That night, Shin sat on the edge of a quiet ridge overlooking the lake. The air was warm. It was still, in a way that reminded him of the day before he was summoned to the Wind Tower. The day before everything had changed.
And for the briefest of moments, his heart wavered; Was it really the right thing to do? To come here, to the other side of the Atlantic, where the equatorial sun erased the shadows of home, all while not even fully mastering his abilities first?
He shook his head. How foolish. Lightning was not going to wait forever. Besides, fortune favored the bold. There was no reason to delay this trip, let alone when delaying it once could result in not doing it at all—and Shin was not one to accept that.
His eyes drifted toward the clouds—each thick and as dark as the coming of the storm. The color was one thing, but Shin could nearly sense their weight. A heavy, motionless mass that even made Shin imagine they were on the verge of falling onto the earth. Before the thought could even converge in his mind, something in them pulsed faintly, like a rhythm.
It was not thunder. Not really.
But something close.
The silence felt eerie. It was strangling, yet it was not empty. Like electric waves through a microphone, it carried everything from the faint chirp of insects hidden in the grass to the distant slap of water against the docks. Each sound seemed sharper against the pause, as if the world was holding back something larger. Even the mosquitoes felt cautious, circling but never landing, as though the air itself warned them away. He put the thought away and went to sleep.
But the strange weather continued for the days to come. At first, it was subtle. The clouds lingered longer, and lightning cracked in the distance more often, but it never came with thunder. Animals began avoiding certain ridges, and even birds flew lower than they used to.
By the fifth evening, the wind carried something new. The air tasted sharp—metallic, and dry at the back of the throat. Shin narrowed his eyes toward the mountain ridge, feeling the air pressure in his chest. This wasn't just weather. It was something older, thicker, and unnervingly familiar.
He adjusted his jacket and made his way down a narrow side road into the nearest village. A small pub sat nestled under a canopy of old trees and flickering neon—the kind of place tourists walked past but locals returned to out of habit.
He didn't enjoy pubs. Too many smells. Too much noise. But they were perfect for one thing: stories.
Inside, the pub was dim, filled with the static hum of an old speaker and the lazy rhythm of a local guitar loop. He took a stool at the end of the bar—not hidden, but quiet—and ordered a beer without looking up. A few glances landed on him, but none stuck. He was just another foreigner with tired eyes and no genuine interest in the world around him.
Good.
He listened. Three older men sat in the corner, voices lowered over half-finished beers. One pointed toward the hills. "Saw it cracked," the man said, shaking his head. "I swear. There was no sound, but it lit up like God himself was angry."
Shin's ears sharpened.
The man leaned forward, gesturing vaguely with his cup. "If you don't believe me, just ask Donny. His dog refused to move the whole morning after. Wouldn't even leave the kennel."
"Probably because they saw your face," the third man snorted, and the rest burst out laughing. Another one tried to tell another joke, but the first man brushed him off. "Nah, man, it was not some normal thunder, I tell you. "It was some weird white arc—like a blade drawn across the sky. It wasn't just about the rain; the clouds frickin' opened. I swear on my great grandma's life."
Shin waited a moment before coming over. Then spoke softly: "Where?" The men looked at him—slightly surprised he'd been listening. "Alto Norte," the first said. "Cliff edge, past the second quarry. Don't bother, though. It's just scorched dirt now."
Shin nodded. "Thanks." That was all he needed. The road out was narrow and broken, lined with cane fields that rustled without wind. He climbed there just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. He felt the moon even as it was hidden behind the clouds. It watched silently from above, as if curious about the little man trying to catch the sky.
Every few steps, he paused. The rocks scraped underfoot with a sound that felt too loud against the charged silence. Each pause let him taste the air again—always the same: dry metal, waiting.
The further he went, the more the air pressed against him. Not with weight—but with presence. The wind wasn't random anymore. It bent in deliberate patterns, like threads pulled through a loom.
He stopped once, crouched at a ridge, and placed his palm on the stone. It was faint, but it was there—a massive amount of Divine Power, unlike anything he had sensed before. Not flowing—not wild like fire or explosive like lightning—but settled. Pressurized.
Something had left its mark here.
By the time the stars began to scatter overhead, the resonance was unmistakable. Shin moved with care, his footfalls nearly silent. He passed a ridge of moss-covered stones, slipped between two vine-covered columns of fractured rock—
And the sky opened.
There was no thunder or rush of wind, yet the impact was just as grand. The light that was emitted was anything but natural. It was a tear in the cloud layer—thin, sharp, and perfectly silent. And from it, a structure began to descend.
For a moment, it looked like a temple carved from light, then like a machine, then like neither—its form shifting as though undecided. Angles bent where no geometry should hold. Each edge caught moonlight and broke it, scattering strange reflections across the ridge.
It didn't fall, nor hover. It unfolded, lowering as though reality itself had accepted its presence. And for a moment, the world beneath seemed to tilt as though gravity itself leaned to make space.
Shin stopped before its gate. In front, a brand new tower awaited. He stood unmoving on the hilltop—his breath caught, but his heart was racing once more. A familiar sense spread through his body.
Not fear.
Nor awe.
Something much worse.
Excitement.