HEIR OF LIGHTNING: KING OF THE STORM

“Huh… that same dream again. Who is that man?” Daniel’s voice trembled in the stillness of the room. He sat up slowly, breath uneven, sweat running down his temples. His chest rose and fell like he had been running for his life. For a moment, all he could hear was the faint roll of thunder echoing inside his mind, as if the storm had followed him out of sleep. He pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. The images were still there: flashes of blinding light, roaring skies, a man made of storms standing at the edge of creation. Each night it came, and each time it left his heart pounding and his body soaked in cold sweat. Morning sunlight crept through the small cracks in his wooden window. The light fell across the worn floorboards, golden and soft, chasing away the shadows of the night. He stared at it for a long time, trying to let the warmth settle his nerves. His hands were still shaking slightly. He muttered to himself, “Maybe I should stop eating late-night stew.” It was a weak joke, one he had repeated too many times, and even he did not believe it anymore. Deep inside, Daniel knew this dream was not just some random trick of the mind. It felt too real. The way the air vibrated, the way the lightning burned, the way that voice echoed like it came from the beginning of time itself. Every detail felt alive. He looked at his palms. They felt warm, like the echo of something powerful still clung to his skin. Then the world around him began to fade. The scent of bread baking somewhere in the village disappeared. The gentle hum of morning birds fell silent. The floor beneath his feet dissolved into nothing. His breath caught. And then he was there again. --- The cosmos burned before him. It was not a dream. It was a memory that was not his. Stars were being born and destroyed in an endless dance. Planets cracked apart like fragile shells. Waves of energy rippled through the dark, colliding and twisting until they formed rivers of color that no mortal eye could describe. In that storm of creation stood giants. Not men, not gods, but something far older. They were the Primordials, beings whose emotions became the laws of existence. At the center of it all stood the one Daniel had seen since childhood. The man of lightning. His entire being shone like a storm given form. Lightning crawled across his body, weaving through his veins like living fire. His eyes burned with blue-white fury, and every time he moved, the void itself seemed to breathe. Daniel could not move. He hung in nothingness, a silent witness to something beyond his world. The man’s voice rose, thunder that shook the foundations of eternity. “Enough! Must the children of creation always destroy what they were meant to protect?” The other Primordials answered. One was clothed in crimson flames that burned without heat. Another carried a crown of ice, her presence freezing the light around her. Shadows wrapped another like a second skin, his gaze sharp as blades. Time itself shimmered beside them, a being whose every step rewrote reality. They stood as one against the lightning. “You have gone too far, Arkarion,” said the Primordial of Flame, his voice both fierce and sorrowful. “The lightning consumes everything. You will unmake the very order we forged.” Arkarion lifted his gaze, calm and terrible. “It does not consume,” he said. “It creates. Lightning is life. It is the pulse that began all things. Without it, creation would have never breathed.” The others tensed. The space between them crackled with unseen tension. Then their powers collided. Flame struck lightning. Darkness tore through light. Time splintered. Galaxies screamed as they were pulled apart. Each clash created and destroyed worlds in an instant. Daniel watched helplessly as entire universes were born from their fury. The sight was too much for his human mind to hold. His vision wavered, but something deep in his soul felt drawn to the storm, as if it was calling to him. Then Arkarion turned. His gaze fell upon Daniel, cutting through the chaos of gods. For the first time, the storm spoke to him. “You… carry my spark.” Daniel’s body convulsed. The words were not sound; they were energy. They pierced him, filled him, and for a heartbeat, he saw it: the first moment of existence, the birth of light in endless darkness. He screamed. The pain was unbearable. His vision burned white. Arkarion raised his arms as the other Primordials closed in. “You cannot bind what was never born!” his voice roared. The explosion that followed consumed everything. Light devoured shadow. Time fractured. Daniel’s consciousness was torn apart. Then silence. --- He woke with a violent gasp. The dream shattered. He was back in his small room. The morning light still spilled across the floor. His chest ached as he dragged air into his lungs. For a few seconds, he could not tell if he was awake or still trapped in that cosmic storm. He looked down at his hands and froze. Faint arcs of light danced between his fingers, flickering like tiny veins of lightning. They lasted only a moment, then vanished into nothing. Daniel stared at his palm, his pulse racing. “What was that?” He rubbed his hands together, half expecting to feel warmth, but there was nothing now. Just skin. A sudden knock made him jump. “Daniel! You’ll be late for the Awakening!” a familiar voice called from outside. It was Rio, his oldest friend, always loud and impatient. Daniel blinked, still dazed. “Yeah, I’m coming!” He took a deep breath, pushed himself to his feet, and looked around his room. It was not much: a narrow bed, a cracked mirror, a shelf filled with worn books and a few strange stones he had collected near the cliffs. The wind from the window brushed across his face, cool and clean. He tried to shake off the heaviness in his chest. The Awakening. Every youth in the village looked forward to that day. It was when the elders would test their life force and awaken any dormant essence within them. Some would gain elemental affinity—fire, water, earth, or wind—and a few rare ones might touch light or shadow. Daniel had dreamed of this day since he was a child. But right now, part of him was terrified. After what he had just seen, what if something else awakened inside him? He walked to the small basin near the window and splashed cold water on his face. The reflection that looked back at him was ordinary: messy dark hair, sharp eyes, the faint trace of sleepless nights beneath them. Nothing divine about that. He forced a smile. “Just a dream. That’s all.” But when he glanced at his hands again, he could still almost see the faint shimmer of energy crawling beneath his skin. He grabbed his cloak and stepped outside. The morning air greeted him with the smell of wet grass and wood smoke. The village of Halem stretched before him, quiet and peaceful. Houses of timber and stone lined the dirt path. The distant hills glowed under the rising sun. Rio stood near the gate, waving his arms. “You’re finally alive! What took you so long?” Daniel jogged over, trying to act normal. “Just overslept.” Rio laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You? The one who never misses morning chores? Something’s fishy.” “Yeah, yeah,” Daniel muttered, trying to hide his unease. They walked together toward the village square, where the Awakening would take place. People were already gathering, parents whispering prayers, children trembling with excitement. Daniel tried to focus on their laughter and on the sound of drums echoing from the temple ahead. He told himself he was fine. But as the wind passed by, something strange happened. The air shifted. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but Daniel felt it, like the world itself took a deep breath. And in that breath, a whisper brushed against his mind. “The storm never dies. It only sleeps.” Daniel froze. The words were soft, ancient, and frighteningly familiar. Rio noticed him stop. “Hey, you good?” Daniel forced a shaky smile. “Yeah. Just wind in my ear.” Rio shrugged and kept walking. But Daniel knew it wasn’t the wind. Something inside him had awakened. Something that had been waiting, sleeping, for a very long time. And as he looked up at the clouds gathering faintly over the horizon, a chill ran down his spine. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw lightning flash across the clear blue sky. And it wasn’t from the storm. It was from him.