Page 59 of Severe Husband Warning

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ROTHGAR

The Storm Temple has stood at the highest point in Ti’lith longer than any living demon remembers.

Even the oldest spires seem to bow toward it. Every stone carries the weight of power older than kingdoms, and entering its halls has always felt less like crossing a threshold than stepping into the presence of something awake.

I climb the final flight of black stone steps while dawn struggles through the storm above. Lightning washes the towering façade in brief flashes of silver. The city has scarcely begun to wake, yet the temple never truly sleeps. Charged air hums with centuries of devotion.

By this time tomorrow, Calla and I will stand before the storm itself.

The sanctuary lies deep within the mountain-spire, dark walls threaded with living currents that drift beneath the stone like trapped lightning. At its center hangs the ceremonial focus.

A flawless crystal nearly twice my height floats between four storm-metal pillars. Pale lightning wanders through its depths before disappearing into impossible distance. The power gathered within it is immense, held in perfect restraint.

The measured sound of footsteps draws my attention.

High Priestess Nyrra crosses the polished floor with the calm assurance of someone who has walked this path for centuries. Deep crimson robes fall around her slender frame, embroidered silver lightning catching the crystal's shifting light. Her spiraling horns frame an ageless face.

She bows her head, “Lord Stromgarde.”

“High Priestess,” I greet, returning the gesture.

Her gaze lingers on the crystal before settling on me.

“You have chosen to proceed,” she says, quiet approval slipping beneath her measured tone.

I have not yet spoken my intention, yet the priestess already knows.

She studies me in thoughtful silence. Few understand the Storm-Binding more completely than Nyrra. If uncertainty exists, she has learned to recognize it before words give it shape.

“The woman understands what the rite demands?” she asks before stepping away to circle me.

I remain still. “She does.”

“And she accepted freely?”

“Without hesitation.”

She nods once then turns back toward the crystal.

“The storm has witnessed every covenant sworn beneath this ceiling,” the High Priestess says, resting one weathered hand against the nearest pillar. Lightning stirs beneath the crystal. “Kings have come and gone beneath its gaze. Ambition and deception have never swayed it. It will take what is truly in your heart, Lord Stromgarde, and show it to the world.”

The warning settles quietly between us.

For centuries, I mistook distance for strength. Calla unraveled that certainty one impossible conversation at a time. If the storm strips away whatever remains, I will stand before it willingly.

“There is nothing left that I wish to hide from her,” I say.

Something softens in the High Priestess’s expression. “Then you are ready.”

She folds her hands within her sleeves.

“The temple will complete its preparations before sunset.”

I dip my head. “You have my gratitude, High Priestess.”

“And you have the storm’s blessing.”