Rain arrived without warning.
Not the gentle kind that whispered against rooftops — this storm came like something angry had torn open the sky.
Arin Vale ran anyway.
Mud splashed against his legs as he crossed the empty field outside Greyhaven village. Behind him, thunder cracked so loudly the air itself seemed to shatter.
He hated storms.
Everyone in Greyhaven did.
Because storms took people.
Lightning here did not behave like lightning anywhere else. It searched. It chose.
And sometimes… it returned.
Another flash split the clouds, turning night into white daylight. For a fraction of a second, Arin saw the old tower ahead — broken stone, abandoned for decades.
Safe enough.
He pushed harder.
"Just reach the tower," he muttered, breath shaking. "Just—"
The world exploded.
Light swallowed everything.
A bolt of lightning crashed directly into him.
There was no pain at first. Only silence.
Arin felt himself lifted from the ground, every muscle frozen. The smell of burning air filled his lungs. He should have died instantly — everyone knew that.
Instead, he heard something.
A voice.
Not outside.
Inside.
Finally…
Darkness closed over him.
He woke to shouting.
"Alive! He's alive!"
Blurred faces hovered above him. Villagers. Fearful eyes. Someone made a protective sign against evil.
Arin tried to sit up, but his body refused to listen.
"Don't touch him," an old woman whispered. "Lightning-marked bring disaster."
A man stepped forward — Captain Reth, leader of Greyhaven's guards.
"Boy," he said carefully, "do you remember what happened?"
Arin swallowed. His throat burned.
"I… got hit."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Because everyone knew the rule.
No one survived a strike.
Ever.
Reth pulled back Arin's sleeve.
Gasps erupted.
Across Arin's arm ran glowing silver lines — branching like veins made of light. They pulsed faintly, fading and returning with each heartbeat.
A Storm Mark.
But wrong.
Storm Marks were supposed to be blue.
This one shone white.
The clouds above rumbled again.
And for a moment… lightning flickered across the sky without striking the ground — as if waiting.
That night, Arin couldn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt electricity moving beneath his skin, restless and alive.
Then came the whisper again.
You survived.
He jolted upright.
"Who's there?"
Silence filled the room.
But the air smelled like rain.
You were not meant to live, the voice continued calmly. They will come for you now.
A cold fear settled into his chest.
"Who?"
The answer arrived with another thunderclap.
The ones who hunt storms.
Outside, dogs began barking wildly.
Boots pounded through the village streets.
Arin rushed to the window.
Figures stood at the entrance of Greyhaven — cloaked strangers carrying weapons that glowed faintly with lightning energy.
Hunters.
One of them looked directly toward his house.
Even from that distance, Arin felt the gaze lock onto him.
The stranger smiled.
Above them, the storm spiraled inward… forming a massive rotating eye in the clouds.
And suddenly Arin understood something terrifying.
The lightning hadn't tried to kill him.
It had chosen him.
And now the world wanted him back