy stirs. And the storm's return may have awakened more than bloodlines."
POV: Aedric
That night, Aedric sat alone in the Frozen Archives, deep beneath the palace.
He ran his fingers across the ancient scrolls, his ice magic keeping the pages intact. His mind whirled with pieces—Kaelen's return, the Thorns, the elemental imbalance he felt growing with each day.
Something was wrong.
Not just Kaelen's presence. Not just Seris' flaring temper or Zevien's wind-swept secrets.
It was the storm.
Aedric remembered the way the brazier in the Chamber of Legacy had flared—lightning sparking even before Kaelen stepped close. The relics responded to him. Revered him.
Feared him.
Aedric opened a forbidden scroll he'd hidden long ago.
It spoke of a "Stormbearer." A prince born of royal and forbidden blood, whose return would shatter thrones and awaken ancient powers.
And it named him clearly:
Kaelen of the Thirteenth Thorn.
Aedric leaned back, breath visible in the cold.
"If this is true," he whispered, "then he is not just a prince."
He is a threat to all of us.
POV: Seris
Seris stared at the blade laid across her lap.
Not her ceremonial sword, nor her dragonsteel dueling weapon. This was the Flamebrand—a sword forged in dragonfire and carried only by the heir-apparent.
She had trained for years to wield it. Fought in border skirmishes. Spoke before councils. Survived trials, assassins, and her mother's impossible expectations.
And now Kaelen had returned, and everything teetered.
She hadn't felt fear in years.
But now? She feared what thunder meant.
Worse—she feared what she might have to do to protect her place.
Queen Vaelora entered the chamber quietly.
Seris rose. "You knew."
The queen didn't deny it. "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell us? He's—he's dangerous."
Vaelora's expression was unreadable. "And so are you."
Seris blinked. "You want me to fight him?"
The queen placed a hand on her shoulder. "No. I want you to outshine him."
"But if he's the Thirteenth Thorn—"
"Then you must burn brighter than any storm could."
POV: Kaelen
Kaelen walked alone through the Whispering Garden, where the wind always spoke secrets—if you knew how to listen.
He'd learned in the streets to hear what others didn't say. Here, the silence said volumes.
He wasn't safe.
Not from enemies.
Not from family.
He felt it in the glances, the sidelong looks, the calculated pauses in conversations. The court was circling like wolves in finery.
And worst of all, something dark tugged at his magic.
Not a threat.
A call.
A presence in the storm.
A figure stepped from the shadow of the trees. Cloaked in deep blue, face half-shrouded, voice low.
"You don't know what you are," they said.
Kaelen's hand went to the dagger at his hip. "Then enlighten me."
"I was your mother's blade. Her shadow. The last Thorn she ever trusted."
Kaelen froze.
"I come with a warning, Your Highness. They will try to use you. Or kill you. You must choose your path before the blood moon rises. Or the storm will consume the crown."
Then the figure vanished into mist, leaving Kaelen with thunder in his veins and questions churning like a storm tide.