The scent of ozone still clung to the air.
Kaminari walked briskly through the winding alleys of Sorakaze's lower city, his cloak drawn tight around him. The storm of whispers followed in his wake—hushed voices murmuring his name, fearful yet reverent.
Storm-bringer.
He hated it.
Not because it wasn't true. Not because it wasn't earned. But because he had no control over what came next. The Kazehime Clan would hear of this. They would come.
He needed to move.
Yet his thoughts kept circling back to her.
The girl on the rooftop.
Kaminari had caught only a glimpse, but it was enough. Her posture, the way she vanished like wind slipping through cracks—she was no ordinary bystander. And she had been watching him.
If she was a threat, she would have struck by now. But if she was something else…
Kaminari exhaled. It didn't matter. He would deal with her if she appeared again.
For now, he had to find a place to lay low.
The lower city was a labyrinth. Narrow streets wove together like tangled veins, branching into hidden corners that only those who lived here truly understood. Kaminari kept his steps light, avoiding the patrols of armored enforcers now scouring the streets.
A battered wooden sign caught his eye:
The Hollow Gale — Tea & Shelter
A teahouse. Not the worst place to hide. Kaminari ducked inside.
The scent of steeped herbs mixed with incense, a soothing contrast to the tension outside. Patrons sat in dimly lit booths, murmuring over cups of hot tea. A place of quiet refuge.
Kaminari stepped toward the counter, but the tea-mist stirred unnaturally.
Wind.
His muscles tensed—just as a blade whispered toward his throat.
Kaminari moved on instinct. Lightning surged through his limbs, a sharp jolt of energy. He twisted, knocking the blade aside with the back of his wrist, sparks igniting where steel met skin.
His attacker was fast.
Before he could counter, a gust of wind propelled them backward—silent, calculated. Kaminari's eyes locked onto them.
Her.
The girl from the rooftop.
She landed smoothly on a low table, a slender curved dagger still poised in her grip. Her robes fluttered as if the air itself bowed to her presence.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then she smiled. Not friendly. Testing.
"You're quick," she murmured.
Kaminari rolled his shoulders. "You tried to slit my throat. You don't get points for compliments."
She tilted her head. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing."
His yellow eye flickered. "Try me."
She grinned. And then she was gone.
A burst of wind propelled her forward—faster than any normal movement. Kaminari barely managed to deflect the first strike, but she was already moving again, twisting midair.
Her dagger sliced toward his ribs.
Lightning surged. Kaminari bent backward, the blade grazing his cloak as he sent a crackling palm strike toward her chest.
She caught the force with her forearm—but it shocked through her body.
She hit the floor and rolled into a crouch, eyes flashing.
Silence hung between them.
Then, to Kaminari's confusion, she laughed.
"That's more like it," she said, shaking out her tingling arm. "You actually fight like a storm."
Kaminari narrowed his eyes. "And you fight like the wind itself. Who are you?"
She sheathed her dagger. "Fujin Akari. And you just made things very, very interesting."
Kaminari lowered his guard—slightly. "You were watching me earlier. Why?"
Akari leaned against the table, arms crossed. "Because you just made yourself a lightning rod for trouble."
"Not my intention."
She smirked. "Doesn't matter. The Kazehime Clan saw your power. They don't like unknown variables. You? You're a storm they didn't predict. And storms…" Her pale blue eye gleamed. "They either destroy or liberate."
Kaminari exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "And which one do you think I am?"
Akari studied him, then shrugged. "Haven't decided yet."
He gave a dry chuckle. "Great. So what now? You try to kill me again?"
"Nah." Akari pushed off the table. "Now? I take you to someone who'll actually want to meet you."
Kaminari frowned. "And who would that be?"
She smirked. "The people who want to burn the Kazehime Clan to the ground."
Night had fallen by the time they reached their destination.
Akari led Kaminari through winding alleyways, slipping past watchful eyes with ease. Eventually, she stopped at an unassuming wooden door built into the side of a crumbling windmill.
She knocked twice, then three times in quick succession.
A pause. Then the door creaked open.
A man stood there—a scarred, broad-shouldered figure with eyes like steel. Kaminari felt the weight of his gaze immediately.
Akari grinned. "Tatsuo, meet Kaminari Arashi. He just fried some of Kazehime's soldiers."
Tatsuo raised an eyebrow. "So you're the storm-bringer everyone's whispering about."
Kaminari crossed his arms. "People really need to stop calling me that."
Tatsuo let out a rough chuckle. "Too late for that." He stepped aside. "Come inside. We have much to discuss."
Kaminari hesitated for only a second before following Akari through the threshold.
And just like that, he stepped into the heart of the rebellion.
The room was dimly lit, but Kaminari could feel the energy humming beneath the surface. A dozen figures sat at a long wooden table, maps and plans sprawled before them. Some whispered in low voices. Others looked up, studying him with cautious curiosity.
Tatsuo shut the door behind him. "You've made waves, boy."
Kaminari met his gaze. "I wasn't trying to."
Tatsuo smirked. "That's the funny thing about storms. They don't ask for permission."
Akari plopped onto a nearby bench, smirking. "So… what do you think, Kaminari? Want to just pass through Sorakaze?" She leaned forward. "Or do you want to change it?"
The question hung in the air, heavier than the distant thunder outside.
Kaminari exhaled.
He had only come here for answers.
But maybe, just maybe, he had found something more.