The morning air in the Inazuma estate carried a crisp tension, a pressure that seemed to vibrate beneath every stone, every railing, and every tile. Rai sprinted across the terraces, boots striking polished stone with a rhythm like distant thunder. Lightning flickered across his arms in jagged arcs, tiny explosions that left faint scorch marks and sizzled in the damp air. The energy thrummed through him — raw, dangerous, untamed — and he clenched his fists, willing it to obey, willing it to respond to the intention he barely understood himself.
"Rai!" Master Toshiro's voice cut across the courtyard, sharp as a blade. "Focus! Control your power or you'll burn the terrace to the ground!"
Rai skidded to a halt, sparks snapping from his fingers. Shallow grooves scorched the stone beneath his boots. "I am focusing!" he protested, cheeks flushed, chest heaving from exertion. "See? Nothing—"
A sudden flicker of lightning leapt from his fingertips to a training dummy, splintering it into smoking pieces. Rai's grin faltered. Potential alone was impressive, but without control, it was nearly useless.
From the shadowed balcony above, Retsu watched silently. Arms folded, expression calm but calculating, he studied Rai with a cold precision that made the boy's skin crawl. Each uncontrolled spark, each erratic movement, amused him and frustrated him in equal measure. Retsu said nothing. Rai needed to fail to truly learn the cost of recklessness.
Rai's mother appeared shortly after, descending the stone steps with her robes brushing the floor. Her gaze swept across her son, eyes deep with worry and unspoken lessons. "Rai," she said softly, voice threading through the misty morning, "you cannot allow anger or excitement to guide your strength. Lightning is not just power… it is precision, discipline. It demands respect, or it will destroy you — and everything you love."
"I respect it!" Rai snapped, kicking at the terrace in frustration. Sparks leapt from his boots, cracking in the air. "I'm the Thunder Child! Isn't this supposed to be my power?"
Her lips tightened, eyes narrowing. "Potential means nothing without control. Even the mightiest storm will eventually fade if it has no direction."
For a moment, Rai's defiance faltered. He hated the endless rules, the constant emphasis on restraint. He wanted to feel the lightning scream through his veins without concern, without fear. But every uncontrolled surge reminded him of his weakness — and the ever-present shadow of his father's legacy.
Master Toshiro clapped his hands sharply, snapping Rai from his thoughts. "Enough! The Inazuma name is not a story you inherit; it is forged through discipline. Your father has maintained the peace of the Twelve Nations for fifty years — not by reckless energy, but through mastery, strategy, and wisdom. You are not yet ready to bear that burden."
Rai's stomach twisted. He had always revered his father, the legendary Raijin whose presence alone could turn the tide of battles and command the respect of kings. Even now, memories of lightning crackling along his father's blade during training sent shivers down his spine. But the memory also reminded him of the yawning chasm between what he could do and what he should do.
"Come," Toshiro barked. "We begin again."
For hours, Rai practiced. He ran circuits across terraces slick with morning dew, sparred with training dummies, and attempted to channel lightning into precise strikes. Each attempt left him exhausted, fingers singed, hair smoking, and sweat dripping down his temples. Sparks hissed and leapt across stone floors, igniting tiny arcs of fire.
"You are strong," Toshiro admitted finally, stepping back. "But strength without direction is a curse. Look beyond these walls — Karu's flames could incinerate villages in moments, Fuyu's ice could freeze rivers solid, Yami's shadows could strike unseen. The balance your father maintains is delicate. And you… you are far from ready to step into his place."
Rai clenched his fists, cheeks burning with anger. "Then I'll be ready! I'll get stronger!"
Toshiro's eyes remained unreadable. "Strength takes time, Thunder Child. Even Raijin, even your father, did not reach mastery in a day. Raw power sparks the flame, but struggle tempers it into a weapon worthy of legend."
As evening fell, Rai climbed to the highest rooftop, rain beginning to streak the tiles. Thunder rolled in the distance, a reminder that the sky itself seemed attuned to his unrest. He lifted his hands instinctively, arcs of lightning dancing across his skin, crackling in the air. The power within him was magnificent, but chaotic, uncontained, and impossible to control.
From the shadowed balcony above, Retsu's voice cut through the storm. "You think you can match your father's legacy? You are still a child, Rai. One misstep, and you will burn everything you touch."
Rai froze, sparks dancing between his fingers. For the first time, he truly saw it — the cold, calculating way his brother measured him, every motion deliberate, every glance a judgment. The realization gnawed at him. He had always been the loud, wild one, the boy who laughed on rooftops, who thrived on chaos. But now, he felt the weight of responsibility settle coldly across his shoulders.
The wind shifted, carrying distant sounds from the estate's edge — emissaries from neighboring nations arriving, subtle threats hidden in diplomatic words. Rai watched, heart hammering. The Inazuma name carried pride, yes, but it also carried the weight of the world. He was not prepared. Not yet.
Lightning flared along his arms again, uncontrolled, untamed, wild. And in that instant, Rai understood a simple, terrible truth: potential without mastery is nothing.
The Thunder Child was strong… but far from ready.