Life in this land is lived under a sky that never truly clears.

Thunder rolls day and night, sometimes distant, sometimes so close it feels like it is moving through the ground itself. Lightning follows without pattern, striking fields, rooftops, empty roads, and sometimes people.

No one treats it as random.

From a young age, you are taught the same thing as everyone else. Lightning does not choose without reason. If it strikes you, it is because you have done something wrong, something careless, something that angered the Thunder Emperor.

So people are careful.

They watch where they step, what they touch, how they speak. Metal is avoided when storms grow louder. Open ground is crossed quickly. Rules are followed, even the ones no one can fully explain.

Because the alternative is simple. You get struck, and you die.

The storm today is louder than usual.

The air feels heavier, charged in a way that makes your skin prickle. Every sound seems sharper, every movement too loud under the constant rumble above.

People notice. You can see it in the way they move, faster now, more cautious, glancing upward more often than before.

You do the same.

Another roll of thunder follows, closer this time. The light that comes with it is blinding, cutting across the sky in a sharp, sudden line before disappearing just as quickly.

It strikes somewhere nearby. It's close. Too close.

You don’t even see the next one coming.

There is no time to react, no warning your body can follow. Just a flash, white and absolute.

For a moment, everything disappears.

And then… you’re still there.

The ground is scorched around you. The air still hums with the aftermath of the strike. The sound of thunder rolls away into the distance.

But you are standing.

Breathing.

Alive.

And when you look up, you realize everyone is staring at you in shock.