WIELDER OF THE PRIMORDIAL LIGHTNING OF THE ANCIENTS
The sect envoys departed with their new disciples, and the village slowly returned to its rhythm, though a strange hush seemed to linger in the air. For most, life carried on—celebration for those who awakened, mourning for those who did not.
But Daniel's life stood at a crossroads.
He sat alone on the hill behind his home, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the twin moons overhead. Their pale glow painted the night silver. The world had decided he was nothing. No element. No future. No destiny.
Yet the broken altar, the flash of silver light, would not leave his mind.
"It wasn't nothing. I felt it. I know I did."
A soft rustle stirred the grass. Daniel turned—his mother approached, carrying an old wooden box. Her face was weary, but her eyes firm.
"Daniel," she whispered, setting the box before him. "Your father told me that when this day came—whether you awakened or not—I was to give this to you."
Daniel blinked. "Father? You mean… he knew I'd—"
She cut him off, pressing the box into his hands. "Open it."
Inside lay a scroll, its edges cracked with age. The words glimmered faintly, etched with runes that pulsed like distant thunderclouds.
Daniel's hands trembled as he unrolled it. The title struck him like a thunderclap:
"Codex of the Storm: The Path of Lightning's Judgment."
His heart pounded. "This… this is a cultivation technique."
His mother nodded. "Your father said that lightning would one day call you. That when it did, you must never let arrogance blind you. He feared its power would break you, unless you tempered yourself with humility."
Daniel stared at the scroll, the silver letters alive as though they were watching him.
The words of his father echoed in his mind—words spoken long ago, before he vanished:
"Daniel, if the storm chooses you, remember: Lightning is not for pride. It is punishment. It is justice. Do not wield it for yourself—wield it for the world."
Daniel's fists clenched. For the first time since the ceremony, fire ignited in his chest—not the fire of flame, but of resolve.
"Then I'll learn," he whispered, the wind carrying his voice. "Even if the world says I have nothing—I'll forge my own path."
Above him, the sky rumbled faintly though no storm was near. A single thread of silver light streaked across the clouds, gone in an instant.
But Daniel saw it.
And he knew—the storm had not abandoned him