The world changed the moment the first storm struck.
Elara stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, her hair whipping around her face as the winds howled with unnatural fury. The night sky was illuminated by jagged streaks of lightning, each bolt searing a path across the heavens. The city below was in chaos: car alarms blared, people screamed, and fires erupted in the distance. Yet, amidst the cacophony, Elara felt something strange—a pull, a whisper, as if the storm itself was calling her name.
It had started that morning, with reports of strange occurrences flooding the news. A man in Tokyo had lifted a car with his bare hands. In Paris, a young woman had conjured fire from her fingertips. By noon, the phenomenon had spread globally. Ordinary people were waking up to find themselves extraordinary. Some celebrated their newfound powers; others feared them. Governments scrambled for answers, but none came. It was as if the world had been struck by a force beyond comprehension.
Elara had felt it too—a shift, a ripple through her very being. At first, it was subtle: the breeze in her apartment seemed to follow her, and papers fluttered when she walked by. But as the day wore on, the wind grew restless, responding to her emotions. When fear gripped her chest, the windows rattled violently. By evening, she could no longer deny it. She had become one of them.
She didn't want this.
Elara had lived her life in quiet obscurity, content to lose herself in books and the comforting order of her job at the library. Power was something she'd never sought or dreamed of possessing. But now, as she stood beneath the storm she had unknowingly summoned, she realized there was no going back.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the figure standing across the rooftop. Tall, broad-shouldered, and cloaked in shadows, the man exuded a dangerous energy. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and Elara felt the air grow heavy between them.
"You're like me," he said, his voice cutting through the storm.
Elara took a step back, the wind swirling protectively around her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The man smirked, though there was no warmth in it. "Don't play coy. You felt it, didn't you? The Awakening. The world's not the same anymore, and neither are we."
"Who are you?" Elara demanded, her voice trembling but resolve.
"Damien," he replied, stepping closer. "And if you want to survive what's coming, you'll need to come with me."
Elara's pulse quickened. She didn't trust him and didn't trust herself. The storm above raged, mirroring the tempest within her. "I don't need your help."
Damien's expression hardened. "You don't have a choice. The world is falling apart, and people like us are the only ones who can stop it."
"People like us?" Elara repeated, the wind whipping around her with renewed intensity. "I never asked for this. I don't even know what I am."
"You're powerful," Damien said, his voice steady. "But power without control is a weapon waiting to go off. If you don't learn to harness it, you'll destroy everything—and everyone—around you."
For a moment, Elara hesitated. The weight of his words settled heavily on her chest. She glanced at her hands, trembling as the wind danced between her fingers. She didn't want to hurt anyone. She didn't want to be a danger. But could she trust this stranger? Could she trust herself?
A deafening crack of thunder split the air, and Elara's decision was made for her. The storm surged, a force she could no longer contain. Damien's eyes widen as he braced himself against the gale.
"You're stronger than I thought," he muttered, a note of admiration in his voice. "But strength isn't enough. If you want to survive, you'll have to learn to fight."
Elara met his gaze, her fear slowly giving way to determination. The world was changing, and whether she liked it or not, she was part of that change. She didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: the storm within her was only beginning to awaken.