Voltaire Stormborne's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Voltaire Stormborne walked the edge of his arena at dawn. The twin fire gates roared at the entrance, their flames steady against the gray sky. He watched warriors line up below, ready to prove themselves in his storm. None of them would be the one. He already knew. Inside the battle hall, challengers shouted their names and bloodlines. Voltaire listened from the high seat, jaw tight. A small fluffy satyr trotted past his boot, chasing a dropped coin. He did not smile. He waited for something worth his lightning. Then a runner pushed through the crowd, breathless. He spoke of a fighter beyond the hills who had never lost. Not once. The story was clean, too clean. Voltaire leaned forward. The hall went quiet around him. "Bring him," Voltaire said. The storm above the arena cracked once, hard, as if it had heard. For the first time in a long while, his chest felt tight with something that was not discipline. He stood and walked toward the gates to wait.