The wind over the Western Wastes howled like a wounded beast.

  It was not a place for the sane, nor the weak. The Darma’kul Wastes stretched for hundreds of miles, a cracked and cursed land where thunder never ceased, and lightning scarred the sky like the lashes of an angry god. Ash-colored plains stretched toward the horizon, scattered with the bones of ancient titans and the ruins of forgotten kingdoms.

  And somewhere within it, the heir of the Throne of Storms waited.

  Arjun adjusted his cloak as the first sparks of dry lightning danced across the black clouds above. Beside him, Raaka held his spear tightly, his knuckles white. They had left the sanctuary of the Oracle three days ago and followed the system’s guidance with unwavering resolve.

  Now, they stood on the threshold of chaos.

  > [System Notification: You are entering a High-Karmic Zone – The Eye of the Storm.]

  Caution: Your decisions here may ripple across fate itself.

  “Feels like walking into the jaws of a thunder god,” Raaka muttered.

  Arjun didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the jagged silhouette rising in the distance—a spire of black stone twisting toward the heavens like the fang of a buried serpent. Lightning constantly struck its peak, but it never crumbled. Around its base, the wind formed cyclones that danced like angry spirits.

  And beneath that spire, they saw it—a city made of shattered ships and iron bones. Banners fluttered, not with royal insignia but with bolts of white etched on black.

  “Is that…” Arjun asked.

  Raaka nodded grimly. “Stormhold. A war camp that became a nation. Founded by the Storm Heir after she tore down a tyrant’s palace with her bare hands.”

  “She?” Arjun blinked.

  “Aye,” Raaka said. “Name’s Ayra.”

  That name struck something in Arjun’s mind. A whisper. A breeze in his memories. Something… familiar.

  They descended carefully toward the city’s outer barricades. Watchtowers stood at odd angles, made of scavenged steel and wood warped by wind. Soldiers clad in patchwork armor, marked by blue warpaint and coils of lightning-shaped tattoos, raised their weapons.

  “Halt!” one shouted. “State your names or be turned to ash!”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Raaka stepped forward, spear raised—but Arjun stopped him with a hand.

  “I am Arjun of the Unbroken Flame,” he called. “Bearer of the Karmic System. I come to speak with Ayra Stormborn.”

  The soldiers froze.

  A silent wind rushed past.

  Then came the tremor.

  The sky darkened further.

  And she arrived.

  Ayra descended from the storm.

  Literally.

  A bolt of lightning struck the earth not ten paces from Arjun, splitting rock and sand. From the smoking crater, a figure emerged—tall, wild-haired, cloaked in dark silks woven with silver threads that crackled with static. Her eyes shone white, devoid of pupils, and the storm followed her every movement.

  She looked no older than Arjun, but there was age in her stare.

  Power. Rage. And something else—grief.

  “So,” she said, voice low but thunderous, “you’ve come. Took you long enough.”

  Arjun’s brows furrowed. “You knew I’d come?”

  Ayra walked closer, lightning sparking from her bare feet.

  “I remember you, Arjun. I’ve remembered you for lifetimes.”

  > [System Alert: Karmic Thread Detected – Past-Life Bond Active]

  Thread Type: Warrior-Lover | Status: Broken | Influence: Unstable

  Arjun’s heart pounded. “Past life…?”

  Ayra laughed, bitterly. “You don’t remember it, do you? How you and I once carved a kingdom from storm and ash. How you promised me a throne by your side.”

  Raaka glanced nervously between them. “Uh… should I be worried?”

  Ayra raised her hand—and thunder growled above.

  “I should kill you,” she said. “For leaving me behind. For letting it all burn.”

  Arjun took a step forward, calm despite the electricity building around them.

  “You’re not the only one the past has betrayed.”

  He held up his hand—and the flames of the Unbroken Flame lit his palm.

  “I don’t remember our past. But I won’t let it chain our future.”

  That made her pause.

  The wind stilled.

  Ayra stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, she lowered her hand.

  “I’ve built Stormhold with exiles and orphans. We’ve been fighting the Darma’kul warlords, the void cults, even the sky-beasts. You think I can just follow you because you remembered a system?”

  “No,” Arjun said. “I want you to join me because of what we can build. Together.”

  She turned away.

  And laughed again—this time without bitterness.

  “You really are still him.”

  Ayra turned back, tossing him something small and metallic—a charm carved with a symbol Arjun didn’t recognize.

  “The others are moving,” she said. “The Empress of Ravens has already taken the Black Temple in the east. The Heir of Frost has claimed the Glacial Archive. And someone—or something—is calling them together.”

  “The Convergence,” Arjun said.

  “Not just that,” Ayra said. “They’re building… a court.”

  “A court?”

  “A gathering of the heirs. To decide the fate of the Nine Thrones. One of us will rise. The rest will fall.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m going. With or without you.”

  Arjun looked at her—at the fire behind her eyes, at the storm braided into her bones.

  He extended a hand.

  “Then we walk together.”

  Ayra stared at his hand.

  Then clasped it.

  Lightning met flame—and the storm bowed.

  > [System Alert: Alliance Formed – Arjun & Ayra: The Flame and the Storm]

  New Skill Unlocked: Tempestfire Resonance

  Effect: When fighting together, gain +40% elemental mastery and +20% karmic bond strength.

  Raaka whistled. “Well. That escalated quickly.”

  Ayra smirked. “Welcome to the end of the world, spear-boy.”

  Arjun turned toward the horizon.

  Toward the east.

  Toward the Empress of Ravens.

  The next throne called.

  But this time, he wasn’t alone.