The Storm Within

SPOILER WARNING – The Tales from Divinia are companion stories best enjoyed after reading the main novel. A Divided Council takes place between chapters seventeen and eighteen of The Trials of Divinia and therefore contains spoilers.

Blurb:

The Storm Within follows Cassian Stormrider, champion of Tempestus, as he reflects on the choices and expectations that have brought him to the brink of disgrace. Accused of attacking a fellow champion, Cassian revisits the moments that shaped his path - from his forceful appointment to the mounting doubts of his own team and the rivalry that consumed him. Through his eyes, the story explores pride, pressure, and the loneliness of leadership, revealing the tempest that rages not only around him, but within.

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His heart was racing.

He only noticed it as he collapsed onto his bed in the Tempestian quarters. His breathing was heavy, and beads of sweat clung to the edges of his blonde hair. The emotion swelled inside him again as the scene in the Hall of Gathering replayed in his mind.

‘We already know who took out Orion… don’t we?’

Kael’s words had been full not just of anger, but of confidence too – a belief that what he was saying was irrefutably true. And the others – the champions from Luminara and Solaris – had been so quick to believe him.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them. He had been horrible to all of them since arriving in Concordia; what reason did they have to think anything but the worst of him?

Only Talon – and that strange Elysian girl – had defended him.

The Ferroxian continued to perplex him. Despite everything Cassian had done and said to degrade him, to crush his spirit, to get in his head before each trial, Talon had remained grounded. More than that, he seemed to be growing more confident with each passing day, his performances improving too. And now he was defending him? Zephyros would not be pleased.

He thought back to his first meeting with the god of storms.

Each year, Zephyros held a competition in Tempestus to choose his next champion for the Celestial Trials. The contest comprised five disciplines – speed, navigation, composure, magic, and combat. Each potential champion was tested in all five and scored out of ten, with the highest-ranking performers brought before the god for his final decision.

He had not expected to win. He had not even planned to enter – but his friends had urged him to consider it, such was his skill in the water. Since his early teenage years, he had worked for his father’s fleet of wind traders – sailors who specialised in navigating trade routes impassable to others and transporting goods across the stormy seas. By fifteen, he had been given his own boat; by eighteen, he oversaw his own trade passage – commanding up to twelve boats and over a hundred men.

Eventually, at the age of twenty, he had relented. It might be fun, he had reasoned, to test himself against the very best in Tempestus under the eyes of a god.

To his surprise, he had dominated the early challenges.

First had been the Gale Run – a high-speed race across shifting platforms suspended in the air. Competitors had been forced to adjust to unpredictable wind currents and lightning strikes to reach the finish. Cassian, accustomed to uneven footing and extreme weather conditions after years spent at sea, had found it easy. When he reached the top, he had looked around wildly, expecting another set of platforms – only for one of the scorers to place a hand on his shoulder with a laugh.

‘It’s a good time, lad,’ he had said. ‘You’ll be one to watch.’

Next had been the Tempest Trial. He hadn’t been able to believe his luck when they announced what the challenge would involve – a navigation test in which competitors raced boats through a raging storm. It could have been any other day at work.

The third event had been the Eye of the Storm. This one had been harder – maintaining calm and mental clarity as chaos swirled around him. This time, it wasn’t just the storm itself, but what it was hiding: the sounds of Gale Wraiths – ghostly creatures capable of mimicking the voices of those lost at sea – wailing through the semi-darkness, and the occasional slither of a humanoid silhouette reaching towards him before being dragged away once more.

After that, he had faced the Roar of the Skies – the magic challenge. Cassian had known, going in, that he didn’t possess even the slightest magical ability, and that it was here his bid to become champion would likely take a blow from which it would not recover. He had stood lamely, weapon in hand, as others around him demonstrated how they could manipulate lightning, wind, or sound – whether with a wave of their blade or the command of their voice. Several minutes had passed before the scorer simply shook his head and indicated that Cassian could go.

It was why, perhaps, he had entered the final challenge – the Skyblade Duel – feeling he had nothing to lose. This test was simple: competitors were placed on an elevated platform in one-on-one battles, with the winner being the one who remained standing while the loser fell into a giant net below. Each victory earned a single point. Cassian had little prior experience with sword fighting, but he had used blades plenty of times aboard ships for cutting rope and breaking open supplies. It came naturally to him, and relaxed as he was, he had knocked down rival after rival. He had won all ten of his match-ups.

And so, to his great shock, he had found himself handed a letter as he dismounted the platform of his own volition. It had been the same man who had spoken to him during the first challenge.

‘I knew you’d do well,’ he had said with a broad smile.

The letter had been brief – informing him that, as one of the best-performing candidates, he was under consideration to become champion, and was to travel to the Tempestian capital, Stormreach, in two weeks for Zephyros’ final judgement.

Upon his arrival, he had been led to a great palace at the heart of the city, built atop a plateau overlooking the sea. It was formed from pale stone that stood out starkly against the overcast skies, with towers shaped like inverted tornadoes, their tips vanishing into the storm clouds. The lightning-bolt emblem of Zephyros was emblazoned across a pair of giant entrance gates, which had opened to reveal a vast mosaic floor depicting a storm map of Tempestus and its winds. It was a world far removed from the life he had known.

After traversing several long corridors, they had arrived at the throne room. There had sat Zephyros – long silver-black hair rippling around dark skin, his form shielded by elegant silver armour. A spear rested across his knees, a dull ripple of light energy emanating from its centre. His glowing eyes had followed Cassian as he was directed to stand several feet from the god, between two other young men. Four more – all male – had slowly followed him into the room, leaving seven of them standing together.

‘Welcome,’ Zephyros had said. ‘I am pleased to welcome you here to Stormreach Palace – you, my team for the eight hundred and ninety-sixth Celestial Trials. I have been assured that you are the strongest Tempestus has to offer. So now, all that remains is for me to choose who will be your leader.’

Cassian had managed to keep his composure, but out of the corner of his eye he had noticed one or two of the other boys lurch in surprise. Clearly, they too had expected there to be more tests before Zephyros made his choice.

Zephyros had risen steadily to his feet and walked to one end of the line. Cassian hadn’t been sure what to do – he had been given no instructions – so he had done nothing, keeping his eyes fixed forwards rather than allowing them to be drawn to the god. Yet he could sense Zephyros coming closer, moving slowly between each of them.

Eventually, he had reached Cassian. Zephyros had bent slightly so that they were eye to eye, just inches apart. Cassian could remember the discomfort he had felt – and the overwhelming urge not to look away. Time had trickled by. And then… he had moved on.

After reaching the end of the line, Zephyros had returned to his seat. He had cast one final look across the line before his eyes fixed on Cassian.

‘You,’ he had said, pointing. ‘Stay. Everyone else may leave.’

The other boys had been ushered out by a short woman with glasses and shoulder-length grey hair, leaving him alone with Zephyros.

‘Cassian Stormrider,’ the god had said after a moment. ‘An apt name. I hear you are quite the sailor.’

Cassian’s mind had spun. His instinct had been to remain silent and wait until he was asked a question or, if he must speak, to be humble. But then he had reconsidered – it was not the Tempestian way to be humble. Zephyros would expect him to be proud.

‘It’s hard to say,’ he had replied. ‘Your challenges were not strong enough to test a true sailor’s abilities.’

Zephyros had let out a bark of laughter.

‘Impressive, impressive…’ he had muttered under his breath. ‘Good with a sword too, I hear. That is always useful – particularly against that ragtag bunch from the south.’

‘They will not stand a chance,’ he had agreed. Zephyros must have been referring to Ferroxia, Cassian had thought; he had heard of the storm god’s rivalry with his Ferroxian counterpart.

‘No magical abilities?’ Zephyros had asked, his tone carrying only a slight hint of disapproval.

‘I do not need them,’ Cassian had replied, mustering as much confidence in his voice as he could. ‘I will win with strength and skill, not cheap tricks.’

Zephyros had smiled and extended his hand towards him.

‘I will hold you to it, champion of Tempestus,’ he had said.

Cassian had smiled back and nodded, as if he had expected nothing else, while his insides quivered with shock and doubt.

‘Nyra will introduce you to your teammates,’ Zephyros had concluded, motioning lazily to the woman who had reappeared suddenly beside them.

‘I look forward to it,’ he had said, turning to go.

‘Oh, Stormrider – just one more thing,’ Zephyros had called out. ‘You must win, by any means necessary. And not just win – you must be dominant. Do not give the other champions an ounce of respect. We must show them that the Tempestus way is the only way.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Cassian had managed, before Nyra whisked him away.

She had led him to a dimly lit chamber where the six other boys were waiting. Each wore similarly gloomy, irritable expressions. Frowns had deepened and eyes had narrowed at him as they entered.

‘This,’ Nyra had said, her voice brisk and matter-of-fact, ‘is Cassian Stormrider – the chosen champion of Zephyros, and your leader for the Celestial Trials.’

Cassian had cringed inwardly at her words. This was not going to endear him to the others – who, until minutes earlier, must all have been hoping they would be named champion.

Nyra had continued speaking, unaware of – or unbothered by – the awkwardness she had caused. She had moved from one individual to the next, introducing them to Cassian.

First had come Corren Windmere. He was tall and broad-shouldered, older than the others, with short-cropped black hair and cold grey eyes that bore into his with a judgemental glint. He had been wearing traditional Tempestian armour, which shone brightly even in the dull light.

Corren, Nyra had explained, came from a long line of naval officers, and his father had for many years commanded one of Zephyros’ royal fleets. Cassian had known in that moment that someone with that kind of heritage was always going to cause problems – and so it had proved. While Corren was disciplined and calculating, he also possessed an inflated sense of authority, believing himself more deserving of Cassian’s position.

Next had been Lorin Cloudreave. He was about half the size of Corren – lean and pale, with windswept brown hair. After the pair had shaken hands, his face had relaxed into an unpleasant smirk, which he had worn throughout the rest of the meeting and beyond. He had sported a cloak embroidered with old Tempestian runes, hanging loosely from his shoulders – something he had discarded the following day after an unsuccessful attempt to woo Zephyros.

Lorin was a weather engineer from the Stormreach academies and – as Cassian had since learned – believed deeply that intellect should rule over strength. He was arrogant and condescending, often treating Cassian and the others as simple-minded brutes – which, for the most part, was an unfair assessment, though they had plenty of other flaws besides.

There was Jalen Driftborne. He was handsome and tanned, with long blonde hair and blue eyes – the archetypal Tempestian. Cassian had taken an immediate dislike to him that day, and he hadn’t seen anything since to change his perception. Jalen was flippant, flirtatious – particularly with the female team members from the other regions – and, most of all, selfish.

The son of a wealthy merchant family who owned half the docks in Stormreach, he thrived on admiration but was loyal only when it benefitted him. He had proved adept at vanishing whenever things grew difficult.

After Jalen, Nyra had introduced Finn Tidebreaker – a stocky, muscular young man with cropped red-brown hair and several lightning-bolt tattoos running down his arms. Cassian had needed to stop himself from laughing at the sight. There was no chance Zephyros would have chosen someone like Finn to be his champion.

The reality had been much as Cassian expected. Finn was a former dockside brawler turned shiphand who had earned his place among the finalists mostly through brute strength. He had a slightly crooked nose which, Cassian guessed, was the result of some of those less-than-official encounters. He was still hot-headed, quick to violence, slow to think, and took pride in intimidating others. Unfortunately, he had struck up a friendship with Corren, who was more than happy to have Finn act as his personal protector.

Then there had been Riven Aerwyn – lingering towards the back of the room. Cassian had barely noticed him. He was gaunt, silver-eyed, with hair so pale it was almost white, peeking out from under a cloak drawn tightly around him despite the warmth of the room – a habit he had maintained ever since.

Riven rarely spoke, but Cassian had learnt a few small things about him. He had been raised in one of the floating monasteries of the upper skylands but had been expelled for conducting forbidden rituals and experiments. He was magically gifted but never forthcoming about the exact nature or extent of his abilities – much to the frustration of the others.

Finally, there was Dax Galehand – the youngest and least experienced of the group at just eighteen. Nyra had told them, with little care for the boy’s feelings, that he had been a late addition after his older brother was injured in his final duel. She might as well have said he was only there to make up the numbers, given how the others had treated him.

Dax was wiry and boyish, with curly brown hair and freckles, and armour that looked too big for him. The son of a ship mechanic from a small coastal village, he was eager but insecure – desperate to prove himself, yet prone to silly mistakes. And yet, he was the only one Cassian had taken something of a liking to during their time in Concordia.

After that challenging first meeting, Nyra had accompanied them to the city of the gods, where they began training on a strict schedule. Nyra, as it turned out, was one of the seven representatives on the Celestial Council and a key adviser to Zephyros. She had been irritatingly present throughout those early weeks of preparation – with most of her attention aimed squarely at Cassian – correcting him, making recommendations, and at times berating him for either his or his team’s performance.

One afternoon, they had been resting in the Tempestian quarters after a particularly gruelling training session when Nyra had burst into the room without warning.

‘I have an urgent message from Zephyros,’ she had said without preamble. ‘The Ferroxian champion has arrived and is undertaking his introductions with the other champions. He wishes you to intimidate him – make a statement – show him what he must fear from a true champion of Tempestus.’

Cassian, who had been halfway through changing out of his armour, had looked around at his teammates’ blank faces.

‘You have ten minutes at most,’ Nyra had snapped, already halfway back out of the room. ‘I wouldn’t disappoint your god if I were you.’

‘I’ll handle this,’ Finn had said, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

‘Don’t be thick,’ Lorin had groaned. ‘This is an official visit. He’ll be with the High Emissary – you can’t attack him.’

‘Ah, yeah, you’re probably right,’ Finn had said. ‘What do you think, Corren?’

‘Hmm…’ the older boy had considered. ‘Most champion meetings are meant to be one-on-one – perhaps if we were all here when they arrived, it would be suitably intimidating.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ Finn had said, nodding in agreement.

‘Is it enough, though?’ Jalen had asked. ‘We’ll look great, yes, but is that truly intimidating?’

‘There is more to intimidation than muscles and weapons,’ Lorin had reminded them. ‘Do we have time to create a trick – something we could blame on another, or claim to have had no knowledge of? Riven – can’t you do something?’

Riven had raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut.

‘What if we were not here at all?’ Cassian had suggested – the thought still forming in his mind as he spoke. ‘To show him that he is not even worthy of us. To be willing to break the rules just to ignore him.’

He could not quite believe the words leaving his mouth. It was so harsh. So cruel.

‘It’s a good plan,’ Dax had said enthusiastically.

‘We’ll need someone to be here,’ Corren had said, frowning as if unconvinced. ‘Otherwise they’ll think it was a mistake.’

‘Leave the runt here,’ Lorin had said. ‘He can tell them we’ve gone to training.’

‘Great,’ Jalen had added. ‘I’d love another go at that assault course.’

And so, with that, they had headed back to the training grounds, leaving Dax behind to deliver their message.

He had not had to wait long to meet Talon.

A week later, he had been on his own, taking a break from the drudgery of spending time with his teammates, when he had seen the Ferroxian coming towards him down one of Concordia’s long paths. The boy hadn’t spotted him. Cassian had thought about doubling back and avoiding him, but there hadn’t been time to do it without being noticed. He would have to go through with it – have to say something – but what… what would Zephyros want him to do?

Then it had clicked into place. He would want him to do what Corren or Lorin would do without thinking. He would want him to say the worst things he could possibly think of. Cassian had racked his brain, trying to remember any scrap of information Nyra had provided when she’d run him through the other champions. The boy was young – only seventeen – and had been chosen late, given little time to prepare. He was a surprise choice over another boy… Zarek something.

That would have to do, he had thought. He would make it work.

After what had felt like months, the day of the first trial had finally arrived – the Evergreen Labyrinth of Verdantia. Cassian had chosen Corren and Jalen as his teammates – not that they had given him much of a choice. Corren had simply announced himself, and Cassian hadn’t had the willpower to turn Jalen down once he began talking at great length about why he would be a good choice.

Thankfully, it had gone well, and they had won the trial without too much trouble.

The second trial – the Frozen Expanse of Nivalis – had been more challenging. He had been accompanied by Corren, Jalen, and Finn, whom Corren had decided would be a more appropriate partner than Lorin, claiming he would be better suited to the cold conditions and strength-based challenges. It had been pure guesswork on Corren’s part, but Cassian hadn’t been overly bothered; he hadn’t thought it would make much difference.

During the final ascent of the glacier to reach the beacon at its summit, Corren had urged Cassian to veer off the main path, claiming it would be a shortcut. This might have been true, but as they battled through the snow, they had found themselves surrounded by five creatures he now knew to be frostwolves – large, four-legged beasts coated in ice, which had crept up on them in silence. They had been forced to fight their way out, and the delay had slowed them significantly. By the time they recovered and climbed the remaining distance to the beacon, they had found Orion and his team already waiting there – the Nivalian champion’s mouth twitching into an uncharacteristic smile as he looked at Cassian.

‘What happened?’ Lorin had demanded after Cassian returned from the Hall of Gathering.

‘Corren said you wanted to take a shortcut,’ Dax had explained with a frown. ‘That’s not what we trained for – you have to stick to the path in Nivalis; there can be all sorts of traps waiting in the snow.’

‘You should have known that,’ Lorin had said angrily.

‘I should…’ Cassian had said slowly, glancing at Corren, who avoided his eyes. ‘But we’re still three points clear at the top of the standings, and it’s our trial next.’

‘I should be in for this one,’ Lorin had said promptly, anger still in his tone. ‘We’ll need someone with a brain to navigate whatever Zephyros has in store.’

‘Good call,’ Corren had agreed. ‘You’ll be with me.’

Cassian hadn’t had the heart to argue. He had tucked the letter from Lykarian into his pocket without reading it and made his way to his room without another word.

His head had been so full of anger and frustration that, when he spotted Talon in the training room – smiling and laughing with his teammates despite their indifferent performances – he had lashed out, egged on by the rest of his team. Then the others had stepped in – Orion, Kael, Calista – a united front against him.

Was this really what Zephyros had envisaged when he told him not to respect the other champions?

Despite the strained relationships within the team, they had been too well suited to the Tempestus trial not to perform well, and they had taken another first-place finish. However, things had turned sour when they reached the Luminara trial. Cassian had been joined by Corren, Lorin, and – after a long argument between the pair – Riven, who was preferred to Jalen and Finn due to his magical abilities.

Progress had been slow. Lorin had refused help in choosing the missing symbol on the first floor, eventually selecting the correct one after wasting fifteen of their precious sixty minutes. On the second floor, Cassian had attempted to take control with the balance challenge, but Lorin had been reluctant to follow instructions. Riven had eventually shoved him into the correct position, but more time was lost.

Annoyed, Lorin had refused to help on floor three, and together Cassian and Corren – in a rare display of teamwork – had managed to place the objects in the correct order. In an attempt to speed them up, Cassian had opted to skip the fourth floor entirely after hearing the challenge – Lorin would have been there all day trying to solve those riddles. Each of them had answered their questions on the fifth floor, but as they moved to ascend the staircase, the veydra had blocked their path.

‘You are out of time,’ the creature had spoken into their minds. ‘I am sorry to tell you that you have failed this trial.’

And so had come the events of yesterday afternoon and evening – the humiliation of missing the meeting in the Hall of Gathering, not receiving their letter for the next trial (leaving them blind to whatever Solaris had in store), and then the fiasco of the champions’ dinner.

He knew he had been particularly irritable, especially with Orion, whose air of confidence and self-assuredness had been grating on him beyond belief. His mood had only darkened when he discovered he was expected to dance – and with Nyra of all people – his teammates making no effort to contain their laughter from the side of the room. He had seen Talon dancing happily with Calista and had struggled to contain his jealousy. The other champions were actually enjoying themselves here.

As soon as possible, he had retreated to a corner of the room to wait out the night, doing his best to ignore the continuous teasing of his team as they drank goblet after goblet of the fizzy liquid Cassian had set aside after one tentative sip.

They had been about to leave when the music had cut off suddenly. The faces of those still in the room had turned towards one another in concern.

Whatever this is about, I have no interest in being a part of it, he had thought. He had slipped out through the door without looking back and escaped to the freedom of his room.

Some time later – he hadn’t been sure how long – he had awoken to a knock at his door. Nyra had been waiting for him on the other side. She had led him down several corridors and into a small private room with just one occupant – Zephyros.

‘Did you do it?’ Zephyros had demanded, not bothering with a greeting.

‘Do what?’ he had asked, confused.

‘There’s no need to play dumb with me,’ the god had thundered. ‘It does not matter whether you did it or not – this is a positive development – but I must know the truth of what took place so that I can set the appropriate plans in motion.’

Cassian had hesitated. He hadn’t known what to say. Nor, even then, had he known what Zephyros was referring to.

‘I think,’ Nyra had interrupted calmly, ‘that he genuinely does not know what has happened.’

Zephyros had sighed loudly, exasperated.

‘I should have known you would not have been brave enough to take such decisive action.’ He had turned to Nyra. ‘In that case, we have a problem of a different kind – someone is trying to frame us.’

The conversation between god and adviser had continued for several minutes. Neither had looked at him or so much as acknowledged his presence. Piece by piece, he had gathered the details – Orion had been attacked, and a Tempestian weapon had been found at the scene. People were likely to blame him for it.

‘You can go,’ Zephyros had said eventually, looking faintly surprised to find him still standing there.

He had made his way back to his room in a daze, his head spinning.

After a restless sleep, he had risen to find his team already debating who should accompany him in the next trial.

‘It should be me, obviously,’ Corren was saying.

‘Why exactly?’ Lorin had asked. ‘You’ve done every trial so far – and look where that’s got us.’

‘Top of the standings, that’s where,’ Corren had shot back.

‘Maybe we should fight for it,’ Finn had suggested.

‘Clearly not,’ Lorin had said, rolling his eyes. ‘What if we draw for it?’

‘I’ll sit this one out, lads,’ Jalen had said. ‘We don’t even know what we’re facing. If I can’t prepare, I’d rather not risk it.’

‘I’ll go with Riven,’ Cassian had interrupted. Six faces had turned towards him – Riven’s eyes widening slightly in surprise beneath his cloak.

‘What… you can’t do that,’ Corren had begun.

‘I think you’ll find I can,’ Cassian had replied, beckoning the boy towards him. ‘Riven, come.’

The trial had gone about as well as he could have hoped. Riven’s magic, as it turned out, included the ability to sense changes in weather patterns – making him a useful companion in the relentless heat of Solaris. He had proved adept at navigating them towards the hidden shards, and together they had finished third – keeping Tempestus at the top of the standings.

He had left the arena thinking that maybe, just maybe, his time here could be salvaged. But then the accusations had begun.

‘Cassian – or one of his thugs – snuck out and stabbed Orion in the back.’

The words he had been expecting since the previous night – but they still stung.

He gripped the edges of his bed, swinging his feet around until they touched the floor, before pushing his hair aggressively out of his eyes and rubbing his face in frustration.

Why did their words bother him so much? They were nothing to him. He had always known that the only person in Concordia he could rely on was himself. And he would show them – all of them – Zephyros, Nyra, Corren and his team, Talon and the other champions – that there would be only one winner of the Celestial Trials.

And his name was Cassian Stormrider.

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