Chương 40: Chapter 34 – Calling the Storm

"Many who cannot weave still walk another path," Esmerelda said before opening her mouth wide. Cade had just enough time to register what she was doing—two long fingers sliding down her throat—before she pulled something out and held it up between them. It was a glass jar. Not crude glass, but smooth and perfectly clear aside from the faint spirals etched into the surface. Inside, suspended in midair, was a lightning bolt.

It twisted and coiled in place, crackling silently, its edges too sharp and too bright to look entirely real. Cade inhaled sharply and promptly choked on the seed he'd been chewing.

"What the hell—" he coughed, thumping his chest.

"Did you just pull out bottled lightning?" Esmerelda's throat pulsed with what might have been amusement.

"This is the Stormseed." Cade used [Identify] on the object Esmerelda was holding. Stormseed — An ancient storm-kernel suspended in a scripted container.

"How?" Cade demanded, staring.

"How did you bottle a storm?"

"By understanding the Laws that bind it," she said lightly.

"As our Progenitor once did. But that knowledge is too advanced for you." She glanced past him toward the edge of the pavilion, where a small group of young frogs waited in loose formation. Their eyes were bright, their attention half on Cade and half on Esmerelda's hands.

"Okopipi," Esmerelda called. One of the smallest frogs stepped forward. A slender, electric-blue youth with alert eyes and a posture that looked like he was slightly nervous. He bowed his head and hopped closer. Esmerelda placed the jar into his hands.

"Show us how you call." Okopipi cradled the Stormseed carefully, then lifted it toward his throat. The jar looked enormous in his grasp. Cade leaned forward, eyes fixed on the tiny creature.

"I cannot call to the storm," Esmerelda said quietly, as if sensing Cade's question before he asked it.

"My affinity lies elsewhere. Okopipi, however, was born for this." The blue frog pressed the jar close to his throat. His throat sack expanded, stretching translucent skin until a soft blue glow bloomed beneath it.

"While Mistweaving has two workings," Esmerelda continued.

"Stormcalling requires three."

"First," she said, "you gather your essence in the chest and throat." Okopipi held still, breath steady.

"Second, you infuse that essence into your voice." The glow in the frog's throat brightened.

"And third," Esmerelda said, "you issue a command that resonates with the storm." Okopipi croaked long and steady, vibrating through the air as the tiny frog held the note. Inside the jar, the lightning shifted. White bled into blue. The bolt brightened, thickened, and began to move faster. It rattled against the glass as if it were suddenly eager to escape. The longer Okopipi held the note, the more violent the lightning became—until finally the frog's voice faltered and cut off.

The glow faded from his throat sac and the lightning settled, still crackling faintly. Cade stared. Not only had these frogs bottled lightning—they spoke to it. Commanded it. Mist was one thing. But this? This was a primordial force of nature. The first form of destructive magic he had seen the frogs wield. Cade knew, with absolute certainty, that this was something he had to learn.

Okopipi gently lowered the Stormseed and, with careful fingers, handed it back to Esmerelda—making sure to keep his distance from Cade as he did. Cade noticed the little frog's wide eyes flick up to him once, then drop just as fast. Cade didn't blame him. He hadn't exactly gone out of his way to make friends with the younger frogs. He still looked like a half-burned skeleton. Not exactly friendly or familiar to these amphibians. And for all Okopipi knew, Cade might melt someone's brain just by touching them.

Esmerelda accepted the Stormseed with both hands. The glass hummed faintly, the lightning inside still flickering with power. She didn't speak immediately. Instead, she looked at the jar for a long moment, her long thumbs brushing the edge of the lid with something like reverence. Then she turned and held it out to Cade. He stepped forward and grasped it with both hands. She didn't release it at first. The moment lingered—her eyes watching his, unblinking.

Her fingers clung for a few moments longer than necessary, like she wasn't sure he should be holding it after all. Like she was already questioning her decision. Then, slowly, she let go. Cade took the Stormseed in both hands. It was lighter than he expected. The static was immediate. A buzz against his palms, humming like a thousand live electrical wires. The feeling reminded him of the ritual with Aquelion and of Sasesh casting spells through the earth. He narrowed his eyes. Is this mana I'm feeling?

"Sit," Esmerelda said, her voice low. He obeyed, lowering himself onto the floor of the pavilion with the Stormseed cradled gently in his lap. His back ached and his legs were thankful for the rest but he paid them no mind. His attention was locked on the glass, on the storm he held between his hands.

"This is your lesson today," Esmerelda said.

"You will hold it. You will gather your essence in your chest and throat and you will find the resonance. If you have the affinity, the Stormseed will answer." Cade nodded once. Esmerelda didn't wait for questions. She turned, already walking toward the edge of the pavilion where the other young frogs waited. He watched her go then looked back down at the Stormseed. This time, he would succeed. The buzzing static from within the jar made his skin itch, but it wasn't unpleasant.

It reminded him of the thunderheads in the distance—ominous and full of tension but not yet willing to strike with their fury. He closed his eyes. Concentrate your essence in the chest and throat. That was what Esmerelda had said. Essence. He still wasn't entirely sure what that meant. The System never mentioned it. There was no stat or resource labeled "Essence," no bar to track or interface to guide him. But the frogs acted like it was as obvious as breathing. So Cade let his breathing slow. In. Out. In. Out.

He let the tension leave his shoulders, then his arms, then his neck. He quieted the voice in his head that wanted to ask how he was supposed to do this or what exactly he was supposed to feel. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Instead, he reached for the memory of the black frog from the vision. She had sat still for hours, motionless in the cracked wasteland, breathing in sync with a rhythm Cade hadn't noticed at first.

But by the end, he felt it. That cycle. The way energy pulsed out from her core, down her limbs, and returned again. It must have been her essence moving in a pattern. Cade tried to copy it, except he didn't have a core like the black frog. He couldn't feel a wellspring of energy behind his navel. No pulse of power centered in his gut. His thoughts began to spiral. How can I mimic her if I don't have the same structure? What if this is a waste of time?

What if I just can't— He clenched his jaw and forced the thoughts away. No. This is not the time. If he couldn't copy her exactly, then he'd adapt. He'd focus on what he did have, on what was in front of him. The Stormseed and that static feeling coming off of it. He adjusted his grip, bringing the jar up higher, cradling it close to his upper chest just like Okopipi had done. He didn't have a throat sac but he could at least put it in the same place. He let the buzzing static bleed into his body.

As soon as the glass touched the center of his chest the sensation sharpened. Static crackled across his skin. A soft hum buzzed through his collarbones and crawled up into his throat. It wasn't painful, but it made his nerves light up like someone had carbonated his bloodstream. He latched onto the feeling. He didn't understand it but he could feel it. He focused on the buzz in his chest, willing it to grow stronger, more defined. Slowly, carefully, he imagined it concentrating like smoke pulled into a bottle.

Is this my essence? he wondered but he didn't let the question distract him. He kept breathing and focused his mind on feeling the sensations. And after a while, he felt a difference. The buzzing in his chest wasn't identical to the buzz from the Stormseed—it was close, but not quite the same. Like two notes almost in tune but still not perfectly aligned. This, he realized, was what Esmerelda meant by resonance. They had to match.

So Cade focused all of his will on shifting that internal buzz—on changing the frequency inside himself to match the rhythm coming from the Stormseed. Two storms. Two patterns. Two pulses. He just had to make them one. At first, nothing happened. Cade held his breath, willing the buzzing in his chest to change, to bend, to move. It refused. The static inside him remained stubborn. A dull, uneven hum that refused to align with the sharper, livelier crackle of the Stormseed.

His mind raced ahead, demanding the static inside to change. Irritation coiled in his gut, winding tighter with each passing second. His grip on the jar clenched, his will straining—until he recognized what was building. Frustration was blooming just beneath the surface. Focus, he told himself. Don't get frustrated. Don't force it. He loosened his grip slightly and let his breathing even out again. Instead of pushing, he paused and listened. He let the sensation in his chest exist without trying to dominate it.

And then it shifted, just barely, but enough to be noticeable. The buzzing inside him wavered, trembling like a string pulled too tight and then eased. The change was small, almost imperceptible, but Cade felt it. A flicker of alignment. A whisper of movement in the right direction. He acknowledged the success without latching onto it, then he continued listening and nudging the internal static again. This time it moved more easily. The frequency inside his chest slid closer to the one in the jar.

Close enough that the buzzing between them began to answer each other—his chest humming louder as the Stormseed's crackle intensified in response. Then, with a soft internal click, they aligned and the static surged. The buzz in Cade's chest and throat swelled until it was indistinguishable from the lightning's hum. For a brief moment, there was no inside or outside—just one unified vibration thrumming through glass and flesh. And then the energy moved.

The static flowed outward from his chest, racing down his arms and legs in branching paths, tingling along every nerve before curling back inward. It returned to his throat, pooled, and surged outward again. The cycle repeated, waxing and waning in a steady rhythm. To Cade's surprise, it felt incredible. Each wave of static that passed through him washed away some of the ache clinging to his muscles and bones. The soreness faded, replaced by a crisp, electric clarity. His thoughts sharpened.

His body felt lighter, cleaner—renewed. But when the buzz receded, the relief vanished with it. Fatigue rushed back in and pain flared. His limbs felt heavy and dull. Then the cycle surged again and the pain melted away. Cade frowned. Something's not right, some quiet instinct warned. He observed more closely as the cycle continued. When the static intensified inside him, the lightning in the Stormseed dimmed. When the energy left his body, the lightning inside the jar brightened. They were exchanging something.

Sharing it as it cycled between Cade and the Stormseed. Cade's pulse quickened. Instead of letting the cycle continue on its own, he leaned into it. He shortened the gap between surges, gently nudging the static to return faster, stronger. The rhythm tightened and the exchange accelerated. The buzzing grew louder. The relief became intoxicating and the crash afterward more punishing. Faster. Stronger. Again and again he pushed the cycle until a voice deep inside screamed for him to stop.

To break the cycle before it spiraled out of control. But another voice—insistent and hungry —urged him onward. If he could just push it far enough—if the cycle became fast enough, intense enough—there would be no separation. No back and forth. No difference between the buzzing in his body and the Stormseed. Keep going. Keep pushing. Devour it all. Hours had passed. Esmerelda stood near the edge of the teaching grounds, her staff planted firmly in the mud as she watched the younger frogs repeat their forms.

Croak-patterns rose and fell in uneven harmony, essence flaring and dimming as the students struggled with their lessons. Her thoughts, however, drifted back to the pavilion. She had left the little human alone with the Stormseed. Not because she trusted him—far from it—but because she hadn't expected anything to happen. Without an affinity for Stormcalling, the Stormseed would remain inert. And unlike the Wispguide Skein, the Stormseed was built to endure strain.

It was far denser, forged to contain the violence of lightning essence rather than the delicate currents of mist. Even if he mishandled it, the artifact had withstood far worse than anything the little human could do to it. She had seen that outcome countless times. The poor thing could try all he wanted but at the end of the day, he had no affinity. He would never be able to resonate with the ancestor's seed.

"Teacher." A small orange frog tugged gently at her staff. Esmerelda looked down.

"Yes, Larok?"

"There are lights," the young one said, pointing with a trembling finger.

"Funny lights." Esmerelda followed the gesture—and froze. The pavilion pulsed. Not with the steady, contained glow she might have expected from a successful resonance—but with an erratic strobe. Light flashed and vanished in rapid bursts, bright enough to illuminate the pavilion even in the light of day. Her stomach dropped.

"That is not resonance," she whispered. She turned and moved, her pace quickening into a hurried stride, then a run, as her heart pounded with unfamiliar urgency. When she reached the pavilion, she stopped short from entering. Cade sat at its center, unmoving, the Stormseed pressed against his chest. Its lightning was inexplicably flowing into him. Thin filaments of blue-white energy stretched from the jar and sank into his skin, vanishing beneath charred flesh.

The bolt inside the glass had shrunk, reduced to a weak flicker as the human drew it out.

"No," Esmerelda croaked in horror. If the Stormseed emptied completely, its lattice would collapse. The ancestor's artifact would be ruined. Worse—if the human couldn't contain what he took in, the backlash would erupt killing him and everyone nearby. She took a few steps forward but stopped before reaching him. If she touched him now, the lightning would arc. She had no affinity for Stormcalling. The storm would not recognize her. If she interrupted whatever was happening she might kill them both.

Then her eyes widened even more as the flow reversed. Multicolored lightning poured out of the human's body and back into the jar in a blinding surge. The Stormseed flared brighter than she had ever seen it, light roaring outward until Esmerelda had to shield her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked. The lightning intensified, swelling and vibrating so violently that the glass screamed under the strain. A kaleidoscope of colors lit up the pavilion and the air crackled with power. Then the light dimmed again and once more, the storm flowed back into Cade. Esmerelda lowered her hands from her eyes, staring in disbelief. Never in her many cycles had she seen such a feat. Her kind did not absorb the essence of the Stormseed.

They did not cycle itself into their body as the human was doing now. Stormcallers influenced storms. They requested the storms to fall and cleanse the desolation, leaving vital essence in the storm's wake. They never became conduits for the storm's fury. She stared slack jawed as the rhythm accelerated. Each exchange was brighter than the last. The jar glowed, dimmed, glowed again—until a sharp, unmistakable sound cut through the thunderous hum. Crack.

A hairline fracture split the glass and Esmerelda's breath caught in her throat.