When Aizen woke, the world was quiet.
The skies above had returned to a pale gray, washed clean by rain. Droplets slid gently down leaves and rocks, glimmering like teardrops under the soft morning light. His body ached, his limbs numb. For a moment, he didn't move. He just lay there, his fingers sunk into the cold, wet dirt.
His mind replayed the visions—the lightning in the clouds, the scream that tore from his throat, the fire in his blood.
Was it a dream?
No. Something inside him had changed.
He sat up slowly, clutching his side as pain flared in his ribs. His torn cloak hung damp over his shoulders. He looked around. The ruined field where his village once stood was gone from sight. He had somehow stumbled deeper into the forest during the storm.
> "Where… am I?"
He barely recognized his own voice—dry, cracked, and trembling.
Around him stretched an unfamiliar forest. The trees were tall and ancient, their trunks thick with moss, their branches forming a canopy that let only soft rays of light through. Wildflowers of strange colors bloomed at their roots—glowing faintly with an ethereal shimmer. The wind here was gentler, warmer, as if the forest itself was alive and watching.
Aizen dragged himself to his feet, wincing. His ears flicked at every rustle, and his tail twitched nervously. Despite the peacefulness of the forest, something deep in his gut told him he wasn't alone.
> Stay alert… That's what Father used to say.
As he limped forward, memories came back to him in flashes—his mother singing to him, his father training in the clearing, the laughter of the other children, and then… the fire, the screams, the dragon's roar.
A sudden wave of nausea hit him.
He stumbled to a nearby tree and dropped to his knees again, breathing heavily. His body wasn't just weak. It was changing.
He could feel it now—small sparks dancing beneath his skin. His blood felt hotter, heavier, like something ancient was awakening.
> "Am I… cursed?"
No. It didn't feel like a curse. It felt like… a call.
As the wind brushed past again, it carried something strange this time—a whisper. Faint. Almost a memory.
> "You are the blood of the storm… the fang of thunder…"
Aizen froze. He looked around, heart pounding. The voice hadn't come from outside.
It came from within.
His pulse raced as he placed his palm against his chest. It beat loud and heavy… and then—crack—a sudden bolt of electricity arced from his fingers to the ground. He flinched, falling back in shock.
He stared at his hand.
It tingled. Small sparks still danced between his fingertips. He had never used magic before—beastmen like him were rarely taught such things. The elders always said their power was "buried deep" and "dangerous to awaken."
But something inside him had awakened on its own.
> "Is this… who I really am?"
A storm beast. A Black Lion with the blood of thunder?
He didn't understand it yet. But a quiet determination was beginning to form within him—like thunderclouds gathering in the distance.
He stood again.
His knees still shook, but this time, his eyes were steady. The fear hadn't left him—but it no longer ruled him.
> "I need answers."
> "I need to survive."
> "And I need to get stronger…"
---
As the sun began to rise higher above the treetops, Aizen stumbled deeper into the forest. He would need food. Shelter. A plan. But more than anything…
He needed to know why the Dragonkin had come for his people.
And what this storm inside him really was.
Far above, hidden behind clouds, a pair of golden eyes watched from the skies—wings spread wide. The presence vanished in a flash of light, leaving only silence behind.
Unaware of the dangerous world ahead, the boy walked forward, guided only by pain, lightning, and the last embers of hope.
---
End of Chapter 2