The alley was quiet, but Eryndor's senses buzzed with a new energy. The faint electric hum along his fingers and the whisper of wind around his feet felt like an extension of his own body. He flexed his hands, testing control, letting tiny threads of lightning flicker between his fingers. Lightning Thread.
Lyanna watched him from a few steps away, arms crossed but leaning forward slightly, curiosity bright in her eyes. "Be careful," she warned, though there was an unmistakable spark of excitement in her tone. "I don't want to have to patch you up before the real fight even begins."
Eryndor smirked, letting a short, controlled arc leap to a nearby wall, cracking the stone slightly. "Relax," he said, voice dripping arrogance, "this is nothing."
He stepped back and exhaled, focusing on the wind. With a subtle shift, a soft gust lifted his coat and nudged him forward. He pushed off lightly, combining the Pulse Step with the wind's subtle push, sliding across the alley floor in near silence. Lyanna's eyes widened, and she clapped her hands softly.
"That was… incredible!" she said. "You're like a shadow, moving faster than I can follow!"
Encouraged, Eryndor raised a hand, letting the Lightning Thread dance in the air, forming delicate arcs that flickered like living spiders. He experimented, letting threads weave between his fingers, then shot a short burst across the alley, touching the metal grate above them. A spark jumped along the iron, crackling.
"Okay," he muttered, grinning, "this is going to be fun."
Lyanna stepped closer, her hands brushing his arm lightly. "Just… don't get too carried away," she teased. "We still don't know who that cloaked figure really is."
Eryndor leaned back slightly, letting the wind swirl around him, lifting small debris and sending tiny sparks flickering along the stones. "I know," he said softly, almost to himself. "But now, I have an edge."
For the first time, he felt it—not just the thrill of awakening his magic, but the thrill of possibility. Each thread of lightning, each pulse of wind was a tool, a weapon, a promise. And Lyanna's presence, steady and close, made him feel sharper, faster, more alive.
A shadow shifted in the distance—subtle, but enough to remind him. The cloaked figure had not gone. Eryndor's smirk returned, this time with a hint of ferocity. "Then let's see how this goes," he murmured, fingers sparking.
He was no longer just a boy with martial skill. He was the storm awakening.