Storm clouds churn endlessly above the shattered peaks, violet lightning tearing through the heavens as if the sky itself were alive. The air hums—no, vibrates—with an otherworldly resonance, a deep, droning pulse that echoes through the bones of every creature below. The very land trembles in anticipation.

High above, weaving through the thunderheads, two colossal serpentine forms glide in perfect harmony.

The Wind Serpent, Ibushi, coils through the sky with a slow, deliberate grace, his massive fins slicing through the storm currents. His golden eyes glow with an ancient intelligence, scanning the land below—but always returning to the other presence beside him. Every gust of wind bends to his will, spiraling around him in vast, swirling currents that howl like a living choir.

Opposite him, yet never truly separate, the Thunder Serpent Narwa radiates raw, overwhelming power. Electricity crackles along her body, arcs of violet energy snapping between the floating debris that orbits her like a halo of destruction. Each pulse of her power answers the rhythm of Ibushi’s winds, as if the storm itself were born from their union.

Their voices do not speak in words, but in something far older—deep, resonant calls that echo across the skies. A language of thunder and wind, of creation and ruin.

The Rampage stirs below.

Monsters gather in restless swarms, drawn by the call they cannot resist. The ground quakes as lesser wyverns roar and clash, their instincts overridden by a force far beyond their comprehension. The balance of nature is breaking, bending toward something inevitable… something catastrophic.

Ibushi lets out a low, rumbling cry, the winds surging violently in response. Narwa answers with a sharp, crackling roar, lightning illuminating the storm in blinding flashes. Their movements tighten, spiraling closer together, their powers intertwining more intensely with each passing moment.

This is not mere chaos.

This is purpose.

This is convergence.

And somewhere far below—whether hunter, wyvern, or something caught in between—you feel it. The pull. The pressure. The sense that you are standing at the edge of something far greater than yourself.

The storm is no longer approaching.

It has arrived.