Onyx Storm (by Rebecca Yarros)

Onyx Storm

Violet stood at the edge of the battlement, the wind screaming like a creature enraged. The storm was coming—not just any storm, but the Onyx Storm, the one her mother had warned her about since childhood. The one that didn't just bring lightning and wind, but death and awakening.

Below her, the fields of Basgiath twisted under clouds that glowed with unnatural energy. Lightning forked across the sky in veins of black light. The wind smelled of ozone and ash. Her dragon, Aurelion, shifted behind her, scales gleaming obsidian even in the dim light.

“You’re trembling,” he rumbled through their bond, voice a mix of ancient patience and wild magic.

“I’m not afraid of the storm,” she lied.

“No,” Aurelion replied, wings tightening. “You’re afraid of what you’ll become after it.”

She didn’t answer. Because he was right.

The Onyx Storm was a myth to most cadets. A sky anomaly. A strange weather pattern said to amplify powers—if it didn’t kill you first. But Violet had known better since her father died in one twenty years ago. Not from lightning, but from his own magic breaking him apart. The storm didn’t give. It demanded.

Now it was here again, and somehow, the timing was perfect—too perfect. The wards of the War College had begun to falter. The boundary between realms shimmered like a cracked mirror. And in her chest, the mark her father left behind—a faint birthmark shaped like a spiral—was glowing.

Hours passed. The storm was fully over Basgiath now.

The council was in chaos. Cadets sheltered in the inner halls, but Violet was summoned to the top of the Skyhold Tower. There stood General Sorrengail—her mother—staring out into the storm as if it were an old friend.

“You summoned me,” Violet said.

Her mother turned, face unreadable.

“The Onyx Storm is here,” she said flatly. “And it’s reacting to your magic.”

“What does it want?”

Her mother gave a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t want. It consumes. And then it reveals. If you're strong enough.”

She approached, placing a hand on Violet’s shoulder. “Tonight, you either break… or you become something this world has never seen.”

They flew into the storm.

Aurelion launched into the sky with a roar, his body bracing against winds that could shred lesser dragons. Lightning forked around them, not white or yellow—but black, like ink bleeding across the sky.

And then Violet felt it.

A pulse.

Like a heartbeat that wasn't hers. Thunder cracked—inside her bones.

She screamed—not from fear, but from power tearing through her.

Her eyes burned, and Aurelion howled.

“Hold on to me!” she cried, but even through the bond she could feel him slipping. Not physically—but spiritually, like the storm was pulling them into different timelines, different versions of themselves.

Her mind fractured. She saw visions—herself with silver wings. Herself on fire. Herself alone on a throne made of bones. She saw the truth: the storm was a test. Not of strength—but of clarity. It showed you everything you could be—and dared you to stay whole.

She forced her focus on one version: the one where she stood with Aurelion beside her, not above or beneath him. Equal. A warrior. A storm-bringer.

She reached out—not with her hands, but her mind.

“I choose this path,” she whispered. “I choose who I become.”

And just like that—silence.

The storm didn’t end. But it bent.

The lightning stopped attacking. It began to follow.

Aurelion roared again, but this time, the sound cracked the clouds, not from pain—but command.

Below, Basgiath watched as a girl and her dragon danced in a black hurricane—and the hurricane obeyed.

Hours later, Violet landed on the war college’s grounds, barely conscious. Her skin glowed faintly, her veins pulsing with energy she didn’t yet understand. The birthmark was gone. In its place was a black spiral tattoo that shimmered like stars.

Aurelion stood behind her, wings tucked, silent.

Her mother approached through the broken gate.

“You survived,” she said, almost in disbelief.

“No,” Violet replied. “I adapted.”

The General looked at her daughter—truly looked—and for the first time in years, she didn’t see a fragile girl hiding behind rules and fear.

She saw a leader born in lightning.

That night, the Onyx Storm passed.

But whispers remained.

A cadet who now summoned lightning with her breath.

A dragon who flew into death and came back stronger.

And a prophecy, long buried, now awakened:

“When the storm bends, the world breaks. And the one who commands the sky… shall command all.”