When his magic finally made contact with the rune, Alan felt a sharp, thin current jolt straight from his wand, up his arm, and into his mind. It felt as though his very neurons were firing in a brilliant, synchronized chain reaction. It was a tingling, icy sensation that sent goosebumps racing across his skin, but as the flash subsided, it left him with a feeling of profound clarity—as refreshing as a cold shower on a sweltering summer day.
As his mind refocused, he could feel his magic intertwining with the lightning rune inside his wand. The resonance was deepening his bond with Dark Depiction. The Thunderbird feather at the wand's core seemed to pulse with renewed life, vibrating with a hunger he had never felt before.
"This is incredible. It's as if Dark Depiction has truly woken up. Could this rune have actually belonged to a Thunderbird?" Alan noted the unique signature of the magic; it felt familial, possessing an intrinsic harmony with both him and his tool.
Since the rune showed no signs of hostility, he decided to commit to a full analysis in a single sitting. Emboldened by his success, he extended his perception deeper, following the flow of magic along the grain of the wood and into the heart of the symbol.
Boom!
As his consciousness surged into the rune, the room was suddenly bathed in a blinding silver light. The glare flickered rhythmically against the walls; had anyone been watching from the street, they might have thought a localized storm had broken out in his study. Yet, in contrast to the violent light show, the sensation within Alan's mind was one of vast, quiet transition.
An exotic scene unfolded in his mind's eye—a fragment of memory belonging to the rune's original owner.
He saw a desolate, sun-drenched savannah. From a soaring aerial perspective, he looked down upon sparse yellow grass, withered trees, and rattlesnakes coiled in the shade of scrub brush. Antelopes and wild rabbits blurred past as the owner of the vision moved with impossible speed, ascending sharply. The ground fell away, replaced by the towering, marble-like formations of the clouds.
The target was ahead: a massive, bruised dark cloud that hung like an iron curtain over the horizon. Inside that mountain of vapor, the wind roared with demonic fury, and bolts of lightning tore through the gloom like the claws of a titan.
It was chasing the storm.
Alan followed the memory into the heart of the tempest. Rain and gale-force winds lashed against the vision, but the creature rushed fearlessly upward, seeking the very center of the raging thunderstorm. Streaks of silver fire hissed past, the air thick with the sharp, ozone scent of scorched atmosphere.
The creature didn't feel fear; it felt a primal, soaring joy. It twisted its body in mid-air, leaning in to embrace the thickest, most violent bolt of lightning as it struck down from the heavens. Alan could feel the raw emotions of the memory: a desperate, instinctive pursuit of evolution, a profound love for the electricity, and an underlying sorrow—the realization that its life was nearing its end.
As it collided with the lightning, a massive surge of magic erupted from the creature. It became a living lightning rod, dragging every stray charge in the clouds toward itself. The magic within its body swelled, pushing toward a definitive peak. Crossing that threshold promised a new life, a rebirth of fire and storm.
The peak was so close, yet agonizingly out of reach. It had drained the electrical potential of the sky for miles around, but it was still missing a final spark. Ultimately, the creature exhausted its remaining strength. It failed the breakthrough and began a long, tragic slide toward the earth, its feathers encased in solidified, cooling lightning.
The memory snapped shut.
"A Thunderbird's final memory?" Alan gasped, reeling from the sensory overload. "An ancient Thunderbird chasing a storm, trying to find a path to rebirth... It fell just short, and this rune is the condensation of that final, failed evolution."
He took a long, steadying breath, shaking off the phantom sensation of the wind. "No wonder the rune and Dark Depiction resonated so strongly. They're kin. And this primordial mark holds a fragment of that creature's life force. It's magnificent."
He wondered if such a rebirth was documented. He had read countless books on magical creatures, yet he had never encountered a record of a Thunderbird seeking a phoenix-like renewal. It was a discovery that would fascinate a naturalist, but Alan wasn't interested in the biology. He was interested in the power.
Because he had experienced the formation of the rune through the memory, the actual analysis was no longer a struggle. It was effortless. Within minutes, he had grasped the intricate structure and the unique "texture" of the magic. Even a master of runes would have struggled to match the depth of his understanding now.
Alan shed his plastic protective suit and held his left hand out, palm up. A lightning rune, perfectly constructed from his own magic, flickered into existence above his skin.
"Even without a formal test, I can feel the weight of it," Alan said, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Born of the storm and the wilderness... I'll call this Wild Lightning. If the fire element has Fiendfyre, then the lightning element has this. It's only fitting."