The day after the lightning strike, everything felt… louder.
Birds chirped sharper. Car engines buzzed like hornets. My heartbeat sounded like a drum in my ears. I thought maybe I had a concussion. Maybe I was dead and just didn't know it.
Then I touched the metal railing outside the Keller house and zapped it.
Hard.
The whole thing sparked blue.
Mrs. Keller saw it. She gasped, covered her mouth like she'd seen a ghost.
I didn't even get a chance to explain.
That night, a caseworker showed up.
Back to the system.
They said it was temporary. Just "until they sorted things out." But I've heard that line before. A dozen times. I didn't fight it. What would be the point?
They stuck me in a group home outside the city—run-down, crowded, way too quiet. The kind of place where you can feel how many people gave up trying.
But there was a rooftop.
That's all I needed.
I climbed it every night.
Up there, the wind listened. The sky felt close enough to touch.
And now, when I reached out?
The lightning answered.
Small stuff at first. Sparks across my palms. Flickers in the streetlamps. But it was growing. I could feel the charge build in my chest like pressure behind a dam.
And I didn't know how to hold it in much longer.
Then came the stranger.
He showed up one night—standing on the rooftop like he'd always been there. Long coat, silver hair, strange markings on his hands. Not a social worker. Not from the home.
Not normal.
"You're waking up," he said without turning around.
"Who are you?" I asked.
He looked at me with storm-grey eyes. "Someone who remembers what it felt like. The first time thunder followed you."
"What do you want?"
He stepped closer. "To warn you. They'll come for you soon. Not the ones who want to help. The ones who want to use you."
I stared at him. "Who?"
He smiled faintly. "The ones who serve the sky's enemy."
I blinked—and he was gone.
I couldn't sleep after that. Couldn't eat. My hands sparked constantly. I shorted out the TV. My phone battery exploded. The weather started reacting to me—rain when I felt sad, sudden wind when I panicked.
I stopped going to school.
Started staying on the rooftop.
Waiting.
And then it happened.
The sky opened like a wound.
A thing fell from the clouds—part shadow, part armor, with wings made of crackling wire and teeth like broken glass. It screamed like thunder and lunged for me, no hesitation.
I didn't run.
I roared back.
The lightning came down like it knew my name.
And I struck the creature with all of it.
When the smoke cleared, the rooftop was scorched—and I stood alone.
Not afraid.
Not anymore.