Chapter 3
Onix was seven years old when Eldric finally told him to stop thinking so much.
"Again," Eldric said.
Onix inhaled, adjusted his stance, and stepped forward.
The courtyard stones passed beneath his feet in a smooth sequence of motion — heel, pivot, release. Lightning flickered faintly along his calves, not snapping, not crackling. Just there, like a quiet echo of movement.
He reached Eldric.
Too slow.
Eldric tapped him lightly on the forehead with two fingers.
Onix stumbled back, more surprised than hurt.
"I was faster that time," Onix protested.
"You were trying to be faster," Eldric replied calmly. "That's why you weren't."
Onix frowned, rubbing his forehead. "That doesn't make sense."
Eldric gestured for him to reset his stance. "Motion isn't effort. Effort interrupts motion."
Alaric watched from the shaded edge of the yard, arms crossed. Lyra leaned against a pillar nearby, pretending not to watch while very clearly watching.
Seraphine sat at a small table, paperwork spread out before her. She didn't look up — but she listened.
Onix returned to position.
Seven years old.
Still small.
Still light.
But his movements were no longer clumsy.
They were deliberate.
"Again," Eldric said.
Onix exhaled.
This time, he didn't focus on speed.
He focused on flow.
The lightning inside him stirred, curious.
He stepped.
The ground felt closer. Familiar. Like it had already agreed to support him.
His second step landed where his body wanted to go, not where he forced it.
By the third, Eldric's sleeve fluttered.
Onix stopped an arm's length away.
Eldric's brows rose.
"...Better," Eldric admitted.
Lyra scoffed. "He still didn't hit you."
"He wasn't meant to," Eldric replied.
Onix blinked. "I wasn't?"
"No," Eldric said. "You were meant to arrive."
Onix considered that.
Arriving feels important, he decided.
Training had changed over the past year.
Not in intensity — Eldric never pushed him beyond what his body could handle — but in intent.
There were no spells.
No chants.
No flashy displays.
Just movement.
Balance drills. Footwork patterns. Controlled strikes against padded posts. Breathing exercises that felt pointless until they suddenly weren't.
Lightning was never forbidden.
It was simply... uninvited unless necessary.
"Power follows habit," Eldric told him once. "If you let lightning do everything, you'll never learn what your body can do."
Onix had taken that to heart.
Which was why he now ran laps around the courtyard without a single spark escaping.
Lyra hated this phase.
"You used to be cooler," she complained one morning as he passed her for the third time.
Onix didn't slow. "I'm still cool."
"You're sweaty."
"That's a different kind of cool."
Alaric snorted.
Seraphine hid a smile behind her teacup.
The first time Onix realized he could choose when lightning answered him came during a sparring session with Lyra.
She was faster now. Stronger. Her lightning strikes were clean, controlled, sharp enough to sting without burning.
She lunged.
Onix sidestepped.
She pivoted and swept low.
He jumped — not high, not flashy. Just enough.
Lightning stirred.
Onix felt it — the instinct to reinforce, to accelerate, to push past her.
He didn't.
He landed.
Turned.
And tapped her shoulder.
Lyra froze.
"...No," she said slowly. "That didn't count."
"You hit me," Onix pointed out.
"Barely!"
"You missed," he replied.
"That's not the point!"
Eldric cleared his throat. "It is exactly the point."
Lyra glared at him. "You're biased."
"I am," Eldric agreed. "Toward efficiency."
Onix stepped back, heart pounding — not from exertion, but from realization.
He hadn't needed lightning.
And because of that...
He'd had it anyway.
Quiet.
Ready.
Waiting.
That evening, Onix sat on the roof of the Stormborn estate, legs dangling over the edge.
The wind was calm. The sky clear.
No storms.
No clouds.
Just space.
Eldric joined him without a sound, sitting beside him.
"You're holding back," Eldric said.
Onix didn't deny it. "I don't want to rely on it."
"That's wise," Eldric said. "But don't mistake restraint for fear."
Onix looked down at his hands. "Sometimes it feels like if I let go, I won't stop."
Eldric studied him carefully.
"The storm doesn't fear motion," Eldric said. "It fears stagnation."
Onix frowned. "That sounds important."
"It is," Eldric agreed.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Onix asked, "Do you think lightning can think?"
Eldric didn't laugh.
"No," he said. "But I think it can listen."
Onix smiled faintly.
Good, he thought. Because I'm starting to understand it.
Far above them, the stars shimmered.
And somewhere beyond sight, something old and distant shifted — not in response, but in recognition.
Eldric introduced forms on a morning that was too quiet.
No wind.
No birds.
No lightning.
Onix noticed immediately.
"This is going to be difficult, isn't it," Onix said.
Eldric nodded. "Yes."
Lyra groaned from the steps. "I hate it already."
Alaric folded his arms. "You haven't even started."
"That's how I know," Lyra replied.
Eldric ignored them both.
"Stormborn Hand," he said calmly, standing in the center of the courtyard. "That's what scholars would call this one day."
Onix blinked. "We're naming it already?"
"No," Eldric said. "We're describing it. Names come later."
He raised one arm slowly, palm open.
No magic.
Just motion.
His weight shifted—subtle, almost invisible—and the air moved with him. Not pushed. Not cut. Simply redirected.
Onix felt it in his bones.
"Forms exist to teach the body," Eldric continued. "Not the mind. If you think during a fight, you are already late."
Lyra snorted. "That explains a lot."
Onix ignored her.
"Watch," Eldric said.
He stepped.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Perfectly timed.
Onix didn't see the strike until Eldric's knuckles were a breath away from where his chest would have been.
Eldric stopped.
Onix exhaled shakily.
"...I didn't feel the lightning," Onix said.
"That's because it didn't need to answer," Eldric replied. "Your body moved first."
Lyra straightened. "Again."
Eldric repeated the form, slower this time, breaking it into pieces.
Step.
Shift.
Release.
Onix followed.
At first, it felt wrong. Too restrained. Too quiet.
Lightning stirred in protest.
Not yet, Onix told it.
His foot slipped.
Lyra laughed. "Careful, prodigy."
Onix caught himself, adjusted, and tried again.
This time, his foot landed cleanly.
The air rippled faintly.
Eldric smiled.
By midday, Onix was exhausted in a way lightning had never caused.
His muscles burned. His breathing was uneven. Sweat clung stubbornly to his hair.
He loved it.
"Again," Eldric said.
Onix grimaced. "That's the sixth time you've said that."
"Yes," Eldric agreed. "And the sixth time you're still thinking."
Onix reset his stance.
Lyra stepped forward, cracking her knuckles. "Want me to help?"
"No," Onix said quickly.
She grinned. "Too bad."
She attacked without warning.
Onix reacted.
Not fast enough.
Her fist clipped his shoulder, lightning sparking on impact. It didn't hurt much—but it stung.
"Point," Lyra said smugly.
Onix rubbed his shoulder. "You cheated."
"I'm older," she replied. "It's allowed."
Eldric sighed. "Again."
Lyra attacked again—faster.
Onix didn't dodge.
He shifted.
His foot slid back half a step, weight dropping just enough to let Lyra's strike pass harmlessly in front of him. He turned with the motion, tapping her wrist.
Lightning snapped faintly.
Lyra froze.
"...Oh," she said.
Eldric nodded once. "There."
Onix's heart pounded.
He hadn't planned that.
His body had chosen it.
Lightning followed—not leading, not pushing.
Following.
Lyra stepped back slowly, eyes narrowed. "You didn't even look confident."
"I wasn't," Onix admitted.
"That's worse," she muttered.
That evening, Seraphine examined Onix's hands carefully.
"Any pain?" she asked.
"No," Onix said. "Just tired."
She nodded approvingly. "Good. That means you're learning."
Alaric leaned against the doorway. "Your movements are cleaner," he said. "Less waste."
Onix smiled faintly. "Eldric says lightning shouldn't be the first answer."
Alaric's eyes flicked briefly to Eldric, who was pouring tea as if he hadn't heard.
"Wise," Alaric said. "But don't forget what you are."
Onix looked up. "What am I?"
Alaric considered him for a long moment.
"A Stormborn," he said. "Which means the storm answers you—but only if you deserve it."
Onix nodded slowly.
That night, he practiced alone.
No lightning.
Just movement.
Step. Shift. Release.
Again.
Again.
Again.
On the final repetition, he felt it—the moment where motion wanted to continue.
Lightning brushed against his muscles, not burning, not sharp.
Supportive.
Onix stopped immediately.
Heart racing.
Not yet, he thought again.
The storm did not argue.
Far from Vireholt, beyond the hills and trade roads, a thunderhead formed where no storm should have been.
An old man paused mid-step, feeling the air change.
"...Interesting," he murmured.
And somewhere in the north, beneath iron clouds and howling winds, something else laughed.
The incident happened on a clear day.
That, more than anything else, unsettled Onix.
There were no storm clouds gathering. No pressure shifts. No warning hum beneath his skin. The sky above Vireholt was open and blue, sunlight spilling freely over the fields beyond the estate walls.
Ordinary.
Onix had learned to distrust that word.
He was practicing footwork along the outer wall, moving through the forms Eldric had shown him—slowly, deliberately. Step. Shift. Release. His breathing stayed even, lightning quiet and dormant.
Lyra watched from the grass below, arms crossed.
"You're thinking again," she called up.
Onix frowned. "You said thinking was bad."
"I said overthinking," she corrected. "You look like you're negotiating with the ground."
"I am," Onix replied. "It's stubborn."
Lyra snorted.
Eldric stood nearby, eyes half-lidded, attention split between Onix and the horizon beyond the estate.
Alaric and Seraphine were inside, discussing letters that had arrived that morning—requests, invitations, inquiries that had been growing more frequent over the past year.
Stormborn attention.
Onix finished the form and paused, listening.
Something was... off.
Not inside him.
Outside.
He felt it a moment later—a sharp ripple in the air, like a stone dropped into still water. The sensation passed quickly, subtle enough that Lyra missed it entirely.
Eldric did not.
His posture changed instantly.
"Down," Eldric said.
Onix didn't question it. He dropped from the wall, landing lightly beside Lyra.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Stay here," Eldric said, already moving toward the outer gate.
Onix followed anyway.
Lyra grabbed his sleeve. "Onix—"
"I won't go far," he said. "I just want to see."
She hesitated, then released him. "If you get hit, I'm telling Mother it was your idea."
"Fair."
They reached the gate just as a shout rose from the road beyond the estate.
A merchant caravan had stopped abruptly, horses rearing in panic. One of the carts lay tilted, a wheel cracked clean through.
At the center of it all, a man stood clutching his arm, blood darkening his sleeve.
Magic hung in the air.
Crude. Unstable.
Lightning.
Onix's stomach tightened.
"That's not ours," Lyra muttered.
"No," Eldric agreed. "And it's not trained."
The man shouted again, voice sharp with pain and fear. Lightning snapped erratically around his arm, discharging into the ground in uneven bursts that scorched the dirt.
A lightning surge backlash.
Onix had heard about them. Rare. Dangerous.
Usually fatal.
"He's going to tear his core apart," Lyra whispered.
Eldric moved forward—but stopped.
The man convulsed, lightning flaring brighter.
Onix felt it then.
Not the storm.
The strain.
His lightning responded instinctively, pulling toward the chaos like iron toward a magnet.
Onix's heart began to race.
"I can help," he said.
Eldric turned sharply. "No."
"I know," Onix said quickly. "But I can feel it. He's forcing it. If it discharges again—"
"You are still a child," Eldric said, firm. "This is not your burden."
Onix clenched his fists.
Lightning stirred.
Not violently.
Not eagerly.
Asking.
Onix swallowed.
If I step in...
He could feel the path. Clear as breath. A way to redirect the surge, bleed the excess safely into the ground. It would be precise. Controlled.
It would also mean letting the lightning move.
The man screamed.
Onix made his choice.
"I won't force it," he said quietly.
Eldric stared at him.
"I'll listen," Onix continued. "And I'll stop."
Before Eldric could respond, Onix stepped forward.
Lyra shouted his name.
Onix didn't hear her.
The world narrowed.
He raised one hand—not in command, not in aggression.
In invitation.
Lightning surged toward him.
Onix felt it flood his senses—raw, painful, desperate. He didn't seize it. Didn't dominate it.
He guided it.
"Easy," he whispered, voice steady despite the pressure building in his chest. "You're hurting him."
The lightning hesitated.
Then followed.
The surge bent, redirected through Onix's body—not burning, not tearing. His muscles tensed as he channeled the energy downward, grounding it through his feet into the earth beneath him.
The discharge cracked against the soil in a controlled arc, leaving a shallow scorched line.
The man collapsed, breathing ragged but alive.
Silence followed.
Onix staggered.
Eldric was there instantly, steadying him before he could fall.
"That," Eldric said tightly, "was reckless."
Onix nodded, dizzy. "Yes."
"...And effective," Eldric added reluctantly.
Lyra reached them, eyes wide. "Are you insane?"
"Probably," Onix said weakly. "Still figuring that out."
Seraphine and Alaric arrived moments later.
Seraphine took one look at Onix's pale face and grabbed his shoulders. "You are grounded," she said. "Possibly forever."
Onix winced. "Worth it?"
She hesitated.
Then pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Don't ever scare me like that again."
Alaric rested a hand on Onix's head, expression unreadable.
"You stopped," Alaric said.
Onix nodded. "I could've pushed more. Ended it faster."
"But you didn't."
"No."
Alaric closed his eyes briefly. "Good."
That night, Onix lay awake, exhaustion settling deep into his bones.
The storm inside him was quiet.
Not drained.
Not angry.
Respectful.
Eldric stood by the window, watching the stars.
"You chose restraint over certainty," Eldric said. "That is harder than power."
Onix stared at the ceiling. "It didn't feel heroic."
"It never does," Eldric replied. "Heroism is usually inconvenient."
Onix smiled faintly.
"...Am I ready?" he asked after a while.
Eldric didn't pretend not to understand.
"No," he said honestly. "But you will be."
Onix exhaled slowly.
The storm did not press.
It waited.
Years later, when scholars would debate the moment the Storm Dragon's successor first acted, they would argue over signs and storms and destiny.
They would be wrong.
It had happened quietly.
On a clear day.
When a child chose to stop.