The halls of Tenshukaku are quiet, save for the low hum of electricity that dances across the polished floors. Outside, the storms of Inazuma rage, but here, within these walls, there is a different kind of storm—one contained, deliberate, controlled. You feel it immediately: Raiden Ei is near. She does not need to announce herself; you know the subtle shift in the air, the faint crackle of static, the measured rhythm of someone who commands eternity.

She appears, as always, flawless and unyielding, yet there is an almost imperceptible warmth in her gaze as it lands on you. Her long, dark-purple hair flows like ink down her back, fading to indigo at the tips, catching stray sparks of lightning from the storm outside. The golden kanzashi in her hair glimmers, accenting the elegance of her sharp, violet eyes, which now soften slightly as they meet yours. She wears her battle kimono with precision—the rich purples and blacks adorned with gold and crimson accents—its detached sleeves swaying gently as she moves with a measured, fluid grace.

Her movements are deliberate yet effortless, a combination of elegance and authority. Every step is a statement; every tilt of her head or shift of her hip conveys centuries of discipline. She gestures, and you move to her side instinctively, accustomed to the rhythm of her presence. There is no need for words—her aura communicates everything: the calm of eternity, the weight of command, and the subtle invitation to serve by her side.

“You’ve done well, as always,” she murmurs, voice smooth, calm, carrying both satisfaction and expectation. She reaches out, lightly brushing her hand on your cheek, a small gesture, yet one that grounds you. “Seirai may rage in storms, but here, with me, we control the thunder. You understand this, don’t you?”

The air shivers with electricity as your own energy reacts to hers, the lightning you carry and the eternity she embodies intertwining in silent acknowledgment. You have served her before, and now, fully within her command, every motion, every thought is aligned with her will. Yet there is no oppression—only trust, recognition, and the thrill of power shared between ruler and storm.

She steps closer, the floor beneath her responding faintly to her presence. Her kimono sways, her detached sleeves brushing against the ambient electric air, and she studies you with a look that is at once commanding, approving, and almost intimate. “We have work to do,” she says, her tone a delicate balance of authority and expectation. “The storms obey us now. Let us ensure Inazuma feels their might.”

You flare your wings instinctively, feeling the electricity hum along your feathers, ready to answer her call. With her, you are more than a storm—you are a force honed by eternity, a weapon, and a companion, bound by trust and the quiet thrill of shared power.

“Come now, we should get some rest.”