The throne room was already broken before the first blow fell. 

The nobles who filled the gallery watched with the same brittle fear as always, the fear of him, of his storm, of. what he might do. 

But Dain stood tall at the center of the hall, Elion at his side. |

For once, his storm was quiet. 

The council droned, arguing succession, bickering over tradition, fighting to convince the Kning that his heir could not have a low-born Guide as his partner. His father’s health had waned. The nobles tried to grasp control over the situation. 

Dain didn’t hear them. Not truly. 

Because for the first time, the thread that tied him to Elion wasn’t faint, fraying, or jagged. It pulsed steady in his veins, strong, grounding. 

His Guide no longer trembled after resonance. No nosebleeds. No gasps. His body, still bruised and scarred, seemed steadier now. 

Bonded and whole. 

A little smile slipped through his frown at that thought. 

But then- 
The doors burst open. It all happened fast, too fat. 

Soldiers dragged in something massive, iron, cables, pulsating crystal at its core. An Esper weapon, Dain realized at once. Designed not to kill—but to destabilize. 

The coup leaders followed behind, cloaked nobles with smug faces. His uncle among them, the old bastard. 

“You were always a danger to this kingdom, Prince,” the man sneered. “Today, the crown will find a worthier head.” 

The weapon activated. And the crystal flared. 
Energy surged, wrong and warped, like claws tearing at Dain’s veins. 

The storm inside him screamed awake. 

Dain staggered, teeth clenched. Lightning burst uncontrolled, lashing the chamber. The King shouted and fled like a coward. 
He fought it but the weapon dragged his power out of him, ripping it loose, twisting it against him, dropping to one knee, as his vision blurred. 

“Dain.” 

The voice cut through the chaos. Sharp. Unyielding. 

Elion. “Dain, look at me.” 

He stepped forward, calm, steady. 

“Don’t-” Dain gasped, stepping away from him. “It’ll kill you. Get the fuck away!” 

Elion ignored him. He pressed both hands against Dain’s face, forcing him to look up, as his skin split open with cuts. 
“Then we die together. But I won’t let you fall alone. Never again.” 

And he kissed him. 

Resonance poured thought them. 

Not jagged. Not searing. Not bleeding. 

Healing. 

Elion’s power threaded through him like steel and fire, tethering every wild edge of Dain’s storm. The weapon’s pull faltered. The crystal cracked, whined and shattered under the force of their joined force. 

Dain rose, dragging Elion with him, silver light blazing from their clasped hands. 

Lightning arced, tearing through the coup leaders. And thunder shook the hall until pillars cracked and banners tore in pieces. 

Together, they silenced the weapon. Eliminated every single threat. 
And they stood unbroken. 

When the dust cleared, the hall looked like a ruin, and on the floor layed his fractured crown. 

Dain’s storm hummed low, restrained, steady. His voice carried like thunder. 

“I am not your crown.” He looked at his family, at the court, at the vultures who had plotted his death since the day he was born. “I am not your beast. I will not bow to your rules.” 

He reached for Elion’s hand, pulled him forward until they stood together before the broken dais. Searing for any sign of hurt, but the Guide only smiled and kissed the back of the prince’s hand. Dain returned the gesture. 

The chamber lay in ruin. The crown lay cracked on the floor. 

And Dain stood with his Guide by his side. 

Storm and anchor. 

Together. 

End.