That night, sleep didn't come easily.
Thunder grumbled beyond the mountains as rain tapped gently on the roof. Auron turned in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the sparks in his hands… and the look in his father's eyes when the villagers whispered behind his back.
But eventually, he drifted off — and when he did, the world fell away.
He stood in darkness.
A sky of stars spun overhead, faster than it should, as if time itself were being rewound. Beneath him, a glowing circle pulsed like a heartbeat — carved with ancient runes. And ahead, rising from stone… was his lightning sword.
Whole. Pure. Glowing blue with power.
Auron stepped toward it, drawn by instinct.
As he reached for the hilt, a voice echoed from behind.
"So, you remember."
A man stepped forward — tall, cloaked in white armor that shimmered with stormlight. His eyes burned with blue fire, and his voice was both strange and… familiar.
"You've walked this path before," the man said. "But now, you walk it with new legs. A new life. A new chance."
"Who are you?" Auron asked.
"I was once what you are now becoming."
The man gestured to the blade.
"This sword is a part of you. A shard of your soul. It was broken when you fell… but pieces remain. Hidden. Sleeping."
"You must find them."
Auron's hand touched the blade.
Suddenly, energy poured through him — memories, flashes of war, of skies torn by lightning, of a demon's roar.
He cried out.
"Control it," the man said firmly. "Or it will consume you again."
Auron gritted his teeth and focused.
The light stabilized.
Then the man faded, his voice lingering in the void:
"You are not alone, Auron. But you must awaken the storm within — before it's too late."
He awoke with a start.
The bedsheets were scorched. His palm still glowed faintly.
The blade was calling.
And he was finally beginning to answer.