Rae van Daleon – The Roots of the Storm

by Lea von Löwenstein

Chapter 1: The First Step

The transporter descended silently onto the landing platform of the Scola Progenium, its shadow spreading like the wings of an ominous angel across the polished stone slabs. Rae sat on the cold, hard bench, clutching her father’s pendant tightly. The cool steel in her hand brought comfort, its weight reminding her of her last moment at home. Her sharp eyes scanned the other novices in the cabin—some stared straight ahead, others nervously fidgeted with their cloaks.

A shrill whistle startled the group as the hydraulic doors hissed open. “Up! Move!” The voice of the drill instructor was as sharp as a blade slicing through the air. Rae stood without hesitation, her steps steady and controlled. The scent of oil and metal, mixed with the cool air of the Scola, enveloped her as she descended the ramp.

Before her stretched an awe-inspiring sight—a sea of stone halls adorned with Gothic reliefs and symbols of the Emperor. The sky above was gray and oppressive, and the deep tolling of the cathedral bell in the distance resonated like the heartbeat of the Scola itself. The other novices began to gather in clusters, their voices an excited murmur.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” A voice, calm and curious, made Rae turn. A boy with blond hair and an open, friendly demeanor stood before her. His smile was genuine, and his brown eyes studied her attentively. “I’m Alric. Welcome to hell,” he added with a small grin that softened his words.

“Rae,” she replied simply, extending her hand. His hand was warm, his grip firm but not overpowering. “Hell?”

“You’ll see,” he said, gesturing to the grand hall ahead. “This place makes your father’s forge look like a vacation spot.”

A small smile crept onto Rae’s lips. She appreciated this moment of normalcy, an anchor in a world she didn’t yet understand.

But the calm didn’t last long.

“Look at this—the smith’s daughter.” Another voice, sharp with a hint of mockery, made the air around them heavier. A girl with dark hair and icy eyes stepped forward, flanked by two others. Her gaze was challenging, her tone provocative. “Do you think being from a family of weapon makers makes you special here?”

Alric took a step forward, but Rae raised a hand to stop him. She met the girl’s eyes directly, her posture calm but firm. “I’m not here to be special,” she said quietly, her voice clear and steady. “I’m here to learn.”

The other novices around them fell silent, Rae’s words echoing in the stillness of the hall. The girl seemed surprised; perhaps she had expected a different reaction. But the moment of confusion quickly gave way to a scornful smile. “We’ll see how long you last,” she said, turning with a final, mocking glance.

As the group dispersed, Rae felt Alric’s gaze on her. “That was bold,” he said finally. “But she won’t back down easily.”

“I don’t expect her to,” Rae replied, her voice calm as she turned the pendant in her hand. The cool steel reminded her of who she was—and why she was here.

The Scola bell tolled again, a deep, resonant sound that set them all in motion. Rae followed the crowd into the great hall, ready to take her first step on this path. She knew this was only the beginning—and that she would face every challenge and conflict with the same determination her father had taught her.

In the shadows of the Scola, where light and darkness converged, Rae was prepared to find her place.

The novices marched through the towering stone doors of the hall, their massive wings adorned with golden engravings. Scenes of bloody battles and the Emperor’s heroic deeds loomed over them, as if to burn away any trace of weakness from their hearts. Rae felt the oppressive weight of centuries of history etched into these walls. The cold of the floor seeped through her boots as her steps echoed in unison with the others, a prelude to the fate awaiting them.

The group came to a halt before a raised platform, where a man in a black robe stood. His face was stern, his features sharp as a blade that had erased all trace of gentleness. His voice, deep and gravelly, sliced through the air like a weapon as he began to speak.

“You are here because the Imperium deems you worthy,” he began, his words resounding ominously through the great hall. “But this is only the beginning. Your worth will be tested here—with iron discipline, relentless hardship, and unyielding resolve. Weakness will not be tolerated. Betrayal will not be forgiven. And failure…” His eyes scanned the novices’ faces, lingering momentarily on Rae. “Failure means losing the Emperor’s light.”

A shiver ran down Rae’s spine, but she forced herself to breathe steadily. She was not here to fail. She was here to endure—and to grow, even in the unforgiving environment of the Scola.

“Your initial quarters have been assigned,” the man continued, his tone devoid of emotion. “You will be placed in groups of five. This group will be your family. It will reveal your strength but also expose your weakness. Learn from one another—or fall.”

An adjutant stepped forward and began reading names aloud. Rae listened intently, her muscles tense like a drawn bowstring. “Van Daleon!” The voice rang sharply, almost too high-pitched for the room. She stepped forward, listening as the names of her group were called.

To her surprise, Alric was among them. He gave her a small, relieved smile as he joined her. The other three were less familiar. The dark-haired girl from before, whose icy gaze still lingered in Rae’s mind, also stepped forward. Her smile was thin, her demeanor tense. “Celestine,” she introduced herself, her voice cold and dismissive. It was less a greeting and more a challenge.

The remaining two were a tall, broad-shouldered boy with rough hands and close-cropped hair—Marcus, as he briefly introduced himself—and a lean boy with dark skin and sharp, observant eyes, who introduced himself as Tyren. His gaze was probing, as if he were already assessing Rae and the others.

“This should be interesting,” Alric murmured as they were directed to their quarters. Rae couldn’t disagree.

Their quarters were sparse: a room with five simple beds, a narrow locker for each, and a long table in the center. Rae felt the tension in the air as the group entered. Celestine threw her bag onto the bed in the corner, her eyes boring into Rae. “So, smith’s daughter,” she began mockingly. “Do you think your fancy weapons will help you here?”

Alric, who had chosen the bed next to Rae’s, opened his mouth, but Rae raised her hand once again. “Maybe,” she said calmly, as she placed her bag neatly on the bed. Her movements were slow, controlled. “Maybe not. But what brought me here isn’t just steel.”

“What, then?” Celestine asked, stepping closer. Her voice was a hiss, her posture tense like a predator ready to pounce.

“Discipline,” Rae replied simply. Her eyes met Celestine’s unwaveringly, without fear. “And the will to learn.”

Tyren leaned against the wall, watching the scene with a crooked grin. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Maybe you two will survive the first week.”

Marcus, silently unpacking his bag, cast Tyren a warning glance. “Stop fighting,” he said in a deep, steady voice. “We’re here to work together, not tear each other apart.”

Celestine laughed softly, a cold, hollow sound. But she said nothing more, turning away with tense shoulders. Rae knew this wasn’t the end—just a pause in the brewing conflict.

Night fell swiftly, and the cold of the Scola seeped through the walls. Rae lay on her narrow bed, holding her father’s pendant in her hand. The quiet breathing of the others filled the room, a rhythm that oddly comforted her. She knew tomorrow would bring a new day of trials. But in that moment, she felt a deep resolve.

In the darkness, she smiled faintly. The road would not be easy. But she would walk it—step by step, with every breath she took.