People always said I had my head in the clouds.
They weren't wrong.
I've loved storms since I was little—lightning, thunder, the rush of wind that makes your heart race. While other kids ran from the rain, I chased it. Climbed trees just to feel closer to the sky. I guess it's always been the one place that made sense to me.
Probably because the ground never did.
I grew up in foster homes. Good ones, bad ones, everything in between. No real roots. Just rules and routines and people who tried to care but couldn't quite get there.
Until the Kellers.
They were nice enough. Gave me space, didn't ask too many questions. I liked their place—up on a hill, quiet, far from the city noise. I could see the skyline from my bedroom window and watch the clouds roll in like waves.
But no matter how calm things seemed… I never stayed long. Something always went wrong.
Because sometimes, when I got too upset—too angry, too scared—things happened.
Lights flickered.
The wind picked up.
And once… I swear I saw sparks leap from my fingertips.
One night, I snuck out during a thunderstorm. Couldn't sleep. My thoughts were too loud, and the storm outside was even louder—calling to me, daring me.
I climbed the old radio tower behind the house. Dangerous, I know. But that's kind of my thing.
The metal was slick with rain. Lightning lit up the sky in jagged streaks, and thunder cracked so loud it shook my ribs. I sat near the top, soaked to the bone, arms spread wide like I could fly.
And for a second, I swore I felt the storm pulse through me.
Not like it was around me.
Like it was inside me.
Next day, I couldn't shake the feeling. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was something deeper, older, like I'd unlocked a part of myself I didn't know existed.
That's when the dreams started.
A tower, taller than any on Earth. A storm raging above it. And me—standing at the top, arms raised, wind swirling around my body like armor.
A voice whispered every time:
"Claim your sky."
I started drawing what I saw. Symbols. Circles. A map in the clouds, maybe. A warning. A message.
Something was coming.
The Kellers started worrying. They thought I was sick—hallucinating, maybe. I tried to tell them it was real. That I could feel the sky shifting. But they didn't understand.
No one did.
Except maybe the storm.
Because one afternoon, when I was walking home alone, the clouds turned black—fast. Too fast. The wind roared and twisted into a spiral over the trees.
And then came the lightning.
Straight down. Right toward me.
I didn't run.
I reached up.
And the world exploded.
When I woke up, the pavement was scorched. My clothes were torn. My skin? Perfect. Not even a burn.
My fingertips sparked when I moved. The air around me buzzed. And above me, the clouds circled like they were waiting.
That was the moment I stopped wondering what was wrong with me.
And started realizing what I was meant for.