The air tastes electric.
Alucent tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed Scribe-Weaver robe for what had to be the twentieth time today. The fabric still felt foreign against his skin, but at least he wasn't tripping over it anymore. Progress, right?
Eryndral's Marketplaza had transformed into something out of a fever dream. Hundreds of gas Lanternposts lined the cobblestone paths, their etched glass lamps casting warm, celebratory light that danced across the faces of families gathered in tight circles. The smell of roasted nuts and sweet bread mixed with something else. Something charged.
Holy shit. The whole place is buzzing. Literally.
The approaching Runestorm made the air itself feel alive. Crackling. Like standing too close to power lines, except instead of danger, there was this weird sense of anticipation. Of possibility.
This is the monthly Stormgathering festival. Runestorm Reverence, they call it. Because apparently storms here are divine messages instead of things that knock out your power and flood your basement.
A warm wind picked up, carrying with it the distinct sensation of amplified Runeforce. The Steam Power System throughout the plaza responded immediately. Mechanical stalls hummed louder. The gas Lanternposts flared brighter as steam heat activated the subtle Runeforce etched into their glass panels.
Everything here runs on steam and magic. And right now, both are getting a boost from whatever's coming.
Families clustered around the Lanternposts, sharing rune-inscribed stories that glowed faintly in the enhanced atmosphere. Children pressed close to their parents, wide-eyed as the familiar tales took on new life in the storm-charged air.
It's like Christmas morning, except the presents are stories and the tree is a magical weather system that makes everything better.
Alucent found himself smiling despite the strangeness of it all. There was something infectious about the celebration. The pure joy on people's faces as they watched their simple rune work spark and dance in ways it never did on ordinary days.
Movement across the plaza caught his eye. Jorin.
Of course he's here. Probably calculating how much extra profit he can squeeze out of enhanced Weavefiber production.
The Trademaster stood near a fabric stall, his Frosted Silk frock coat making him look like money incarnate. The rune-stitched cuffs on his sleeves caught the enhanced light, displaying wealth with the subtlety of a neon sign. He was deep in heated negotiation with a stall keeper, gesturing emphatically at bolts of Weavefiber that probably cost more than most people made in a year.
Status symbol much? Though I guess when your entire economy runs on magical textiles, showing off your textile budget makes sense.
Alucent instinctively moved away from Jorin's line of sight, not ready for another encounter with calculating eyes and smooth charm. His hand brushed the small pouch of Copperweaves in his pocket. Twenty total now. Not exactly wealth, but enough to maybe fix a few things instead of buying new ones.
Still thinking like I'm broke. Which, to be fair, I pretty much am. But cheap repairs beat expensive replacements, especially when you're learning the system as you go.
The wind picked up again, stronger this time. The Runestorm was getting closer, and the effect on the Steam-Rune Age technology around them was becoming dramatic. Street lamps flared. Mechanical looms at the textile stalls spun faster. Even the massive Runeclock on the Scribe's Tower seemed to tick with more authority.
This is incredible. It's like the whole city gets a performance upgrade once a month.
A group of children raced past him, laughing and shouting as they chased each other between the stalls. Their joy was infectious, pure and uncomplicated in a way that made his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name.
One boy broke away from the group, smaller than the rest. Maybe twelve years old, with messy brown hair that stuck up in all directions and wide green eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. His patched rune vest over a simple cotton shirt marked him as lower class, but there was something about the way he moved. Something careful. Observant.
Orphaned, if I had to guess. That hyper-awareness, the way he's tracking everyone around him. Kid's learned to watch out for himself.
A loud creaking sound cut through the celebration.
What the hell?
Alucent's eyes snapped to one of the larger Lanternposts near the children's play area. The heavy gas-powered structure was swaying. Not from the wind. From structural damage he could now see in the enhanced light of the storm. Stress fractures ran up the metal base. The whole thing was about to come down.
Right onto that group of kids.
No time to think. No time to call out a warning that might not be heard over the noise of the festival.
He moved.
The small boy with the patched vest was directly under the failing post, staring up at something else entirely. The massive Runeclock on the Scribe's Tower, its rune-carved face glowing brighter as the storm approached.
Alucent hit the child with a tackle that would have made his high school football coach proud, sending both of them rolling across the cobblestones just as the Lanternpost crashed down with a sound like thunder.
Where the boy had been standing was now a twisted mess of metal and broken glass.
Jesus. Another few seconds and...
"The Weaver of Fates whispers..." The boy's voice was barely audible, almost lost in the rising wind. He was staring at the Runeclock again, his wide green eyes unfocused. "The runes sing when the Storm comes... I heard it!"
What?
A shiver ran down Alucent's spine. Not from the wind or the adrenaline crash. From something else. Something in the way the kid said it, like he was reporting the weather instead of making cryptic pronouncements about fate.
This is Tavin. Has to be. And that's not normal kid talk.
The boy. Tavin. Couldn't be more than four foot eight, all sharp angles and nervous energy. But his eyes...
Those aren't normal twelve-year-old eyes. Too aware. Too deep. Like he's seeing things the rest of us are missing.
"What did you hear?" Alucent asked, helping the boy to his feet. His hands were shaking. Whether from the near miss or something else, he couldn't tell.
Tavin pointed at the Runeclock with a trembling finger. "It's different when the Storm comes. The runes... they pulse. Like a heartbeat. And there's a voice." He looked directly at Alucent then, those green eyes suddenly sharp and focused. "You felt it too. When you moved. You heard the whisper."
That's... not possible. I just saw the post was about to fall. Basic observation. Nothing mystical about it.
But even as he thought it, Alucent remembered the moment. The sudden certainty. The way his body had moved before his brain finished processing the danger.
"Recent Runebinding Ceremony?" he asked instead of dealing with implications he wasn't ready for.
Tavin nodded. "Last week. Got my first rune journal and everything. But ever since..." He trailed off, looking around at the celebrating families. "Ever since, I hear things. Feel things. The grown-ups say it's normal. Sensitivity to rune pulses and all that. But it's not normal, is it?"
No kid. I don't think it is.
From across the plaza, Alucent caught sight of Sir Vorn near the Judgering. The official's eyes were fixed on them, his expression cycling through alarm and something that might have been intrigue. He'd clearly witnessed both the rescue and Tavin's strange pronouncement.
Great. More attention from people in power. Just what I needed.
Sir Vorn's gaze lingered on Alucent specifically, and he could practically see the mental notes being taken. Wary assessment mixed with grudging respect for quick thinking and practical problem-solving. The same look he'd gotten after the cottage beam incident.
He's keeping track. Filing away every time I do something that shouldn't be possible for a random outsider.
The Runestorm hit full force then, and the entire plaza erupted in enhanced activity. Steam stalls roared to life. Runeforce crackled visibly in the air. The celebration reached a crescendo of joy and energy that made the hair on Alucent's arms stand up.
And through it all, Tavin stood perfectly still, his head tilted like he was listening to something only he could hear.
"It's getting stronger," the boy whispered. "The voice. It's talking about threads. About patterns. About..." His green eyes went wide with something that looked like fear. "About someone who doesn't belong."
The ring on Alucent's finger pulsed once, warm against his skin.
Oh, come on. Not you too.
But as the storm raged around them and the city celebrated divine messages written in wind and lightning, Alucent found himself wondering if belonging was really about where you came from.
Or if it was about what you chose to do when the Lanternposts started falling.
Twenty Copperweaves in his pocket. A mysterious ring that seemed to have opinions. A kid who heard voices in magical storms. And the growing certainty that nothing about his new life was going to be simple.
The wind howled, carrying with it the scent of possibility and the promise that some storms brought more than just rain.
Time to figure out what kind of storm this is going to be.