The whispers started at the edges of the crowd, spreading inwards. A duchess grabbed her husband's arm. Lord Pemberton's hand moved to the ceremonial sword at his side. Lord Thornwald raised his hand, and two guards detached from the walls. They moved through the crowd and approached Al Sayid.

  "Sir," Lord Thornwald’s smile was gone, replaced with a serious expression. "This is a private event. Your kind isn’t welcome here. I'll have to ask you to leave."

  "My kind…" Al Sayid turned from the painting to face Lord Thornwald. "And what exactly is my kind?"

  “Your name says everything we need to know.”

  The guards flanked Sayid, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched his robes.

  "And my gold isn't welcome in your estate?" Sayid reached into his robes. Several nobles scrambled backward. He pulled out a leather pouch, heavy enough that coins clinked inside. "One thousand pieces. And I have the other nine thousand outside. As promised."

  Thornwald's jaw worked. "Your money—" He stopped, deep in thought, then started again. "Marblehaven follows royal decree. The crown has forbidden all trade with Vandiel. Your gold, your goods, your presence. None are welcome here."

  Sayid laughed. "And all I wanted was to buy a painting. Looks like some things never change, even after all these years.” Sayid turned back to the painting. “The Saintess. Your perfect little symbol. Wings spread wide, light shining down. How disgusting.”

  "The Saintess saved our city," Lord Pemberton called out from behind a cluster of other nobles.

  "Did she? And where is your savior now? When Vandieans stand in your halls?"

  "Sir, we need you to leave. Now."The guard on Sayid's left reached for his arm. His fingers never made contact.

  In the blink of an eye, Sayid’s palm struck the guard's chest. The man flew backward like he weighed nothing, and smashed against a marble pillar. He slid down, leaving a red smear on the white stone. His leg bent at an angle legs shouldn't bend.

  A duchess fainted. Her husband caught her, dragging her toward the walls while keeping his eyes on Sayid.

  "Don't touch me, you filth." Sayid wiggled his fingers. Sparks danced between them. "Your kind always were grabby."

  Lord Thornwald had gone very still. "What do you want?"

  "Want? I told you. To buy a painting. But seeing your fear... that's worth more than gold. You've forgotten, haven't you? What we can do. What we are. You think because you signed some papers, because you rebuilt your walls, that old wounds just disappear." He touched the scars on his face. “The wounds never disappear.”

  "We fear nothing from Vandiel," Clive said as he pointed his brush at Sayid.

  "No?” Sayid smiled. Half his face couldn't move properly due to the scars, making the expression grotesque. "Then why are they running?"

  He was right. Nobles pressed against the walls. Some had made it to the doors but found them blocked by others trying to leave. Lady Blackwood had squeezed behind a display case. Lord Ashford crouched behind an overturned bench.

  “Final warning,” Clive said. “Leave now.”

  The remaining guards surrounded Sayid with their blades drawn.

  But this only seemed to amused Sayid. He raised his hands, palms out. "Warning. Yes, let me give you one.

  His fingers twitched.

  Lightning erupted from his palms. A web of electricity danced across the hall. They found every piece of metal in range, from the guard’s swords to the chandelier overhead. The guards didn't even have time to scream. Electricity coursed through them, as they convulsed. One man's eyes rolled back. Another bit through his tongue, blood frothing at his mouth.

  They fell in unison. Smoke rose from their armor.

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  The chandelier, struck by residual current, swayed dangerously. Crystal pieces fell like rain, shattering on the marble.

  In the screams that followed, Sayid lowered his hands. "That's your warning."

  The crowd surged toward the doors. Bodies pressed against bodies. A merchant went down, trampled. Someone's elbow caught Lady Blackwood in the face, leaving her bloodied and bruised.

  Clive aimed his brush at Sayid, but in the ensuing chaos, he wasn’t sure he could get a clean hit. No, there was a good chance he might hit someone innocent. He withdrew his sword instead, opting for close-quarter combat. His brush moved across his blade, painting a layer of black.

  [Paint: Black Hole Blade]

  He moved against the fleeing crowd, shouldering through the panic.

  Sayid saw him coming. "Finally. Someone with spine."

  Lightning erupted from Sayid's palm. The bolt should have taken Clive in the chest. Instead, it curved mid-flight, sucked into the black blade like water down a drain.

  “Interesting.” Sayid tilted his head. “Seems like this one isn’t completely helpless.”

  Clive dashed at him, unleashing a slash combo.

  But Sayid’s body came apart into lighting. One moment he stood solid. The next, he was pure electricity, a man-shaped constellation of sparks that zipped across the hall faster than eyes could track. He rematerialized thirty feet away, near the wall of paintings.

  Sayid raised both hands, and lightning erupted in a spreading wave. The first bolt hit Margaret's landscape. It exploded into burning fragments. The second caught Thomas's still life, which ignited instantly. The third, fourth, fifth—

  Every painting became fuel. Frames splintered. Easels toppled. Fire spread across the walls, feeding on wooden supports and cloth banners. The air filled with smoke and the stench of burning paint.

  "No!" Margaret's voice cut through the chaos. She ran toward her burning work, but Garrett caught her, dragged her back as flames leap higher.

  Markus stood frozen as fire spread toward his portrait of Lucia. The flames reached the adjacent painting. He threw himself in front of the canvas, arms spread wide. "Not this one!"

  The fire licked at the frame. Markus didn't move, even as embers landed on his robes, even as smoke made him cough.

  "Markus, you idiot!" Lucia grabbed him, trying to pull him away.

  "It's yours," he said, not budging. "You said you'd take it."

  "Not if you die for it!"

  Sayid’s laughter, cut through the screams and crackling flames. "Look at them. Fighting over paint and canvas while their city burns. Soft. Sentimental. Weak.” He walked toward the entrance, lightning still sparking between his fingers. "The heat's making me nostalgic for the battlefields. Enjoy your art exhibition, artist. I'll be taking a walk outside. Don't keep me waiting long." He vanished through the smoke-filled doorway.

  Clive started to pull blue from his palette. Water, ice, something to fight the spreading flames. His hand stopped. The air still crackled with residual electricity. Water would turn the entire hall into a death trap.

  Think Clive. What do I do?

  His mind returned to his fire safety training when he was the fire warden at his college dorm. Against an electrical fire, you wanted to cover it, remove the source of oxygen so that it would no longer burn.

  His brush moved to yellow instead. Yellow was the color of desert heat, scorching sun, and—

  [Paint: Yellow Sandstorm]

  Sand erupted from his brush stroke. Wave after wave of sand slammed into the burning paintings. Flames smothered under the weight. The sand kept coming, billowing across the walls, filling the air with grit. It poured over the fallen guards, insulating them from the sparking metal.

  Margaret coughed, shielding her face. "Can't breathe—"

  "Cover your mouths! Move to the walls!" Garrett's voice boomed through the chaos. He'd torn down a banner, using it to shield a group of nobles from the worst of the sand.

  The electricity in the air crackled once more, then died as sand insulated every surface. The fires went out section by section, leaving only smoke and the stench of burned oil paint.

  Lucia already had her potion kit out, moving between the fallen guards. She pressed a vial to one man's lips, checking his pulse with her other hand. "Three with electrical burns, one with a fractured skull, multiple with smoke inhalation."

  Through the windows, Clive saw the sky turned dark… In the middle of the day. Lightning flashed.

  Markus stood by his rescued painting, robes singed but intact. "He's baiting you."

  "I know."

  Lord Thornwald grabbed Clive's arm. "You don't have to, Clive, the Arcanum will handle this."

  Another lightning flash. Closer. The windows rattled. Clive looked around at the dead and injured around him. Margaret cradled her burned hands. Thomas sat against a wall, wheezing through smoke-damaged lungs.

  "Yes," Clive said, pulling free. "I do."

  He stepped over the broken glass from the chandelier. He had grown careless. He should have noticed the signs earlier, reacted before Sayid had a chance to cause this destruction. This was on him.

  He looked to Lucia. “Take care of everyone.”

  Lucia didn't look up from the guard she was treating. "Go. I’ve got this."

  Clive stepped through the doorway.

  Outside, Lightning fell like rain. The town’s fountain had exploded, turning water to steam. The iron gates glowed cherry-red, metal warping from repeated strikes.

  Above, something moved through the clouds. A bird made of lightning, wings of pure electricity spanning fifty feet. Each beat sent fresh bolts earthward. Where they struck, cobblestones exploded into gravel.

  Sayid stood in the center, arms raised like a conductor. The lightning bird circled overhead, tethered to him by crackling threads of power.

  "There you are, artist. I was starting to think you'd hide inside with the other cowards."

  The creature above screamed.

  Fire consumes, water drowns, earth buries—but lightning?

  Lightning reveals. It reveals what the wrath of heaven taste like.

  —The Thunder God Sid