The storm was coming, a storm that neither the heavens nor men could control. It surged like a tidal wave, vast and unforgiving, breaking over the skyline of Galeon, a city built on the bones of the broken. The wind howled through the streets, battering the windows of the Drenmar mansion, yet inside, there was silence—a silence that screamed louder than the fury outside.

  Kael stood in the study, his back to the window, facing the man who had once been his hero—the man who had once held his future in his hands. Sylas Drenmar, his father, was not the towering, unshakable force Kael had grown up idolizing. Now, he was a relic—cracked, brittle, and clinging to the remnants of his empire.

  The two men stood across from each other, a chasm of distance between them that neither could bridge. The space was thick with unspoken words, with years of resentment, betrayal, and broken promises. The air was suffocating, and yet, Kael had never felt more alive.

  "You think you can defy me?" Sylas's voice was cold, but the trembling in his hands betrayed him. His eyes burned with a fury that came from somewhere deeper than anger—it was fear. Fear of losing control.

  Kael’s pulse quickened, but his face was an unmoving mask. He had long since buried the boy who feared his father, the boy who had sought approval at any cost. Today, he was something else—a force of nature, destined to tear down the walls that had kept him caged.

  "I don't think," Kael said, his voice resonating with an unnatural calm. "I know."

  Sylas’s lips curled into a twisted grin, but there was no mirth in it. “You know nothing, boy. You think you can change anything? This city belongs to me. Its future, its past—everything is mine to command. I gave you everything. I built you.”

  Kael’s gaze hardened. The truth had been buried so deep for so long, but now it surged to the surface like lava from a long-dormant volcano. He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, each movement a counterpoint to the wrath brewing in his father’s eyes.

  “No, you built a prison,” Kael spat, the words dripping with the venom of truth. “You don’t rule Galeon, Father. You’ve enslaved it. You and your damned Aether. The people—you’ve starved them while you sit in your palace, hoarding power, power that should have been shared. You’ve traded their souls for your throne.”

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  There was no pause in Sylas’s reaction. His hand shot out, the ring on his finger flashing, and his voice, like a thunderclap, tore through the room. “You’re a fool!”

  But Kael was already there, moving faster than his father could react, the rage of a thousand years of oppression filling him. His hand wrapped around his father’s wrist, stopping the blow mid-air. The contact—violent, raw—sent a jolt through Kael, as if the electricity of his father’s power was coursing through his very bones. But he didn’t flinch.

  Sylas’s eyes widened in disbelief. The grip that had once held Kael in place now held nothing.

  “I am not your son anymore,” Kael whispered, his voice a low, searing promise. “You’ve burned that bridge.”

  The room seemed to shrink around them, the walls closing in as if the very house itself could no longer contain the storm.

  Sylas took a step back, eyes narrowing, lips trembling with a mix of fury and something Kael couldn’t quite place. A fraction of a second passed, and then Sylas spoke again, his voice quiet, dangerous. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, Kael. You’ve made a terrible mistake. You think this is about the people? No. It’s always been about power. The Aether... I’ve earned it. You have no idea what I sacrificed to gain it. No idea the blood that’s been spilled.”

  Kael didn’t flinch. “Then let it burn,” he said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “You’re right, Father. I don’t know the price of your power. But I know the price of your corruption. And I’m not paying it anymore.”

  Sylas’s face twisted with rage, and for a moment, Kael saw something that shook him to his core. Fear. His father, the tyrant who had controlled Galeon with an iron fist, the man who had crushed every opposition, was now the one who feared.

  “Do you think this is the end?” Sylas hissed. His voice had lost its power, its confidence. “Do you think the world will follow you? You are nothing without me. You are nothing without my legacy, my name, my resources. The rebellion? A fleeting thought, a joke! The city is mine! I built it. I control it. And you will never take it from me.”

  Kael felt the weight of those words like a stone sinking into his chest. But his resolve was ironclad.

  “I don’t need your city, Father,” Kael said, his voice the calm before a storm. “I don’t need your name or your legacy. I don’t need anything from you. You are the ghost of a world that no longer exists.”

  Sylas stepped back, his chest heaving with rage, and in that moment, Kael saw the truth—the empire was crumbling, its foundation already cracked. The rebellion had begun long ago, but now it was more than a whisper. It was a roar. And Kael was at its helm.

  “You will regret this, Kael,” Sylas snarled. His eyes blazed with fury, but there was a tremor in his voice, a crack in the mask he had worn for so long. “I will make sure of it.”

  Kael stood firm, a force of nature that could not be swayed. “Then make your move, Father,” he said, his voice low, but carrying with the weight of everything he had just given up. “But know this—you’ve already lost.”

  The room felt as though it were shuddering under the weight of the words. The sky outside crackled with lightning as if the heavens themselves were bearing witness to this moment. The rebellion had begun, but this—this was the spark. The rest of the world would soon know the name Kael Drenmar.

  And when the city burned, it would be his hands that held the torch.