Raizen woke before the sun fully touched the valley, the faint chill of morning brushing against his skin. The forest beyond the ridge was quiet, the mist curling like smoke among the pine trunks. In the village below, smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, the soft hum of life stirring—but Raizen's mind was elsewhere.
His fingers twitched. Sparks danced briefly, wild and chaotic. He flexed his hands, trying to focus them into shape, but they sputtered and fizzled.
Why can't I control it? he thought. Why does it happen when I'm in dire situations… and nowhere else?
Last night, he had almost died. The wolf—twisted, corrupted—had lunged for him with jaws wide and claws poised. Every instinct screamed that he would be shredded in an instant. And yet… something had surged through him, something he didn't understand, something he didn't even know was there. The beast had faltered, writhing as if repelled by an unseen force. His lightning had struck perfectly, though he had not aimed consciously.
He had survived. But not by skill. Not by lightning alone.
What… what was that?
Raizen shook his head, frustration and awe mingling in his chest. He had no name for the feeling. No understanding. Only that it had saved him. And he hated that he did not know how to summon it again.
He descended the ridge slowly, dragging his gaze over the village below. Villagers were starting to emerge, cautious and whispering. Some eyed him with awe; others with fear.
"That's him. I heard he killed an abyssal beast"
"Just what kind of monster is he?"
"I can't believe we live in the same village as someone like him. I'm afraid of sleeping this days."
"That kid will only bring destruction to the village"
"Kids don't look at him. Keep your distance"
Raizen had heard such whispers before. Always. They had followed him since childhood—an orphaned boy with sparks in his hands and no master to guide him. But now they seemed louder, heavier, as though the village itself had felt the tremor of his unknown power.
'They don't understand. I barely understand it myself.'
He remembered the wolf's red eyes, the corruption pulsing beneath its fur. He remembered the sudden clarity, the way the beast faltered and how his lightning had struck true without conscious thought. Something had answered when he needed it. And it had been him. And yet, it hadn't.
I don't know what I am capable of… not really.
---
Later that morning, Raizen slipped behind the ridge into a quiet clearing. Moss-covered stones made a soft seat; sunlight barely broke through the thick canopy. He sat, hands outstretched, and sparks flickered nervously.
Focus. Just focus.
The lightning obeyed, but only partially, wild and unruly, arcs splitting and dying in the air. Frustration heated his chest. Each failed attempt left him exhausted, sweat beading along his temples.
It almost felt as if it was teasing him. No matter how hard he tried all he got was a few sparks of electricity.
He sighed dejectedly. He shut his eyes and remembered the wolf again. That moment of instinctive power. It had been… almost like something else had guided him.
Is that what strength feels like?
The thought made him shiver. He had always imagined strength as control, as fire blazing under his command. But that… that was different. Unpredictable. Dangerous. And yet it had saved him.
Maybe… maybe I'll understand it one day.
For now, it was a mystery. A power beyond comprehension. A force that lived somewhere deep inside him, waiting to emerge when the world demanded it.
Raizen leaned back against a tree trunk, watching sunlight dance through the leaves.
The wind carried the scent of pine, dirt, and the faint metallic tang of Enerugī lingering in the soil. He thought of his parents—or the fragments of memory he had been told. A storm, a cradle half-buried, an orphan left behind.
Was it fate? Or just chance?
He clenched his fists, sparks leaping between his fingers. His small victories—survival, control over the wolf, fleeting glimpses of power—felt hollow without understanding. He had no teacher, no guidance, no one to tell him what he was or what he could become.
And yet… he was alive. And the spark in him refused to die.
"I have to see more than this valley. I have to know what I am."
The words were not just a wish. They were a quiet promise.
---
Night crept over the valley again. Raizen returned to the ridge, sitting cross-legged, fingertips sparking as he tried to force the lightning to obey. Arcs flared, fizzled, and died back to earth—but each attempt brought subtle progress, hints of control.
The wolf's image haunted him still. He could almost feel the pull of that mysterious power that had answered him, faint and elusive. He didn't know what it was. Didn't know why it had chosen to act when he had been in danger.
And yet… he trusted it.
In the forest beyond the ridge, shadows stirred. Eyes gleamed faintly, unseen but watching. Cloaked and silent, observed the boy with a quiet, unreadable expression.
Unaware of the eyes gazing at him from the shadows, Raizen sat there, gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in thought.
He had heard stories about the world outside his village. How magnificent and beautiful it was. He longed for it. Unlike the other children he wasn't satisfied with being confined to the village, he hungered for more. For an adventure. That night he made a promise to himself.
I will leave this place one day.
I will walk the road no one else dares.
And I will see the world.
The wind carried a faint, almost human laugh, as if the forests themselves had heard his promise.
The journey had begun.
....
Throw me some Stones!