The air tasted of impending rain. Sharp, electric—like the moment before lightning struck. Kaminari Arashi stood at the edge of a craggy cliff, gazing at the storm-laden horizon where the sky met the floating islands of Sorakaze.
A kingdom adrift.
From here, the islands looked like celestial monoliths suspended in the heavens, their jagged peaks wreathed in silver mist. Bridges of wind connected the upper cities, twisting in elegant spirals that defied gravity. Their structures gleamed with embedded sky-crystals, flickering like stars in the daylight. A paradise in the clouds.
And beneath it all, in the shadow of those floating marvels, stretched the storm-battered plains. Kaminari's boots crunched against parched earth as he exhaled, eyes narrowing. That's where the real Sorakaze was.
The world of commoners.
They toiled below while their lords ruled above, their sweat and labor feeding the sky-bound kingdom. Kaminari clenched his fists. He had seen oppression before—felt it. But something about this imbalance felt unnatural, like the sky itself was holding its breath, waiting for the coming storm.
His storm.
I'm here for answers, not a revolution. Kaminari reminded himself. He had tracked whispers of a powerful air manipulator to this land, a figure tied to the storm that had swallowed his homeland years ago. If there was even a chance that Sorakaze's Shinpū no Yumi had played a role in that disaster, then he needed to know.
Lightning crackled at his fingertips, a restless energy mirroring his thoughts. Kaminari rolled his shoulders, then leapt.
The wind roared past him as he plummeted toward the stormy plains below
The descent was swift. Kaminari bent his knees upon impact, landing with a jolt that sent dust spiraling around him. He straightened, his cloak fluttering as he surveyed his surroundings.
Sorakaze's lower cities were nothing like the gleaming sky islands above. Here, wooden houses leaned against each other for support, their roofs patched with rusted metal and fabric tarps. The streets were narrow, winding like veins through the settlement, filled with weary-eyed merchants, children playing with makeshift kites, and workers dragging carts of harvested storm-fruits.
And above them all, the Kazehime Clan's floating citadel cast its looming shadow—a silent reminder of their rule.
Kaminari pulled his hood lower, suppressing the flicker of electricity dancing at his fingertips. He would not stand out. Not yet.
But trouble had a way of finding him.
Raised voices echoed through the street ahead. Kaminari followed the sound, stepping onto a main thoroughfare where a crowd had gathered. At the center, three armored enforcers loomed over a hunched old man clutching a bundle of dried storm-herbs.
"Taxes have increased," one of the soldiers sneered, his white-plated armor gleaming with aristocratic excess. "You'll pay with what you have. Or you'll pay with your life."
The old man trembled. "Please… this is all I have left."
The soldier sighed, as if bored of the exchange. Then he raised his hand—wind spiraling around his fingers. A sharp gust slashed forward, knocking the old man to the ground.
Kaminari felt his breath slow. His pulse, however, quickened.
Not my fight.
He turned. Took one step.
The soldier raised his foot to stomp on the old man's hands.
Kaminari moved.
Faster than thought, he was between them. His hand shot up, catching the soldier's boot mid-stomp. Wind resistance surged against his palm, but Kaminari stood unmoving.
The soldier blinked. The crowd gasped.
Kaminari's hood slipped back, revealing his sharp yellow gaze, glowing faintly like a storm ready to break.
"You really shouldn't do that," he said, voice calm. Too calm.
The soldier wrenched his foot back, face twisting in rage. "You dare—"
He never finished. Kaminari's fist slammed into his gut, discharging a shockwave of electricity. The soldier's body spasmed, and he crumpled to the ground in a smoking heap.
Lightning crackled through Kaminari's veins. The remaining enforcers hesitated, eyes flickering between their fallen comrade and the storm-blooded warrior before them.
Then, as one, they attacked.
Wind blades slashed through the air, cutting toward Kaminari like razors. He moved instinctively, his body crackling with power. The first blade missed by a breath. The second—he caught.
Lightning surged through his palm, shattering the wind into harmless sparks. Kaminari surged forward, twisting midair, his foot slamming into one soldier's chest. The force sent him crashing through a vendor's stall.
The last enforcer tried to flee. Kaminari raised a single finger. A sharp snap echoed through the street—
A thin bolt of lightning arced out, striking the soldier's armor with precision. The man's body stiffened, then collapsed, twitching as residual sparks danced across his form.
Silence.
The crowd stood frozen, eyes wide with awe and fear. Kaminari exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the last sparks faded from his fingertips.
Then he felt it. A presence.
He turned sharply.
A girl stood atop a nearby rooftop, watching him with narrowed eyes. Short, windswept white hair. Flowing robes shifting with the breeze. Her left eye gleamed a sharp, sky-blue, while the other remained a soft brown.
Fujin Akari.
Her gaze locked onto his.
And then—she disappeared into the wind.
Kaminari let out a breath, pulse still thrumming from the fight. The old man he had saved was staring at him, lips trembling. Not with fear. With recognition.
"You…" the man whispered. "You are the storm-bringer."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Kaminari felt their stares, their hushed voices pressing against him like a rising tide.
His cover was already crumbling.
Above, the sky churned with distant thunder.
Kaminari clenched his fists. Sorakaze had seen its first lightning strike.
And soon, the storm would come.