Eryndor froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing.
The cloaked figure ahead hadn’t moved, yet something in the air pricked at the back of his mind.
A faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy, like metal straining against a magnetic pull, brushed his senses.
It was enough to make him pause—and then slip quietly to the side, shadowing the alley, unseen.
His heart pounded, not from fear, but anticipation.
For the first time, he felt it—a strange tingling beneath his skin, a warmth in his chest, like something alive was stirring.
His hands twitched involuntarily, fingers brushing against the rough stone wall, and tiny sparks leapt from his fingertips.
“What… is this?” he whispered, staring at the tiny arcs dancing along his skin.
Lightning.
That word surged in his mind almost instinctively, as if it had always been there, waiting.
His body felt different—lighter, faster, keyed to something new.
The sparks responded, stretching between his fingers like fragile threads.
He felt it: Lightning Thread.
A first taste, weak and flickering, but undeniably real.
A gust of wind swirled around him, subtle yet undeniable, lifting the hem of his coat.
His movements felt smoother, sharper.
He tested it again, stepping lightly onto the edge of the alley wall—and the wind helped him slide, almost like a pulse carrying him forward.
Pulse Step, he realized with a faint thrill.
Eryndor’s lips curved into that familiar, arrogant smirk.
“So this is what I’m made for,” he murmured, flexing his fingers as the sparks danced.
He touched his palm to the stone wall, and a faint jolt pulsed outwards, sending a tingling shiver along his nerve endings.
Nerve Ignite, he thought.
The realization settled in.
This—this was his element.
Lightning as the spear, Wind as the shadow to guide it.
And now… now he had the means to catch up to whoever—or whatever—that cloaked figure really was.
Eryndor crouched, feeling the air hum, the subtle charge of the city night responding to him.
He didn’t fully understand it yet, didn’t know the limits—but he grinned.
He would.
Soon enough, he would learn to command it all.
And the cloaked figure?
They wouldn’t see it coming.
With a flick of his wrist, a tiny arc of lightning danced between his fingers, wind whispering around his feet.
And for the first time, Eryndor felt like he wasn’t just surviving anymore—he was awakening.