As Caspian slowly slid open the carved wooden doors, his hand trembled. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the lantern light within.
Wood smoke filled his nose, reminding him of harsh, chilly nights spent around campfires with his battalion. He pushed the memory away, focusing instead on cataloging every detail of this place.
Thick beams of rich red wood supported high vaulted ceilings. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, flames dancing. Woven tan flooring that smelled of fresh grass. Tapestries of colorful creatures that matched the guardians outside. Three sliding doors led off the main room—one open archway revealed a glimpse of a dining hall, the others closed.
Windows. Large enough to dive through if needed.
And the lodge was clean. There were no cobwebs, no soot around the fireplace, and no dust in sight. For a place this old, it was well looked after.
Caspian clenched his fists, a faint crackle of static building around him as his mind raced. He flexed his fingers, trying to dispel the charge before—
“Easy there, Cas. Oh, I should have asked. Can I call you Cas?” Ash asked behind him.
“Sure,” Caspian strained, the nickname stirring old memories. He swallowed hard.
“Why don’t you take a moment to settle in?” Ash suggested. “Join the others by the fire. I’ll be right back.”
Caspian nodded. He watched as Ash made his way to a door, slid it open, and walked down a long corridor.
Left alone, Caspian’s gaze drifted to the group gathered near the fireplace. They looked up as he approached, their expressions of curiosity and wariness mirroring his own.
A young woman with vibrant teal hair and deeply hued skin, nearly the shade of midnight, stood as he neared. Her smile was bright, but Caspian noted the strange shadows that danced around her feet.
“Hi there!” she chirped, words tumbling out rapidly. “I’m Liri, but most folks call me Star. Welcome to the Misfits Retreat. What’s your name?”
Caspian tensed, sparks tickling between his fingers. “Caspian,” he replied, resisting the urge to step back as she invaded his space.
Liri’s eyes widened as she looked at his hands. “Ooh, lightning magic! That’s amazing. You know, we have a sea named after you in my lands. I love the ocean. Well, I never actually got to see it, living in the undergrounds and all, but I’ve read about it in books. Is it true the waves sound like—”
“Liri,” a weary voice cut through her chatter. A gaunt, sallow-skinned man with long red hair and a large silvery pendant around his neck regarded Caspian suspiciously from his seat by the fire. “Not everyone wants to be interrogated the moment they arrive.”
Caspian noticed the temperature drop slightly as the man spoke, his breath misting in the suddenly chilled air. It reminded him of the Frostbreakers he’d faced in battle, and he felt his muscles tense involuntarily.
“Sorry,” Liri said, her cheeks darkening. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous. It’s been a while since—” She stopped herself, the shadows at her feet growing momentarily before she visibly reined them in.
The red-haired man inclined his head toward Caspian. “Oren,” he said, his rich tenor voice carrying an unsettling chill. “Guess we should at least know each other’s names if we’re stuck here for twelve weeks.”
The third resident, a tall, willowy person with flowing blue hair that moved of its own accord, offered a measured nod. “I’m Xanthis,” they said, their voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caspian.”
An awkward silence fell over the group, broken only by the pop and hiss of the fire. Caspian shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the crackling energy beneath his skin. In the quiet, he caught snippets of Ash’s voice from the other room.
“…Cairn is still out collecting our final two arrivals. Their portals should open soon.”
Portals. Caspian filed that information away. If there were ways in, there had to be ways out.
Liri broke the silence.
“So, Caspian,” she started. “What’s your story? I mean, everyone here’s got one, right? Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this place.” Her smile faltered for a moment before returning full force. “Me? Well, you can say I’m a bit of an oddball. Not to dump everything out on the table, but I was locked up in prison for the past five years. No one even bothered to check if I was still alive. It’s a good thing my shadows stretch far. Otherwise, I would have starved to death. Oh, and—”
“Liri,” Oren interrupted, frost forming on the fabric armrests of his chair. “Let him acclimate. The poor guy just got here.”
Either the buzzing inside him or the condescending tone in Oren’s voice was enough to make Caspian speak. “I’m not some delicate flower,” he growled, electricity arcing between his fingers. “Especially not for you, Frostbreaker.”
Oren rolled his eyes, and as he did, frost formed around his feet. “Not a Frostbreaker, or whatever you think I am. But if you think you can take me on, then do it, Sparky.”
Caspian stepped forward, his fists clenched.
Xanthis slipped between them, their hair undulating like seaweed caught in a current. “Please,” they said. “We are all struggling here. There is no need for conflict.”
Caspian tried to steady his breathing, but memories of ice and blood clawed their way up from the depths of his mind. He was back on the mainland in the middle of a war, ice threatening to overtake him and his friends, his love. They weren’t strong enough for the Frostbreakers. Before long, they’d—
He couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, his control fraying. Electricity arced between his fingers, jumping to a nearby armrest and setting it aflame. A bolt of yellowed lightning surged toward Liri.
The shadows at Liri’s feet flung up, forming a protective cocoon around her. The lightning struck the darkness, and the shadows absorbed the energy. Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, tendrils of blackness spewed out, striking Caspian and throwing him across the room.
As he fell, another bolt of energy shot from him and struck Oren. The man’s skin turned translucent, and his eyes glowed with an eerie green light as he glared at Caspian.
“Contain him,” he said in a voice that carried hundreds of screams. He raised a clawed hand, and wisps of glowing mist floated up through the floor, forming bony hands and skulls that crawled toward Caspian.
Panic gripped Caspian’s throat. He’d caused this. He’d somehow made it all worse. Just like with his battalion, just like when—
“Enough.”
The single word resonated with a power that made the air vibrate. A squat woman strode through a door, her form shimmering with golden light. She raised one hand, her gaze sweeping over the mayhem.
With a snap of her fingers, Liri’s shadows receded, and Oren’s spectral minions vanished. The woman swept her hands around the room and looked at Ash. “Shaping up to be quite the challenge this season.”
She turned to address the group, her voice firm. “I’m Fiona, head counselor of this retreat. I won’t always be here to quell your outbursts. We practice a no-harming rule here. So everyone better find their calm now.”
As she spoke, Caspian felt something wash over him, attempting to drain away his tension. He pushed back, unwilling to let it calm his storm. Lightning arced out of him in blues and yellows, leaving scorch marks on the floor.
Fiona’s gaze settled on Caspian, her golden eyes boring into him as she pointed. “Peace,” she said, her voice echoing in his mind.
The storm persisted, and Caspian struggled to grasp onto it, pulling it back until only little sparks danced around him.
“Hmm,” Fiona said, a frown creasing her brow. “It seems that you are still a little too…charged. Until your magic stabilizes, I think it’s best if we isolate you.”
Isolation. The word echoed in Caspian’s mind. He’d been isolated for months now. What was a little more? And perhaps it would give him the chance to plan his escape.
Ash approached, offering a hand to help Caspian up. “It’s for the best,” he whispered. “I’ll be in the room next door, just in case you need anything.”
As Ash led him through one of the sliding doors to the corridor, Caspian heard Fiona addressing the others. “Everyone else, try to relax. Our activities will begin tomorrow when we have the full group and your magic has acclimated to your new home.”
The room Ash brought him to was small and plain, the walls lined with strange symbols that seemed to absorb the static clinging to Caspian’s skin. The constant buzz of energy that had been his companion since he’d arrived dimmed.
“I’m sorry it’s a little bland. Not many people need this room,” Ash said, “but a night in here and your magic should be more stable.”
Caspian brushed past him, sinking onto the small cot. The exhaustion caught up with him all at once, the electricity that had kept him moving gone.
Ash lingered in the doorway. “I know this is a lot to take in,” he whispered. “But we’re here to help. All of us. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
“Right,” Caspian muttered. “Thanks.”
With a sigh, Ash closed the door.
Caspian turned his gaze to the single window, which offered a view of the mountain peaks and the dense forest beyond. The sun was setting, painting the sky shades of orange and purple, reminding him of the sunsets over the sea of Tor Deren.
All he had to do was wait, Caspian thought. Wait long enough for them to settle in for the night. Then he’d make his escape.
-------
The mountain forest went on forever, every direction shrouded in pine and mist. Caspian slumped against a moss-covered boulder, his broad chest heaving. His heart was pounding, and a stitch formed in his side. It had been some time since he’d run like that instead of spending his days rotting away in bed.
He eyed the crumpled brochure in his hand, his curiosity too strong to outright incinerate the thing. His fingers twitched, sparks dancing across his calloused skin. The paper was garishly colorful, adorned with a flowing script that shimmered in the light. The books back home, even the ones for kids, didn’t have as much color.
Ash, the strange silver-haired man who had chased him up the mountain, stood up and stretched. He was stocky, just like Caspian, but he’d caught his breath already and was bouncing on his heels. “Well.” He chuckled. “That was quite a workout, eh? Two big gents like us running more than we ought to.”
Caspian glared. He didn’t like this Ash person. He didn’t know him. And yet he spoke as if they were old friends sharing a joke. “Speak for yourself,” he growled, though he couldn’t deny the slight paunch that had developed since his forced retirement.
Ash pulled a leaf-shaped canteen from his belt and shook it before unscrewing the cap and offering it to him. “Water?”
Caspian shook his head, swallowing as he looked away from the canteen. “What, so you could poison me?”
“I mean, unless fresh water from a nearby spring will do you in, you should be all right.”
“Or drug me,” Caspian said, attempting to stand but failing, his legs still too shaky. “Who knows what sort of potions you can make here?”
“All kinds,” Ash said. “I once saw someone become a cloud of mist after taking a potion. That was cool. But I wouldn’t be so cruel as to refuse water to a man in need.”
Caspian sighed and held out a hand. “Fine.”
The water was cold against his throat. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the first sip touched his lips, and then he nearly finished the whole thing before stopping himself and handing it back. “So, where are we?”
Ash nodded to the parchment in Caspian’s hand. “You might want to take a gander at that brochure. It should answer some of your questions.”
Caspian unfolded the paper, spotting a colorfully drawn map. He looked at the text, which shifted into letters he could read:
At Mystic Mountain Retreat and Rehabilitation, we understand that wielding extraordinary powers can sometimes be…well, not so wonderful. Our retreat is designed to help magical beings like you find inner peace, calm those chaotic energies, and reconnect with your most authentic selves.
Join us for our twelve-week program, offered all year round. No matter the season, Mystic Mountain is here to help weather any magical storm.
He looked up at Ash. “What in the Stormless void is this?” He scanned down to a section of activities. “You offer Aura Cleansing and Divination Journaling? Really?”
Ash chuckled. “That we do. I thought the same thing when I was first sent here. But it helps.”
“Do you also offer cuddle therapy for war-scarred soldiers?” Caspian asked. “Or perhaps interpretive dance battles?”
“I mean, we can if you’d like,” Ash replied with a glint in his eye.
Caspian blinked, the corners of his mouth almost forming a smile despite himself. He shook his head. “Fine, sure. So, where are we then? I’ve never heard of this ‘Mystic Mountain.’”
“It’s not quite on a map,” Ash started to explain, but as he did, a trail of wildflowers burst from the ground around them, their petals unfurling in vibrant purple, blue, and gold hues.
Caspian jumped, pushing himself up from the rock and reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there at his side. He spun around, eyes following the trail of bursting flowers blooming down the mountain as if it were some kind of serpent.
Ash held up his hands. “It’s okay. Things like that happen here. A lot of magic from many places can do that.”
“Right,” Caspian said cautiously. “And that’s supposed to make me calmer?”
“Well, I suppose not. But your sponsor brought you here to help find inner peace and control your magic,” Ash said. “It’s a place of healing.”
“Sponsor?” Caspian asked.
“Your god or other deity. Presumably, you were some kind of hero for them?”
Caspian’s mind reeled. Not even an hour ago, he had sat across from his god in a tavern, ready to destroy everything. He was supposed to believe that the Father of Storms, who let his entire battalion die, would send him here for a bit of rest and relaxation.
His legs buckled, and he stumbled forward.
Ash reached out to steady him, his large hand warm on Caspian’s shoulder. As Ash touched him, a spark jolted through Caspian. For the briefest moment, he was somewhere else, with woods thicker than these and a canopy that blotted out the sun. He felt a voice resonating through him, something ancient trembling beneath the earth, turning its attention toward him.
Caspian inhaled and snapped back to reality atop the summit, staring right into Ash’s gaze.
“What was that?” Caspian said, his heart racing.
Ash frowned, letting Caspian go. “I…don’t know.”
Caspian blinked. He needed to get out of there. He looked to the sky, which had cleared, without a cloud in sight. He had no other option, not with this man here willing to chase him down. He sighed. “I can’t ride out of here, so you might as well show me this retreat of yours.”
“Perfect,” Ash said and smiled, leading him down the hill. “Follow me.”
As they walked, Caspian peppered Ash with questions. “How many people are here?”
“This program has six residents, including you. You’ll have access to two counselors and the head of the retreat.”
Perfect, Caspian thought, sarcastically.
They passed by a waterfall, crossing an intricate bridge made of rich red wood. The craftsmanship was unlike anything Caspian had seen before, with delicate carvings of trees and animals along the railings. “And do you do this all year?”
“Yep,” Ash said. “Been at it for ten seasons. I was sent here, just like you, and decided I’d be better off staying here than graduating from the program.”
“So, once I graduate, I go home?”
“That’s the plan, but there is no time limit on healing. Some stay with us for a few seasons.”
Healing. The word echoed in Caspian’s mind. Do they think they could actually heal a broken war veteran? Doubtful.
They emerged from the forest into a clearing where several structures came into view. More rich red wood filled the space, fitting perfectly into the mountainous slopes. Every building gleamed with a lustrous finish and meticulous craftsmanship that bested even the castle of Tor Deren.
Gently curved roofs of slate-gray tiles cascaded down each building, turning up at the corners, supported by thick red beams.
A place nestled between two smaller buildings with finely raked pebbles and massive moss-covered boulders floating about caught his attention. “That’s the meditation garden,” Ash pointed out.
Next to that was a building with an entire wall open to the elements, facing out toward a misty lake. “And that’s the craft hut where we have art therapy sessions.”
Ash gestured to the centerpiece of it all, an impressive two-story structure with a broad roof supported by thick wooden pillars. Lanterns hung from the eaves, gently swaying in the wind. “This is our dining hall and living quarters. We have communal meals and cooking lessons there.”
“Cooking lessons?” Caspian repeated incredulously. “Assuming that’s so my fellow misfits and I can bond over stew?”
Ash laughed. “See? You’re already getting it. You’d be surprised how much you can learn about yourself and others while kneading dough.”
As they approached the main building, Caspian noted the massive, imposing stone guardians flanking the entrance. He couldn’t quite place what they were—strange beasts with scales, antlered heads, and lion-like paws—all carved with immaculate detail.
The main doors stood slightly ajar, made of the same wood and carved with scenes of mountains, trees, and flowing water. He hesitated as he placed a hand on them, spotting others just beyond the door. Other people he’d have to meet. Other people he’d have to pretend around until he could make his escape.
Ash placed a reassuring hand on his back. Caspian had surprised himself by not shrugging it off, and the warmth was a welcome relief as he slowed his breath.
“You’ve got this,” Ash murmured, his voice low and encouraging. “One step at a time.”
Caspian took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and grabbed onto the door, sliding it open.
Just fake it until you find your chance to escape, Caspian thought.
-------
Electricity danced across Caspian’s skin as he squinted against the sunlight filtering through a canopy of unfamiliar trees. Their trunks stretched impossibly high, their needle-like foliage long and foreign, and a strange sweetness was in the air.
He pushed himself up on shaky arms, pine needles clinging to his thick cloak. Compared to the constant sounds of Tor Deren, this place was uncomfortably silent, save for the occasional trill of an unseen bird. Nausea washed over him as he struggled to his feet, flashes of memory clouding his vision.
The dingy tavern.
A collapsing figure with eyes of lightning.
The stretching table.
A power surged through him, crackling just beneath his skin.
“Did I… die?” Caspian whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Caspian Stormrider?” a cheery voice called out, shattering the quiet. “What a funny last name. Is that real?”
Caspian whirled around, nearly losing his balance as he grabbed onto a tree, its bark rough. A large man with silver hair stood a few paces away, smiling at Caspian. The stranger held a piece of parchment in one hand and waved a muscled arm at him.
He wore clothes Caspian had never seen before—a thin moss-colored tunic, trousers that hugged his thighs far too well, and boots that had clearly never seen a battlefield. Everything about him was strange, even how he held himself in such an odd, friendly manner.
“Well,” the man said, rolling up his parchment and returning the wary look Caspian was giving him. “Let’s hope you’re him. Otherwise, we’ve got a very lost and…electrified…hiker on our hands!” He rocked on his heels, smiling as if this were humorous.
Caspian’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like this man. Didn’t trust him. And anything he didn’t trust was dangerous.
His soldier instincts kicked in, and he shot out an arm, fingertips crackling with white-hot energy. A lightning bolt tore through the air in a thunderous crack, missing the man by inches and striking one of the massive trees, burning a hole clear through its trunk.
The stranger let out a yelp, raising his hands. “Whoa, hold on there, Sparks. Can we talk? I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No,” Caspian growled, lifting his hand to fire another bolt.
Before Caspian could unleash another attack, the man lunged to the side, his form shimmering and twisting. In the blink of an eye, became a falcon, flying high into the trees.
Caspian stumbled back, his mind reeling. “What in the Father of Storms’ name? Is this some kind of Frostbreaker trick?” he shouted.
The massive tree he’d struck groaned, snapping and popping as it toppled over. It crashed to the forest floor with a thunderous boom, making a gap through the trees. Caspian glimpsed miles of wood and a mist-covered lake off in the distance.
“What is this place?” Caspian demanded, his voice echoing. “Where have you brought me, frost-worshiping hog?”
The falcon swooped down from above, reforming into the man in mid-descent. He landed with surprising grace. “Okay, first of all, rude,” he said, brushing off his tunic. “You know that was a falcon. You have those where you’re from, right?”
Sparks formed on Caspian’s fingers as he prepared for another bolt.
The man’s eyes widened, swiftly falling to his knees, pressing a large, calloused hand to the earth. His brow furrowed.
The ground beneath Caspian shifted. Green vines burst from the soil, quickly entwining his feet and pulling him down as little delicate pink flowers bloomed.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man said, his voice gentle. “I just want to talk. You’re safe here.”
Safe? Caspian hadn’t been safe since he took the colors of Tor Deren. He’d never be safe. Never be free. He tore himself from the vines, falling on his backside and rolling onto all fours. He made eye contact with the man, who took a step forward, his hand outstretched.
At that moment, Caspian’s fear took him. He turned and bolted, crashing through the dense underbrush.
His heart pounded in his ears as he ran, the forest blurring around him. He ducked through and under some of the strangest foliage he’d ever seen. Some plants seemed to glow, and others were nearly ten times the size of anything he’d known back home. There was even a strange fungus that pulsed various colors as he ran by, like the luminescent algae in the coast caves back home.
In his peripheral vision, fleeting shadows darted between the trees.
“Wait!” the man’s voice echoed behind him, surprisingly close. “You don’t know where you’re going! There are wards—”
Caspian couldn’t process what the man was saying. His mind was screaming for him to run, find somewhere safe, and get away from this place and this ice-loving stranger.
He hurled lightning bolts over his shoulder as he ran, setting small fires in his wake. The strength he’d gathered was already draining from him, and the bolts were less achy in his bones.
Caspian raced over a ridge, nearly falling over from the steep decline. He caught himself, taking a second to catch his breath as he peered down at strange buildings with red frames and sloping roofs.
What is this place? Caspian thought, ducking under a low-hanging branch covered in a strange lichen. He needed a way out. A way to get back to his home. Back to solitude, where he knew he wouldn’t be bothered.
Behind him, the stranger huffed. He’d kept up with Caspian. Caspian looked over his shoulder, spotting the man using his magic to douse a fire in mud.
“You’re going to exhaust yourself!” the man called. “Save your magic. Let’s talk this out like civilized people.”
“Mud mage?” Caspian laughed maniacally. “What are you dirt rollers still doing alive?”
“Hey,” the stranger said, flinging a spray of mud at Caspian. “I think I take offense to that.”
Caspian pressed on, breaking through dense trees to find a steep mountainside jutting up from the ground. He looked up at clear skies and a high peak into the heavens.
He could see the valley below him clearly now, with various buildings of the same strange red architecture and a lake that was so pristine and blue, unlike the brackish waters he was used to.
He turned back to the mountain peak, taking a breath. Creating a deep, resonating rumble in his throat, he called to the clouds, beckoning them to come. The wind picked up, swishing his cloak and causing the fine hairs on his arms to stand on end.
He pushed his energy to his feet, using the surge of electricity to scale the mountainside with ease. Rocks crumbled beneath his touch, leaving behind scorched handprints in his wake.
Below him, the man transformed into a goat, dodging the rocks that tumbled down toward him.
Dark clouds rolled in from every direction, answering his call. He’d ride them out of here, flying high in the sky until he found his home again.
He reached the mountain peak in minutes, his breath straining against his ribs as he held a hand up high into the sky, praying to latch onto the clouds.
But they didn’t take him. The clouds had formed, peering down at him, a Stormrider ready to take the reins, and they didn’t accept. They heard his call, but his god wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to take his hand.
His chest heaved, his limbs trembled, and the power inside him waned. He slumped to his knees, rough stone biting his skin as the clouds above dissipated.
“Not bad,” the goat said, staring at him. It shifted into the man, who struggled to climb the rest of the way to the summit, his hand holding his side. “For your first day.” The man braced his hands on his knees, his enormous chest expanding and contracting as warm eyes met Caspian’s gaze.
“What is this place? Who are you?” The fight had drained out of him, for now.
The man’s face softened
“My name’s Ash. And this…is Mystic Mountain,” he gasped between breaths. “Retreat and Rehabilitation…for the magically outcast. Please…take a moment to review…the brochure.” He held out a crumpled piece of parchment toward Caspian before collapsing to the ground and letting out a belly laugh.
-------
Caspian wanted nothing more than to sleep through the victory he’d earned the city after decades of war, but even a storm mage couldn’t fend off the nightmares that thundered through him. He pulled himself from bed, drew back the heavy curtains, and breathed in the scent of freshly cooked street waffles wafting in through the windows, wishing it might take the acrid taste of metal off his tongue.
Calloused hands gripped the curtains tightly as he stared at the vendors below. He took in slow, measured breaths, the nightmares still clawing to be free.
He backed away from the window, gazing at the glinting key on his nightstand. He should be grateful for this house. For all the city had done for him after…he shook his head, shocking himself as he ran a hand through staticky hair.
He went to the stone basin and splashed cold water on his face. He’d never expected to have a bronze cast mirror in a home he’d call his own, but now, staring at stormy gray eyes and dark hair needing a trim, he couldn’t say if it was all worth it.
His stomach growled, and his pantry was empty after he had declined the staff that his queens had so generously offered him. He had just wanted to be alone. But now, a week after they awarded him this house, he was out of food, and the belly that had grown used to being full was hollow.
The streets of Tor Deren were already filling as Caspian made his way to the market. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, proclaiming the city’s recent victory and celebrations. He hunched his shoulders and pulled his cloak close, trying to make his broad, muscular arms smaller as he navigated the crowd.
“Fresh strawberries! Get your victory waffles!” a vendor shouted cheerfully.
Caspian approached the stall, ready to clean it out as he fished for coins in his pocket.
The man’s eyes widened as he caught Caspian’s gaze. “The Stormrider! Please, take what you want. Wow, the hero of Tor Deren right here in front of me.”
Caspian’s jaw clenched. “I’m no hero,” he said, his voice low, but he still took the waffle with a nod. As he turned away, he spotted others who’d already recognized him.
“… lost his entire battalion, poor soul…”
“…have you heard he took on fifteen Frostbreakers single-handedly?”
A tightness closed in on Caspian’s chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He rushed away, dropping his food and finding refuge in an alley behind the market. Leaning against a cool stone wall, he shut his eyes and focused. Breathe in, out, in, out.
Laughter cut through his concentration. His eyes snapped open, and he spotted a group of young children just beyond the alley, waving a toy around. With the pull of a cord, the thing spun high into the air—a little storm maker. Toys made a game from something Caspian was all too familiar with.
Blue sparks surrounded it, and a tiny dark cloud formed above them. The toy gently glided to the ground, and all the kids stood still. As it landed near the feet of two boys, a lightning bolt shot up into the cloud. The boys yelped, clutching their ankles, as the others laughed.
The world tilted, and Caspian was back on the battlefield, the scent of storms filling his nostrils. He wasn’t safe. No one was. Lightning arced between his fingertips, a power waiting to sear through anyone stupid enough to face him. The sky darkened, aching for him to use it. The walls of the market were gone. He was in an open field, and bodies lay around him.
He gave in just a little, and the electricity filled him.
No one could hurt him.
“No,” Caspian grunted, pulling himself back. He clenched his fists, the power straining against his joints. He had to get out of here. Had to get back home.
The home that had been gifted to him.
Memories resurfaced, and he was transported to the throne room, seated high in the towers of Tor Deren, looking down on the city. The queens stared at him from high-backed seats, pride on their faces for a victory at a price they’d never know.
The elder of the queens spoke, looking at her wife with a nod before saying, “We can never repay what you sacrificed, Sir Caspian Stormrider. But you have brought us a glorious victory, and with it, your time of war has ended.”
The younger queen leaned in, her eyes sharp. “You’ve earned your rest. The crown is in your debt.”
He, rest? In an empty home while others continue the fight? How could they—
A sudden blare of trumpets sounded, shattering his memory. He was on the battlefield. No, he was in the alley. He gripped the key in his pocket and breathed.
He was in the alley.
He blinked and looked to the sky, tracing the darkening clouds overhead. His clouds called him.
Caspian stumbled out of the alley, away from the parade that took over the market square. His gaze landed on a weathered sign hanging above a navy blue door: The Stormy Sky. He needed something—anything to calm him.
Stale ale and smoke filled the air that circulated in the dim, wood-paneled interior. Only a handful of patrons even bothered to glance up before quickly averting their gazes. Good. Safe. Caspian slumped into a corner booth, sparks still dancing over his trembling fingers.
An old, slender barkeep approached, sliding a mug of strong ale across the table without a word as Caspian tossed him a coin worth well over the price.
The man grabbed the coin and nodded. “Rough morning?”
Caspian grunted in response, wrapping his hands around the mug. “You could say that. Just keep them coming, and you’ll get more of those.”
The barkeep started wiping down the table next to him with a rag. “You know, there’s a big festival going on. I’m sure someone like you could get better ale out there.”
“Not looking to talk,” Caspian muttered, taking a long swig of ale.
The barkeep shrugged. “Fair enough. But you should know I’m a good listener. And I’ve seen plenty of war, too. Sometimes, keeping it all inside can really tear you up.”
As the barkeep swung his rag over his shoulder and headed back behind the bar, Caspian caught sight of a man seated there. He sat oddly, almost too rigidly. As luck would have it, the man turned and caught Caspian’s eye.
Caspian’s breath hitched, bile mixing with ale. The stranger’s eyes flickered blue with Storm. But how…there were no more Stormriders. Not here, at least. Not anymore.
As the man rose and approached his table, the air pressure in the tavern dropped.
The man slid into the booth across from Caspian, their skin crackling with little sparks that left behind burn marks. Around them, the tavern darkened, and the other patrons froze in mid-motion as if time itself feared this man.
“My little Stormrider,” the stranger intoned, his voice jovial. “You can’t continue to ignore me.”
Caspian didn’t know this man, not his face, at least. But no one knew his face, not really. This was the Storm. The fear that curled around his heart. The glee that left his fingers and tore through others.
“Father of Storms,” Caspian whispered.
“Yes,” the man said. “I have something for you.”
Screams filled Caspian’s ears as memories bubbled to the surface. He balled his hands into fists. “No. I’ve given enough.”
The man smiled, tilting his head as he laughed, skin blistering around his lips. “A storm is coming, and I’ll need you to weather it.”
Weather it? The war should be over. Instead, it carries on. It always carries on.
Caspian’s rage was white hot inside him, beaming down on the chasm of guilt that tore at him every day. Sparks jolted out of him, exploding his glass and burning the table.
“I lost everything!” The words felt as though they were ripped from his throat. His tears burned. “My soldiers, my friends, my…my love.” He let the memory in—a warrior like him, with eyes of blue and a smile that could melt glaciers. “I have no one!”
He pulled on the energy, the electricity begging for release. His vision blurred, and the tavern warped.
The man across from him frowned, staring at a table between them.
He met Caspian’s eyes and smiled. “Not yet, I see. Well, in time, I suppose.”
The man clapped his hands, then crumbled to ash.
Caspian vibrated with a tempest unlike anything he’d held before. Who knows how far the destruction would carry if he let it go?
Would he even care?
Would it matter?
Would it—
The tavern vanished, and Caspian fell onto a bed of sharp pine needles, staring at the towering trees above him.
-------
Chapter 2 >>>
Hi friends!
A while back, I wrote a story for the serialized fiction platform Tapas, exclusive to them at the time. Well… I just got my rights back.
So I'm bringing The Greatest Storm Mage Needs a Break home. I'll be posting the updated, polished version right here, chapter by chapter. An ebook and print edition follow, but you get to read it first.
It's a cozy queer fantasy about trauma, found family, and learning how to rest. Grumpy-sunshine, slow burn, and a whole retreat full of magical misfits. (Heads up: it contains a bit of grief and PTSD.)
Blurb:
A war hero with nothing left to fight for.
A god who won’t let him fall apart.
And…a wellness retreat for the magically dangerous?
Caspian Stormrider won the war but lost everything to it. His battalion. His first love. Any sense of who he was when he wasn’t a weapon. So when the Father of Storms drops him, mid-breakdown, into Mystic Mountain, a hidden retreat for the “magically outcast,” Caspian has only one plan: escape.
But Mystic Mountain doesn’t work like that. There’s Ash, a handsome druid counselor willing to chase him to the edge of the earth. There are others too: a fire-berserker terrified of her own rage, a shadow-sorceress who fears the dark, a thieving fae prince, a haunted necromancer, and a water witch a long way from the sea.
Six broken people, twelve weeks of mandatory therapy, and one chance to find peace.
The storm inside Caspian always takes. Healing was never part of the plan. Neither was falling for the druid.
First post this Thursday! (idk Thor's Day... seems right... right?)