Title: The Girl Who Spoke to Thunder
Chapter One
The Night the Sky Broke
The first time the sky spoke her name, Amara was standing barefoot in the rain.
The storm had come without warning.
One moment, the evening air in the village of Iruoma was thick and quiet. The fishermen were dragging in their last nets from the river. Women were packing away smoked fish beneath raffia covers. Children were chasing one another through puddles that did not yet exist.
Then the wind changed.
It did not blow.
It inhaled.
The trees bent inward as if listening. The river stilled. Even the crickets went silent.
And above them, the sky cracked open.
Lightning tore across the clouds—not once, but again and again, flashing like the anger of something ancient. Thunder followed instantly, not rolling, not rumbling… but striking. Hard. Close. Alive.
People screamed and ran indoors.
All except Amara.
She stood in the center of the red-earth clearing, rain soaking through her thin wrapper, heart pounding so loudly she thought it might escape her chest.
Because beneath the roar of the storm…
She heard it.
Amara.
Not shouted. Not whispered.
Spoken.
Her name vibrated through her bones.
Another lightning strike split the sky, slamming into the iroko tree at the edge of the village. The tree exploded in sparks and smoke, yet did not burn.
The elders would later say it was a sign.
But in that moment, Amara did not think of signs.
She thought of the voice.
Amara.
It sounded like thunder—but shaped like language. Deep. Vast. Endless.
Her knees trembled.
"I don't understand," she whispered into the rain.
The storm answered.
The ground beneath her feet tremored, and suddenly the world felt too small for her body. Too tight for her thoughts. Images flooded her mind—
A crown of clouds.
A throne carved from lightning.
A war in the heavens.
And something falling.
Something powerful.
Something searching.
The thunder struck directly above her.
The world turned white.
When Amara opened her eyes, the storm was gone.
The sky was calm.
The village was silent.
And every single person in Iruoma was staring at her.
Because she was not standing where she had been before.
She was standing beneath the shattered iroko tree.
Unburned.
Unharmed.
With smoke curling gently from her fingertips.
That night, the elders would gather.
By morning, whispers would spread.
By sunset, fear would bloom.
And before the next storm arrived
The gods would demand an answer ..