James moved cautiously, his breath misting in the air. Five figures knelt at the courtyard's center, hunched over in their restraints. Their bodies sagged, blood spilling from a dozen wounds, feeding the complex symbols carved into the very stone beneath them. A web of intersecting lines and spirals pulsating with a dim light that matched the lightning strikes overhead. James pulled up short. Rescanning the beaten, broken faces. He searched for red hair, warm eyes, and anything but didn't see Max.

  Had I been wrong? Max isn’t here.

  Panic clawed up his throat, hot and suffocating, but he crushed it down. The courtyard was cold. Rain poured down off the tiled roof in long streams that flared with the lightning above. James searched the dirty, white-washed pillars and the gathering shadows.

  No. He has to be here. I know it.

  A whisper slid against the edges of his mind, soft, coaxing. A mother’s voice. Gentle and loving. He could feel soft hands on his cheeks, turning his head softly.

  "Hush now, little sapling. Come, see, understand—" James clenched his jaw and forced it out, pushing the voice to the back of his mind as he heard a commotion to his left.

  Guards dragged something heavy across the slick stone. A tall man, beaten beyond recognition. His face was a bloody patchwork of purple bruises, one eye socket a sunken ruin that wept blood. His other eye, swollen but open, was a deep, familiar brown beneath hair so caked in blood James almost didn't see the natural red. His stomach hit the floor.

  Max.

  A strangled sound caught in his throat. Relief. Horror. Rage. He wanted to move, to tear through the courtyard, to kill every last one of them. But there were too many, and they were getting too close. James slipped left, ducking through a half-open door. Closing and locking it behind him.

  He was in a storeroom, where shelves held fresh linens, shirts, and pants. Thick wool cloaks hung along the far wall. James stood still, breathing it in. The smell of fresh laundry, clean soaps, and dry clothes hit his nose.

  James hurried around the small room, yanking off the rags that had been his clothes, each one caked in days of mud and blood. His skin felt clammy as he tugged on a fresh shirt and pants. The soft fabric stuck to his cold skin, but it was warm, and every inch of him reveled in the simple feeling of cleanliness.

  James pulled a dark woolen robe from a hook by the door, slipping it over his shoulders, and pulled the hood low over his face before unlocking the door and peering back through.

  The guards had passed. James could see Max clearly now. His head lolled to the side, his chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady breaths. Max's one good eye looked barely aware, unfocused as if barely conscious. The guards maneuvered carefully around the carved grooves, stepping between the pulsing symbols as they dropped Max into the circle's center.

  A figure moved out of the shadows, his robe identical to James’. Except for the thick chain of black metal draped across his shoulders, the glowing amethyst set into its links, pulsing faintly against his chest. He lowered himself with unnatural grace to kneel next to Max, whispering something into Max’s ear. Max bucked the restraints, flopping like a fish from water. The figure only laughed. Then, with disturbing ease, the figure pulled Max upright, forcing him to kneel to match the others.

  James bit back a scream. The storm rumbled above a slow, like a distant growl. The drums had stilled as if waiting for something. The air smelled of blood and damp stone. The ritual symbol grew more frantic, its pulsing light flickering in time with the crackling sky.

  The robed figure didn’t speak. He simply studied Max, his head tilting, the faint glow of his amethyst chain reflecting in the rain. Max spat blood at his feet. The figure chuckled, a smooth, velvety sound as he reached out, almost tenderly, and gripped Max’s chin, forcing his head up.

  "You’ve been fighting for so long, haven’t you?" His voice was low, soothing, almost too kind for the cruelty in his touch. His fingernails dug deep into Max's chin.

  Max tried to jerk his head away. The chains rattled. His breath was ragged, but the look in his one good eye could melt steel.

  "I don’t know what in the two hells ya think you’re doing," Max growled, voice thick with pain, "but I ain’t playing dis little game."

  The figure sighed. Shaking his head in disappointment. Almost pitying. Letting go of Max's face, tiny drops of blood dripped from where the figure's nails had dug in.

  "Oh, Maximus," he murmured. "You still don’t understand, do you? My sister, Silvia, shielded you and James from your destinies for too long."

  He lifted a hand, pressing it flat against Max’s chest.

  Max shuddered. His body became rigid, his muscles locking like a puppet with strings pulled too tight. His breath hitched, caught, and then released in a slow, shaking exhale. James couldn’t breathe. He watched the man's fingers dig into Max's chest, the jewel in his chain glowing brighter.

  Gods above—his sister. Crispin? What is he doing to Max?

  The robed man leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. James strained his ears to hear. Holding his breath.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "You were never meant to be ordinary. I know you felt it after eating one of the apples. You were made for something greater. Stronger. A vessel for the Lord of Storms.The King of Darkness. And soon, Maximus, you will take your rightful place."

  Max gasped. His body trembled under the man’s touch, and then he spat blood and phlegm into the robed figure's face. He wiped it away with his sleeve.

  James could see it now. The faint, curling wisps of purple light twisting from the amethyst chain, sinking into Max’s skin. The figure pulled back, reaching into the folds of his robe.

  James’ stomach dropped. The man withdrew a jagged shard of amethyst, pulsing like a heartbeat, the same color as the glowing chain wrapped around his shoulders. Crispin's amethyst, James, had seen it before.

  Max tried to pull away, but he was too weak, too slow. The figure gripped the back of his skull, forcing it upward further.

  Rain poured onto Max’s face.

  "You’ve already lost one eye," the man said softly, almost reverently. "Let’s give you a new one.”

  The amethyst plunged into the ruined socket.

  Max screamed. His body seized, back arching as the stone burned into him. His good eye went wide, the veins in his neck standing out like thick cords. The rain hissed where it touched the glowing gem, steam curling off his skin.

  James bit down on his knuckles, trying not to cry out as the stench of burning flesh filled his nose.

  The robed figure only smiled, observing as Max convulsed, his breath turning ragged and sharp. Face locked in a silent scream of pain.

  The figure threw back his head and laughed. His hood falling free. There was no mistaking it. The family ties to Miss Silvia were clear. The same hawk-like features, the same green eyes beneath raven-black hair. But this wasn't Crispin. It was someone else. Someone cruel.

  Max fell still. James could see both his eyelids were shut, swollen but closed, his body laying curled in on himself, hands bound behind his back.

  The storm boomed overhead. The figure raised his hands triumphantly, tilting his head to the sky. He closed his eyes against the rain, seemingly savoring the moment.

  "Too long, my friends, has the Lord of Light ruled these lands. Too long have we been pushed down by his hand. Tonight, we rise up. We offer ourselves to the dark, to the storm that will block out the Sun.”

  He turned, looking to the edge of the courtyard where people had begun to gather. Watching. Waiting. James' lungs burned, his teeth ached, and from biting down on his fist, a copper taste on his lips.

  "Each of you has suffered at the hands of the Imperium—have you not?" A roar went up, drowning out the thunder. Swords beat against shields, fists slammed against chests. "I am but a servant. I am but a man. Long have I walked Panthea, forced to watch, to aid only when asked. But he set me free, gave me a purpose—to help all of you."

  He walked among the prisoners, placing a hand on their bowed heads and ruffling their hair. None pulled away from the touch; they didn't even seem to register it.

  "These men and women will pay the ultimate price tonight, but their sacrifice will serve the good of all." Another round of cheers and banging. The drums began again, slow, deliberate, like a colossal heart.

  Thud. Thud.

  James gripped the inside of his sleeves.

  "In the dark, we are all equal," the man said, meeting the eyes of the crowd.

  Thud. Thud.

  I need a weapon.

  "In the rain, we are cleansed." Silvia’s brother pulled a wicked curved dagger from his belt.

  Thud. Thud.

  Sondia's blade, there are so many.

  "In the light of the storm, we are all beautiful."

  He slit the first woman’s throat.

  Thud. Thud.

  James moved. He slammed his shoulder into the nearest guard, sending the man sprawling. James ripped the sword from the guard’s scabbard as he fell, spinning on the balls of his feet, slashing at another. The blade bit between the helmet and armor.

  "In the calm of the storm, we find peace."

  He slit the second prisoner’s throat. Blood poured into the grooves. The purple light of the magic circle brightened with each sacrifice.

  Thud. Thud.

  They were closing in. James ducked a blow meant for his head—only to catch a spear to the shoulder.

  Pain exploded through him, white-hot and sharp. The spear dug deep.

  "In the downpour, we find joy."

  Another body hit the floor, its lifeless eyes staring at James.

  Thud. Thud.

  James snapped the spear shaft with his forearm, twisting with the motion, slamming his sword into the attacker’s gut before he could recover.

  A blow to the back of his head—his world spun—but he forced himself to stay upright.

  "The storm changes us all."

  A man cried for his mother as his throat was cut. The circle flared even brighter.

  Thud. Thud.

  James was out of time.

  He pulled the broken dagger from his belt and threw.

  The world slowed.

  The spinning blade flew—true, perfect.

  Silvia’s brother turned, a look of shock and panic flashing across his face—

  Just before, the dagger buried itself in his eye. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed in on himself. Blood poured into the grooves. The purple light sputtered. But it did not fade. The guards around James froze, watching. The fight was gone from them. James shoved past them in a mad dash, grabbing Max and hauling him to his feet.

  "James?" Max’s voice was hushed, barely a whisper. His good eye fluttered open, dazed. The other was a perfect replica of Max's eye but made of a faintly glowing gem. "Ya came for me."

  Max sagged against him, his weight heavier than James remembered. James got under Max's arm, and they stumbled together from the circle. Slowly, he lowered Max down, breathless, scanning the stunned faces of the crowd.

  No one moved. The guards and people alike all just stared at the robed figure lying dead in the center of the circle.

  The magic flared.

  Brighter than ever.

  The final sacrifice screamed. A bloodcurdling wail.

  Her body writhed against the restraints.

  As the hairs on James’ arms rose.

  Lightning tore from the sky.

  The full force of It slammed into her.

  The light was blinding. James threw up his arms to shield his eyes, his ears ringing from the impact, and silence fell over the small courtyard. Smoke churned, thick and heavy, twisting like living shadows in the flickering torchlight. The storm above still rumbled, but lightning danced across the sky. As though reverent and alive, the storm itself was celebrating. James blinked away the afterimages in his eyes. Seeing the screaming woman superimposed over the black smoke. His body coiled tight, muscles screaming to run. But he raised his fist and squared his shoulders. Max slumped to the floor, unmoving except for the slow, uneven rise and fall of his chest.

  No one spoke.

  No one moved.

  A low, crackling hum filled the silence. It started soft, barely more than a whisper of wind against the stone. Then it deepened and thickened, the unmistakable sound of raw power thrumming in the air. The smoke parted like a curtain, and from it, she stepped forward.

  Standing tall, nearly seven feet of powerful muscle, her wounds were gone, erased as if they had never been. Her skin shimmered as if cut from rain-slicked stone. Her hair, now a deep purple matching the storm clouds above, cascaded in waves down her back as she rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers.

  James saw it then. Her eyes were lightning. They burned, with crackling white-blue bolts of electricity flickering from her irises as she shifted her gaze. She stretched her arms wide as if shaking off chains, a slow and deliberate movement.

  She breathed in, savoring the moment, her eyes closed. A soft smile crossed her perfect features, turning them up to let the rain wash over her.

  The air shuddered around her as if the very storm obeyed her will. "Oh, how good it feels…"

  Her voice wasn't human anymore. It rolled like thunder, an electric hum that filled the space, vibrating against James’ bones. She lifted her hands, turned them over, and admired them as a sculptor might a masterpiece finally completed.

  "After all this time… to walk Panthea once more." The crowd trembled.

  Some fell to their knees. Others stumbled back, fear turning them as they fled from the courtyard. The guards who had fought James moments ago stood frozen, their weapons hanging limply in their hands.

  James' hands lowered in disbelief. He hadn’t stopped the ritual.

  The Vessel of the God of Storms had risen.

  And she was looking straight at him.