The Book of Storm

Chapter One: The Eve of the Storm

Stormi

Tomorrow, I turn seventeen.

For as long as I can remember, our births have been a sequential countdown to the end of the world. First comes my celebration, followed closely by Soleil’s, and finally, the twins. We were born in a cascade of seasons, a neat little timeline that our parents used to count the years of peace we had left.

But inside the castle walls, the looming prophecy felt a lot less urgent than the dramatic shifting of our own bloodlines. Especially when it came to the twins.

Up until we were fourteen, Saga and Soren were practically attached at the hip. You couldn't find one without the other tracking mud right behind them. But the moment Soren hit his mid-teens and his Alpha hormones kicked into overdrive, everything fractured. He started showing a very loud, very annoying interest in the young she-wolves of the pack, testing his charm and his newfound jawline.

Naturally, I thought Saga had simply distanced herself because she was disgusted by his sudden transition into a typical, posturing male wolf.

Lately, though? I’m starting to think it wasn’t Soren’s antics that drove her away at all. I think Saga has officially lost her mind, and Soren simply had no choice but to back away slowly for his own survival.

For the past year, my younger sister has done absolutely nothing but hoard trashy romance novels under her mattress and write secret letters to Prince Gerald. Well, secret from our fathers, at least. Our mother, the Lavender Luna, knows literally everything that breathes within a fifty-mile radius. You can’t hide a heartbeat from Lilitha, let alone a scented envelope.

Saga met Gerald exactly once during a rare diplomatic visit at a pack festival. They’ve only seen each other twice since then, yet she genuinely believes she is living out some tragic, star-crossed destiny. She sighs at the moon. She strokes the parchment.

Personally, I think the whole thing is utterly ridiculous. Love isn't a sigh; it’s a liability.

A sharp, heavy knock rattled the wood of my bedroom door, interrupting my thoughts. The door didn't even wait for an invitation before swinging open, revealing Soren leaning against the frame. At sixteen, he was already terrifyingly tall, carrying the broad, lethal frame of our fathers and a smoky-gray wolf that was constantly begging to be let off its leash.

"We’re heading down to the training grounds early today," Soren said, a wicked, boyish grin cutting across his face. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "We’re breaking out the heavy battle-axes. Dad said you could tag along if you felt like keeping up."

The irritation from my sisters' drama vanished instantly. My lips curved into a sharp, identical smirk, my own lavender eyes flashing with the wild, untamed magic that usually kept me grounded.

"Uncle Klaus knows I wouldn't miss axe-training for anything in this world," I cheered, throwing my heavy furs over my shoulders and grabbing my leather bracers. "Tell him to save the heaviest one for me. I’ve got some aggression to work out."

As Soren and I strode down the grand stone corridor, the heavy wooden doors to the library burst open. Out stepped Uncle Jaxon, balancing three massive leather-bound ledgers in his arms, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto us through his silver spectacles.

"Soren, Stormi," Jaxon adjusted his glasses with his free pinky finger. "If you are heading to the lower pits, remember that structural damage caused by localized illusions or gravitational anomalies will be deducted from your personal allowances. We have already spent three hundred gold coins repairing the southern wall this fiscal quarter."

"It wasn't me, Uncle Jaxon! It was Soleil!" Soren deflected immediately, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"I heard that!" Soleil’s sweet, melodic voice echoed from the balcony above. She leaned over the stone railing, her sun-kissed curls bouncing as she levitated a small silver dagger an inch above her palm out of pure boredom. "I only shifted the gravity because Soren wouldn't stop howling at the moon like a stray pup!"

"I am an Alpha of the Millennium, Soleil, I don't *howl*, I command," Soren barked back, puffing out his chest.

"You sound like a choked goose," I muttered, elbowing his ribs as we pushed past the heavy iron gates leading to the freezing outdoor courtyard.

Down in the muddy training pits, the air smelled of sweat, rusted iron, and woodsmoke. Uncle Klaus was already there, pacing the perimeter with his massive arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes scanning the young warriors of the vanguard. Next to him stood Father, King Dorek, leaning on a brutal double-bladed battle-axe, looking every bit the unyielding mountain he was.

"Ah! The birthday girl decides to grace us with her presence!" Klaus boomed, his deep laughter echoing off the stone walls. He tossed a heavy, iron-weighted axe straight toward me.

I caught it cleanly by the leather-wrapped haft, the weight solid and satisfying in my hands.

"Show us what you’ve got, Stormi," Dorek rumbled, a rare, proud smirk cutting across his battle-scarred face. "Don't let your brother think he's the only one who can swing steel."

Across the muddy pit, several young warriors our own age were pairing up. Among them was Torin, a cocky young wolf of seventeen who had recently been bragging about his combat reflexes during the vanguard trials. He caught me looking and offered a smug, irritating grin.

"Careful with that, Princess," Torin called out, spinning his training weapon. "Don't want you chipping a nail before your big dress-up party tomorrow."

My eyes narrowed, a flash of lavender light sparking at the tips of my fingers. *Oh, he did not just say that.*

"Match!" Klaus shouted, clapping his massive hands together. "Torin and Stormi. First blood or first submission. Go!"

Torin lunged forward with a heavy, arrogant downward strike, completely expecting me to dodge or yield under his superior male strength. But I didn't move. At the very last second, I let a minor, blinding illusion explode right in front of his eyes—a burst of phantom silver light that existed only in his mind.

Torin gasped, swinging wildly at the empty air.

With a brutal twist of my hips, I swung the flat head of my battle-axe downward, catching him hard right across his right shin. The heavy iron connected with a sickening *crack*, sending him crashing face-first into the freezing mud, clutching his leg and groaning in agony.

The entire courtyard went completely silent. Soren let out a loud, impressed whistle.

Klaus stared at the groaning warrior in the mud, then looked up at me, bursting into a booming, uncontrollable fit of laughter that shook his shoulders.

"By the Goddess, Torin!" Klaus roared, wiping a tear from his eye as he pointed a finger at the fallen wolf. "I told you to watch your blind spots! My daughter just turned your leg into a toothpick, and she hasn't even had her birthday cake yet!"

Dorek merely nodded in approval, crossing his arms. "Good form, Stormi. Next time, aim three inches higher. You wasted half a second on the illusion."

I wiped a streak of mud from my cheek, planting the head of my axe firmly into the ground as I looked down at Torin. "Happy birthday to me," I whispered with a wicked grin.