The storm arrived without warning. At first, the town of Lumeris was quiet, wrapped in its usual blanket of dull evening fog. Streetlamps flickered lazily, and the distant river hummed like it always had. But as the clock tower struck nine, the air shifted—sharp, electric, almost humming with something alive.
Sixteen-year-old Arin Vale felt it before he saw it. He stood on the rusted balcony outside his small apartment, gripping the railing as a strange vibration crawled up his arms. The clouds above twisted into spirals, glowing faintly with a color he had no name for. Not purple, not blue—something between lightning and dream.
Then the sky cracked.
Not thunder.
Not lightning.
A crack—like glass splitting.
Arin staggered back as a thin, blinding line tore across the heavens. From the fracture spilled a sound like a thousand voices whispering all at once. His heart pounded. He should run. He knew he should. But his feet refused to move.
A shard of light drifted down from the rupture, slow and graceful, like a falling feather. It landed in front of him—silent, brilliant, the size of a pebble. As Arin reached out, the shard pulsed, once, twice—then shot into his chest.
The world exploded into white.
He gasped and fell to his knees. Images flooded his mind—figures made of light, cities floating above oceans of stars, a name repeated over and over like a warning:
"Astralborn."
When the light finally faded, Arin lay trembling, clutching his chest where the shard had struck. The sky above sealed itself again, leaving no trace of the cosmic wound.
Only one thing was certain: Whatever entered him was not meant for Earth. And he knew—his life would never, ever be normal again.
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