Altaireon - Soul of the Storm

* 5★
* 6★
* Ascended

"A mighty storm is born in the wings of a butterfly.
Small as you are, you too can command the heavens."
## Active Skills

 5 | Desperate Strike [Two] -1   160 | 300% damage to 2 enemies. Usable only if the user's HP is at 50% or less. 400% damage if the user's HP is at 25% or less.

## Passive Skills

 5 | Sword Mastery | Can use weapon skills of Swords in addition to their original preferred weapon type.

## Profile

* Part 1
* Part 2
* Part 3
When the Primordial Dragon of Storm fell in the first battle with the Eternal, he died too quickly to choose his successor. Desperately, he let a portion of his power fly into the world, to choose and grow within whatever it might find. It was reckless. It could spell disaster if the power of the heavens landed in the wrong hands. But he had no other choice.

As it happened, a hatchling crawled out of his cave to hunt for scraps. He had been cast away from his brethren, too small and skittish to call himself a dragon. Had he hid a moment longer, he might have died a runt, forgotten and inconsequential. But that was not to be his fate.

Altaireon stepped beneath the open sky, and the power of the storm struck him like a bolt of lightning.

For many years, he resented and feared his new powers. He could barely control the thunder in his veins, and worse, he had done nothing to earn it. But after a century of fleeing the storms that dogged his steps, Altaireon decided he could run no more. Erden cried out for a savior to break the brutal cycle of the Pandemonium. He was not worthy to be that savior -- not yet. But he could become worthy. He owed it to the heavens that had gifted him their fury.

The young Legendary Dragon sharpened his claws and got to work.

Success did not come quickly. A storm resists taming by its very nature; if he isn't worthy, even a dragon will find himself at the mercy of the winds. After months of fruitless effort, Altaireon found a group of mortal monks living secluded in the mountains. Though they had no power of their own, and no assurance of immortality, they sought whatever perfection they could achieve in their lives. Some wrote poetry, others performed martial arts. Some only meditated from dusk until dawn, pondering the reason for existence. These were not the cowardly mortals Altaireon had seen rise since the fall of the dragons. These were a cut above the rest. In some ways, they were even more than him.

He humbly submitted himself to their teaching, and though he lived to see the youngest of them wither and die, he could not have mastered the tumult of the storm without them.

In the centuries to follow, Altaireon would push himself beyond what he ever thought possible. Armed with lightning and armored with wind, no enemy could stand against him. Battle became so trivial that he gave up walking the earth entirely, preferring to soar alone and undisturbed. He would only land for those he thought might pose a challenge. They very rarely did.

He does remember one, however. A mortal hunter, wild-eyed and thirsty for glory, who shot him down as he was circling a mountaintop. The two fought ferociously, and though Altaireon emerged the victor, the hunter dodged a bolt of lightning to deliver one last blow with his dagger. So impressed was the dragon that he gifted the hunter a small fraction of the storm, as he had once been gifted himself. He then bid the mortal to train himself and return only when he was certain he could take a Dragon Lord's life.

Altaireon doesn't know if the hunter will ever succeed in his task. It has been many years now, and he has heard nothing of him. But he suspects it won't be long.

The mortal heart doesn't easily give in.