Chapter 2 #2
Rain stilled, reaching out with his senses. Energy signatures flickered at the edge of his awareness—close, alert, multiplying.
Guards?
Green allies?
Most likely… Reds.
This border was a three-way fork where Blue, Green, and Red converged.
The Greens and Blues rarely stationed guards at every crossing; their strength alone deterred most intruders.
But the Reds? Their borders were always heavily guarded.
Their hatred for Rain’s kingdom ran deep.
Their people were known for their passion, their fierce love—and their equally fierce tempers.
Two and a half centuries of war had carved that temperament into their bones.
Every time peace settled, another conflict erupted.
Since the Great Divide, the Red Kingdom had never known true rest.
Rain crouched low, senses sharpening, preparing for the threat to pass.
The Great Divide, as Rain understood it, was the catastrophe that shattered the utopia that once existed. In its wake, the realm fractured into eight isolated kingdoms. Little reliable knowledge of the era before the Divide survived; most of it had been lost, destroyed, or rewritten.
Aerth herself—sacred, ancient, and alive—held immense power within her depths.
That power manifested as Aetherchromes: vibrant crystalline conduits of pure Aether, the spiritual essence of existence.
They were said to form at celestial alignment points, where the cosmic breath of the firmament seeped into the physical world and congealed into colour-infused clarity.
Where starlight touched the bones of Aerth.
Each Aetherchrome cluster vibrated differently depending on its location, its hue reflecting the unique colour energy flowing through Aerth’s veins. These crystalline networks formed a vast, interconnected web of power. From them, the Aetherials drew their abilities.
The Aetherials—often called Royals—were a hybrid race believed to have evolved from mortals whose blood had been transformed by prolonged exposure to Aetherchrome energy.
Their lifespans stretched five times longer than those of modern mortals.
Their true origin, however, had been swallowed by time.
Some legends claimed ancient tribes once lived deep underground among the crystals, their bodies altered by constant exposure.
Others spoke of higher beings who shaped the Aetherials as guardians of Aerth.
Whatever the truth, their bloodlines became intrinsically tied to the colour energy of their native lands.
A Blue Aetherial could channel only blue Aetherchrome, a Red only red, a Green only green and so on.
Their abilities were bound to the land that birthed them.
To leave one’s homeland was to weaken—to lose connection, to become vulnerable.
Centuries of war and propaganda had twisted the truth further.
Knowledge was fragmented, biased, contradictory.
Rain was fortunate tutors from all eight kingdoms had given him a broader, more balanced understanding than most. Yet even he found no surviving texts explaining how the Aetherials had shifted from harmonious guardians to vindictive rulers.
He suspected the same unknown catalyst that corrupted their nature had also diminished their abilities.
To him, uncovering that truth should have been the realm’s highest priority.
Instead, the kingdoms descended into chaos. Kings waged endless wars for land, believing expansion would strengthen their rule. Greed clouded judgment. Mortals suffered beneath fractured, power-hungry reigns.
Under King Azrien’s rule the Blue Kingdom had become the most formidable and feared of all.
Rain disagreed with the hatred and the wars, but his powers had made him a weapon, used far more often than he cared to remember.
He did everything he could to shield the innocent—even from himself—but chaos often followed in his wake.
Those who should have protected him instead exploited him, turning him into an instrument of terror.
Because of this, the enemy kingdoms viewed Rain Royale as their greatest threat. He had no doubt they would attempt to kill him on sight if given the chance. Crossing into enemy territory was always a risk. Yet, he couldn’t help himself.
Nightfall crept across the landscape, shadows blanketing the border. His black clothing rendered him nearly invisible from a distance. He moved low, creeping back onto the rooftop, pressing himself against the cool tiles as he peered over the edge.
The presence he’d sensed earlier sharpened—and Rain groaned inwardly.
A squadron of at least thirty was heading toward him.
Despite their numbers, anxiety rippled from them in sharp, frantic waves. Irrational fears bloomed inside Rain’s gut. He recognised the sensation immediately. It wasn’t his own fear but theirs, absorbed through his open channel.
Earlier that afternoon, he’d overheard his father discussing a recent incident: another Red shipment intercepted before reaching Grey territory, violating the treaty that allowed peaceful trade.
The Blue Kingdom had agreed to that treaty.
This breach was deliberate and underhanded.
Rain wasn’t surprised the Reds were on high alert.
He focused on the squadron. Most were young cadets, barely out of training.
The least experienced marched at the front, their nerves buzzing like static.
Rain muted the noise of their anxiety before it overwhelmed him, then sifted through them one by one—searching for the weakest link and the strongest anchor.
The weakest would reveal their true intention. Some minds were open books.
The strongest was different. Steady. Focused. Calm. Confidence radiated from him, sharpening Rain’s senses. Beneath that confidence lay indifference—routine. He had patrolled this route countless times and saw nothing amiss.
That was what Rain needed: certainty. Proof they would pass quickly.
The march came into view beneath the streetlights lining the Red border. Their blood-red uniforms confirmed his suspicion. A higher-ranking officer broke formation, pacing alongside the younger cadets.
“Onward!” he barked. “One, two, three, four! Private Rood, stop gawking and keep up! And wipe that look off your face, you disgrace!”
Rain watched a soldier mockingly salute the officer. “With that attitude, boy, you’d be the first to die in an ambush.”
Rain felt the private wince, retreating inward.
Then—without warning—hatred slammed into Rain.
ASSHOLE.
He thrives on picking on the weak.
He wouldn’t dare challenge me.
Someone should make him pay.
I could. I could break his neck with a flick of my fingers—
The intrusive thoughts spiralled, sharp and violent, threatening to drag Rain under.
He bit down hard on his bottom lip, grounding himself in the pain. These weren’t his thoughts. They weren’t even the private’s thoughts—just Rain’s interpretation of the man’s emotional energy. Useful, yes. But dangerous when the emotions were strong.
He slammed his mental wards into place, cutting off the channel. Control returned, but the memories of times he’d failed to control it rose like ghosts, dragging him toward despair.
He slumped against the cool tiles, panting through the self-loathing that churned in his gut. The soldiers marched on, unaware of how close they had come to death.
When they were finally at a safe distance, Rain reopened his channel, checking for any remaining threats. Satisfied, he slipped off the edge of the building and dropped three floors, using his power to soften the landing.
He darted across the road and vanished into enemy territory.