Page 169 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

Lightning exploded overhead, flooding the chamber with blinding white light. Councillors screamed, ducking beneath tables,scrambling for cover. The temperature plummeted—twenty degrees in seconds—frost creeping up the sides of water bottles, spider-webbing across the polished table.

Snow stood at the centre of the storm, her fury manifesting in the freezing air, her power spiralling out of control.

Rain remained still, watching her closely, ready to intervene but unwilling to undermine her unless absolutely necessary.

Azrien paled, gripping the edge of the table as the guards behind him stared helplessly at the swirling black cloud. They were useless; unequipped to protect him from his own daughter.

“Where are your manipulative words now…Dad?” Snow spat, the word Dad dripping with disgust. “You have the power to persuade people—you could win wars through trust, through diplomacy. Yet you choose to defile everyone as though we are your puppets.”

Her voice rose, trembling with fury.

“You are not fit to sit upon your throne. You are weak-willed vermin. From this day forward, I refuse to address you as anything more than Azrien. You are not my king. And you are no longer—perhaps have never been––worthy of the title father.”

Rain’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Hearing those words from her shook him to his core. He scanned Azrien’s energy, searching for danger, for the spark of violence he expected.

But what he found instead stunned him.

Azrien was held in a vice of shock. Fear. And beneath it…grief?

Thoughts of loss filtered through Rain’s mind, an insight into Azrien’s own inner monologue, he was grieving Rain realised, completely caught off guard. Disbelief clutched at his chest. Rain’s breath caught.

His father would never have cared if he had said those words.

But Snow… Snow was different.

Cold winds spiralled violently around the room, forcing Rain and the king to grip their seats. Papers flew, chairs toppled, councillors screamed.

Rain’s voice cut through the storm, desperate.

“Snow!”

His words were nearly swallowed by the gale. Adrenaline surged through him; not just his own, but the amplified fear of everyone trapped in the room.

“Snow, there are too many people in here for your storm!” His plea was urgent—he understood the danger. If her rage continued unchecked, there was a real risk her storm would cause harm to innocent people, those she had never intended to hurt.

And she would never forgive herself.

But Snow was beyond hearing. Her focus was sharp, Her gaze was locked on Azrien, unblinking, unyielding. The rest of the room had vanished from her awareness.

Rain had no choice.

He centred himself, drawing on every calming technique he had ever learned. He breathed through the fear, through the chaos, through the protective panic clawing at his chest. He gathered his focus, then mirrored it outward, soothing the room, stifling the storm, reaching for his sister’s rage. Dampening her fire.

The torrential gale died instantly. The air snapped into icy stillness.

Rain fell back into his seat breathless. Snow’s head whipped toward him, her green eyes blazing with betrayal.

“Wow,” she said, voice trembling with bitterness. “Like father, like son. I guess manipulation is hereditary.”

The words hit Rain like a blade to the ribs.

He knew it was the anger speaking but there was no regret in her eyes. Only hurt. Deep, raw, wounded hurt.

She lowered her head, breath coming fast and uneven as she fought to regain control. The dark cloud above her began to thin, dissolving slowly.

Then her expression twisted into a permanent mask of betrayal.