After midterms, on a perfect day, Li Chen and his friends planned to trek. That day, the sky was so clear, the sky's blue colour stretched endlessly over the mountain range.
They treated it like a festival. Someone climbed onto a rock for a dramatic pose, and another crouched to photograph beautiful wildflowers. The group moved in loose clusters, with temporary freedom.
Li Chen walked several steps behind them.
Li Chen, son of a famous businessman, loves to learn new things and observes every subtle moment. Here, he started to notice small details.
Along the mountainside, the trail curved upward. Far below, a river traced between trees. Li Chen paused to watch the current fold around rocks. He took a small breath of satisfaction.
By late afternoon, the atmosphere started to change, but no one saw the sudden change in the weather. But Li Chen observed the change and warned his friends about the upcoming storm.
All of a sudden, the blue sky filled with dark clouds. Someone at the front glanced upward and forced a laugh. The tone carried a trace of unease. They head back to descend the mountain.
Li Chen slowed; he turned his head toward the sky. The pressure in the air increased slightly. Something in the clouds unsettled him. They were forming too quickly.
The first drop of rain struck his forearm like a cold coin.
Then another.
Within moments, restraint vanished.
The rain crashed down immediately and violently; the change was so abnormal. Within seconds, their path was covered with mud.
Li Chen and his friends moved forward, eyes narrowed against the water streaming into them. Their backpacks grew heavier as the fabric absorbed the moisture.
A sudden gust tore through the trees with enough force to stagger Li Chen. He moved sideways, struggling to walk. But he slid when he stepped on the mud, sending him toward a cluster of rocks. He caught himself against a tree trunk when skidding, the tree's bark scraping his palm. Finally, he managed to save himself.
When he reached the return way, his heart stopped. There was no one ahead. The air with dust covered the visibility. He saw the landmarks he observed when ascending the mountain and followed them.
In the way, he called out. But the sound felt thin and fragile, dominated by the air. He tried again, this time louder, but no use. His clothes were completely soaked, clinging cold against his skin. His vision blurred.
On the opposite slope, beyond the curve of the hill, his friends were discovering the absence of Li Chen.
At first, there was confusion. Someone turned to speak and found space behind them. Another assumed, as usual, he had slowed down again.
Rain hammered down, obscuring distance. Flashlights were switched on despite the daylight, their beams trembling in the storm.
They called his name repeatedly, voices straining against wind and thunder. The sound did not travel far. Fear crept into their expressions, tightening jaws and widening eyes. The storm made even familiar faces look unfamiliar, distorted by streaks of rain and flickering light.
Against better judgment, they split into smaller groups, convinced that speed outweighed safety. Each cluster disappeared into a different direction of the forest, beams of light scattering like fragile threads in the darkening landscape.
Lightning tore across the sky again, illuminating the mountainside in stark monochrome. For an instant, the entire forest seemed skeletal and exposed. Then darkness reclaimed it.
Between two hills, separated by distance and roaring wind, both sides searched.
One side called out in growing panic.
The other stood still, drenched and silent, listening to a storm that showed no intention of mercy.
The rain thickened, and Li Chen forced himself forward, boots splashing through shallow streams forming along the slope. He no longer tried to follow the original trail. It had dissolved completely. He needed shelter—any natural barrier that could weaken the assault of wind and rain.
Branches lashed against his shoulders as he pushed through undergrowth. Water streamed into his eyes, blurring his vision until the world became a distortion of dark trunks and pale flashes. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the relief lasted only seconds before the rain covered it again. His breathing grew uneven, heavier with each stride. Cold air burned his lungs. His soaked clothes clung tightly, dragging at his movement.
A crack of thunder rolled across the mountains; it was closer and sharper. The ground vibrated faintly beneath his feet.
Through the rain, he spotted something ahead—a large tree with a trunk thick enough to require two people to encircle it. Behind it, partially shielded by its massive roots, stood a protruding rock formation. It was offered partial cover from direct wind. The sight makes an urgency in his limbs.
He angled toward it, slipping once but catching himself before falling fully. Mud splattered across his hands. He ignored it and pressed on. Each step required conscious effort; the storm resisted him like an unseen force pushing back.
When he reached the tree, he moved around its trunk, aiming for the rock behind it. The bark was rough beneath his palm as he used it for balance.
Then thunder roared directly overhead.
Above him.
For a split second, the forest transformed. The rain seemed suspended mid-fall. Even the sound of his own breath disappeared. The silence was unnatural, absolute, as though the world had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
A sharp tingling crawled across his skin, starting from his spine and spreading outward. His hair lifted slightly. The air felt charged and suffocating. Time stretched thin, fragile.
He looked up.
A blinding white light tore through the sky.
It did not resemble ordinary lightning from a distance. This was direct, immediate, descending in a vertical line of violent brilliance. The world fractured into pure radiance. His vision collapsed into white.
The impact followed instantly.
A deafening crack split through everything—air, earth, thought. The force slammed into him with catastrophic precision. Heat beyond comprehension invaded his body. It was not merely pain; it was annihilation compressed into a single moment. His jaw locked. His scream formed but never escaped.
Energy coursed through him like liquid fire, burning from crown to sole in an unbroken surge. His limbs refused command. The ground rushed upward as strength vanished completely.
Darkness consumed the white.
Rain continued its relentless descent, indifferent to what had occurred beneath the tree. Water struck his motionless body, pooling around him, mixing with mud. Faint smoke curled upward from torn fabric where the lightning had struck, threads blackened and edges melted irregularly.
The bark of the massive tree bore a fresh scar, charred and splintered where the current had travelled before grounding.
The storm raged on, as though the strike had been merely another expression of its power. Thunder rolled repeatedly across the mountains. Wind tore leaves free and scattered them across the soaked earth.
Hours passed in turbulence.
Eventually, the wind weakened into occasional gusts. Rain softened from sheets into steady drops, then into scattered remnants. Clouds thinned slowly, revealing patches of pale sky beyond.
By the time the final droplets fell from the canopy, the mountain had regained an eerie stillness.
After a few hours.
"Li Chen! Wake up!"
The voice seemed distant at first, distorted as though travelling through water. Something shook his shoulder. The sensation was dull, heavy. Another voice overlapped the first, urgent but no longer panicked.
He felt pressure against his arm again. A hand gripping and pulling. His eyelids resisted movement, weighed down. With effort, he forced them open.
Blurred faces hovered above him, outlines shifting as his vision struggled to focus. Sunlight filtered between them, bright and steady. The sky beyond was clear, an uninterrupted blue, devoid of storm.
"Are you crazy? We've been trying to wake you for so long!"
"You scared us to death!"
Their expressions were tense but controlled. The earlier terror had receded, replaced by exasperation and lingering shock. The forest appeared almost ordinary, washed clean.
Li Chen blinked slowly, his breath shallow but steady.
His body did not hurt. That was strange.
Li Chen's hand rose slowly to his face.
His fingers traced along his cheek, his jaw, and his nose. The skin was smooth. He pressed harder, half-expecting a delayed surge of pain. Nothing followed. Only the faint chill left behind by dried rainwater.
He flexed his arms carefully. The joints responded without resistance. He rotated his shoulders. Lifted his legs slightly. Every movement felt ordinary.
The fabric of his jacket was torn along the side, blackened threads curling at the edges. Mud stained his sleeves. A faint smoky odour lingered around him, subtle but unmistakable. Yet beneath the ruined clothing, his skin was intact.
Was it possible he had imagined it?
The storm had been violent. Fear could distort perception.
But the memory rose immediately, vivid and precise. The descending white beam. The suffocating silence before impact. The agony that had erased thought. That sensation could not be fabricated.
He pushed himself upright with assistance from his friends. Their faces held relief now, mixed with irritation that often follows fear once danger passes.
He forced his lips into a small, controlled smile. "I'm fine."
They accepted the explanation because it was easier than confronting alternatives. The mountain had already taken enough from the day. They did not need something impossible layered on top.
Li Chen said nothing more.
The group began their descent cautiously. The trail was slick but manageable under clear skies. Conversation gradually returned, first tentative, then animated. Someone exaggerated the moment they realized he was missing. Another teased him about collapsing so dramatically that they thought he had decided to nap mid-disaster.
Laughter followed.
Li Chen walked among them, quiet as before. Mud clung to his boots with each step. His gaze remained forward, unfocused.
Inside his mind, the lightning replayed in relentless detail.
The silence before the strike. The charge in the air. The unbearable heat is travelling through his veins. It resurfaced again and again, not fading like ordinary memory but sharpening.
Something beneath his thoughts felt altered—subtle yet undeniable. His body responded normally, yet a faint undercurrent pulsed through him, difficult to define.
The next day, the alarm rang abruptly, shrill and insistent.
He was submerged in deep sleep, heavy and dreamless. Irritation surfaced before awareness fully returned. Without opening his eyes, he swung his hand toward the sound, intending to silence it with habitual precision.
His palm struck the clock.
A sharp crack split through the quiet room.
The ringing stopped immediately.
Silence followed, thicker than expected.
Li Chen's eyes opened slowly.
Fragments of plastic lay scattered across the wooden table. The digital display was dark, its casing split apart as though struck by a force far beyond casual impact. Beneath it, the surface of the desk bore a fresh fracture—wood split in a jagged line extending outward.
He remained still. His hand hovered in midair, fingers slightly curled.
He replayed the motion in his mind. It had been careless, annoyed at most. He had not swung with strength. The contact should have shifted the clock, perhaps knocked it to the floor. It should not have destroyed it.
He lowered his hand cautiously, examining his palm. The fracture in the wood remained undeniable. His heartbeat accelerated.
Later that afternoon, seated at his desk with textbooks open, he attempted to impose normalcy.
"It's nothing," he muttered under his breath.
He picked up his pen.
The plastic felt ordinary between his fingers. He positioned it above the notebook and applied slight pressure to begin writing. The tip touched paper.
Snap.
The sound was clean and abrupt. The pen separated into two halves, the break smooth as though cut rather than fractured. Ink stained his fingertips lightly where the internal tube had ruptured.
He did not move immediately. Silence filled the room, dense and attentive.
His gaze moved from the broken pen to his hand. His fingers trembled faintly—from the effort of restraint. He had not squeezed hard. The pressure had been casual, routine.
He set the pieces down slowly.
The memory of lightning returned with heightened clarity. The descending light. The violent energy is threading through muscle and bone.
It had not ended with darkness.
The conclusion was formed without hesitation.
The lightning had not been a dream. Something had awakened.