The wind had it out for me. I swear it did. My hoodie whipped around like it wanted to strangle me, and every loose strand of hair had a vendetta against my face. I was running through the city streets like a man possessed, or maybe just a sixteen-year-old trying to survive his own morning. Either way, I was moving fast, and the world had better keep up.
Cars honked. Dogs barked. Pedestrians stumbled aside as if my existence had the power to shift reality itself. Maybe it did. Maybe that was today's gift, or curse. Honestly, I could not tell yet.
I ducked under a flickering streetlight and cursed under my breath when my backpack swung too hard against my spine. That extra jolt was enough to make me almost face-plant into a pothole the size of a small pond. I leapt, legs flailing like a cartoon character, and landed with a triumphant, if ungraceful, thud. Victory! Sort of.
I glanced around. Everyone else was asleep or ignoring me. Perfect. I liked it better that way.
And then I saw it: the plaza near the park, abandoned, cracked tiles and a fountain that had long stopped gurgling, and… something else. A shard of stone hovered above the fountain, spinning slowly, glowing faintly. I stopped, squinting. That was not normal. I didn't know anyone who could make a shard of stone hover. Maybe some street magician? Nah. Too small, too real, too… alive.
I stepped closer.
And then the storm hit.
Not the usual city drizzle. Not the soft drizzle that made mornings smell like coffee. This was alive. Humming, buzzing, vibrating through my bones. My hair shot straight up. My hoodie clung to me like wet skin. I swear, for a second, I could feel every drop of rain, every gust of wind, every tiny particle of electricity prickling along my nerves.
"Fantastic," I said. "Completely normal day, completely normal life."
I touched the shard.
Lightning struck the fountain like it had been waiting centuries to do exactly that. The shard shot forward as if it had been magnetized to me. I jumped back, barely avoiding a collision with a piece of broken tile that tried to claim my knee. Hoodie ripped at the seam. Didn't care. Didn't have time to care. My chest was thrumming like it had mistaken itself for a drumline.
And then I heard footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, heavy, like someone was walking on the bones of the city itself. Cloaked figures, moving with purpose. Not street kids, not joggers, not cops. Something else. Something… older. Smarter. Dangerous.
I froze. The storm hummed, impatient. Almost… impatient with me. Like it knew I could not just stand there forever.
I did the first thing that came to mind: I raised my hands.
Wind snapped toward me. Rain lashed sideways. Dust, leaves, scraps of paper, even a stray newspaper, lifted into a chaotic tornado around me. The closest figure staggered. Lightning flashed, perfectly timed. I didn't even think; I just moved, reacted, felt.
And then a voice spoke. Not out loud. Not even from the storm itself. Inside my head, soft, amused, ancient:
"You feel it, don't you? The storm remembers you. And it hungers."
I froze. Not scared, more… confused. Excited. Awed. And completely terrified.
The cloaked figures vanished down an alley, leaving behind the smell of ozone and wet concrete. I sagged against the fountain, soaked, hair plastered to my face, hoodie ruined, heart hammering like a drumline on triple speed.
I laughed.
A full, crazy laugh that echoed through the empty plaza. "Fantastic," I said. "Storms, floating stones, cloaked watchers… totally normal day. Easy life. No problem."
Lie. Big one.
I ran. Had to. Streets blurred past me. Pedestrians jumped aside, muttering curses or my name, dogs barked, cars honked. I didn't care. I had to get somewhere familiar, somewhere I could think. Somewhere I could breathe without the air humming electricity directly into my veins.
The city gradually gave way to quieter neighbourhoods: small houses, tree-lined streets, calm roads. I slowed, finally allowing my hoodie to stick to me and the rain to soak in. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
Reflection in my bike's side mirror: green eyes wide with adrenaline, brown hair sticking up like I'd been attacked by a tornado, hoodie soaked and torn. Not my best look. Didn't matter. Today was bigger than appearances.
I crouched, did a few squats. Always helped. Power. Motion. Mind focused. Always helped. I rotated my neck, cracked my fingers, slapped my cheeks, trying to shake off the adrenaline that refused to stop buzzing through me.
The storm hummed louder. My pulse synced with it. I could feel it in my fingers, my toes, even my hair. Something was happening to me. Something big. And I had no idea what rules applied anymore.
My mind wandered, as it tends to when chaos hits: ruined house, abandoned village, parents long gone, the usual. Forgotten. Invisible. Until now.
And then… I smiled.
Because this? This was my life now. Marked by a storm. Chosen. Something new. Something terrifying. Something exhilarating.
I ran again, faster this time, feeling the wind respond to me. Not fully. Not intentionally. But it listened. The shards of debris spun around me, leaves danced in perfect arcs, and the clouds above twisted, jagged, alive.
The city noticed, too. Cars swerved. Pedestrians gawked. A dog barked. I nearly laughed. Perfect chaos.
And I wasn't alone.
They're coming.
Drokmar. The guy is basically a walking landslide. Muscles like mountain roots, skin like it was carved out of the cliffs themselves. If he ever punches the ground, I swear an entire city might fall into the cracks. He doesn't talk much. Just stands there, watching, waiting, like the world's some slow puzzle that will solve itself when he decides to move.
Aurelius. The man with too many thoughts and not enough emotions. Cold. Precise. The kind of guy who doesn't make mistakes, because he plans them, too. I have heard the rumours; he can literally mess with time in short bursts. Freezes you mid-blink, shifts a second, and when you open your eyes again, your army's gone. I would call it impossible, but then again, my life's been anything but normal lately.
Lyren. Shadows listen when she walks. Nobody knows where she's from, or why she fights, just that she does it better than anyone. She is fast. Quiet. Dangerous in a way that makes you want to step back and still stare. They say she is loyal to nothing and no one, but I think it's worse than that , I think she is loyal to something she is already lost.
And then there is Varok.The Iron Prince. Beautiful. Deadly. Smiles like he's already won. He doesn't want a throne, he wants forever. And the messed-up part? Somehow, I already know that forever includes me.
The storm pulsed around me in agreement. Alive. Claiming me. Marking me. Not hiding me anymore.
I pushed off my bike, landing lightly, testing the wind with a flick of my fingers. A small gust spun a newspaper across the street. Funny. Dangerous. Amazing. My heart raced.
The cloaked figure watching from a high balcony, yes, I noticed him this time, vanished before I could blink. Perfect. Just my luck.
I sprinted again, twisting around corners, testing every shred of energy that surged through me. Pedestrians screamed, cars screeched, dogs barked, and I laughed. Wildly. No apologies. No regrets. The storm had chosen me, and I was not running from it. Not anymore.
I ducked under a street sign, narrowly avoiding an old woman walking her dog. "Sorry!" I shouted. She scowled. Dogs barked. Perfect chaos.
I thought about the storm's words. "It remembers you."
Funny. I barely remembered myself sometimes. Forgotten son. Invisible. Until now.
I pushed myself into a full sprint, letting the storm hum through me, my pulse synced, my thoughts racing. I felt alive in a way I'd never felt before. And somewhere in the city, my companions, or their warnings, were drawing closer.
The storm had marked me.
And Kaelion Stormborn? Well… Kaelion Stormborn was not going to be ignored anymore.