The banquet stank of lies and deception. 

Glowing banners draped the marble pillars, candles flickered against gold-plated walls, and courtiers bowed low to the King and his Guides. 

Dain stood at the side, hands clasped behind his back. His storm quiet, as Elion lingered behind him like a shadow. 

Every inch of his body told him something was wrong. 

And then the feeling became reality right before his eyes. 

The first scream shattered the hall. 

Figures burst from the balconies above, masked assassins, blades gleaming with black. Then arrows rained down, aimed not at the King or himself. 

Elion. 

Dain’s storm broke loose before he even glanced behind him to check. 

Thunder roared through the hall as lightning cracked the air, spearing assassins mid-leap. Marble shattered under the pressure; tapestries caught fire and the chandeliers plummeted in molten bursts. 

Courtiers scattered, shrieking. The dais split. The air itself bent and tore. 

Dain didn’t care. 

The threat was aimed at him. 

His Guide. 

“Dain! Calm down!” 

The voice cut through his fury. Raw. Familiar. 

He turned. 

Elion reaching for him through the chaos, half-shielding himself from the debris, eyes blazing. 

Dain tried to focus on his Guide, his pretty eyes and soft lips, his deep red strands of hair and his sweet voice calling his name. He had picked out Elion’s silks himself today, putting on pretty jewels to show off his Guide with pride. 
But all of those were ripped off Elion’s body, as he grabbed Dain’s arm, forcing resonance between them. 

The storm around him clawed and raged at anything in his path but Elion still clung to his arm. 

Blood streamed from his nose. His eyes shaking extensively. His lips shook against the words he gasped, “Breathe. Breathe, damn you!” 

Dain fought it, tried to tear away but the storm grew more furious, yanking him down into the darkness. But slowly the lightning flickered. The gale eased. 

And then Elion collapsed. 

Dain caught him before his head hit stone. 

His storm lurched, desperate to surge free again, but he cradled the man against his chest, shaking with fury and fear. 

“Elion.” He shook him once. “Elion, open your eyes.” 

A faint groan. His lashes fluttered. He tried to speak but only blood pooled at his lips. 

Dain’s chest twisted with something raw and unfamiliar. Terror. 

He lifted Elion into his arms, the storm still clinging to his skin, and carried him through the wrecked hall, past the corpses of assassins and cowering nobles in the corners. 

He laid Elion in his bed, stripped the bloodied clothes from his limp body, wiped the skin with water and held a cloth to his nose until the bleeding slowed, all the while listening to the faint rasp of his breath until it steadied. 

Elion didn’t wake. But he was alive. 
And that was enough to still the storm inside the Esper’s chest for now. 

Dain rose. 

He stalked back into the shattered hall, cloak dragging across marble streaked with ash and blood. The assassins who lived writhed in chains, bound and gagged before the throne at his father's feet.

“Handle your mess.” was the Kings only words before he left the hall. 

The nobles whispered, some with fear, some with hope. 

Dain mounted the dais, silver light still sparking at his fingertips. 

He lifted his hand. Lightning split the chamber, incinerating the surviving assassins where they knelt. Their screams cut off in one raw, seared instant. 

Dain lowered his hand, eyes cold. “This is the price of daring to touch what is mine.” 

And as he turned, the storm whispering in his veins, he thought only of the man sleeping in his bed, broken, bleeding, but alive. 

 

To be continued...