The forest swallowed him whole.
Leaves whispered above Tomora's head as he walked, their voices low and restless, like they were sharing secrets he wasn't meant to hear. The sun was sinking, bleeding orange and red through the branches, staining the ground like an open wound. His boots crushed twigs and dry leaves, but even that sound felt distant—muted, like he was moving through a world wrapped in cloth.
No thunder followed him.
No static crawled over his skin. No hum lived in his bones.
Just silence.
He stopped beneath a massive tree, its trunk so wide it took three men to wrap their arms around it. The bark was scarred, ancient, carved by time and storms long before he was born. He stared at it, chest rising and falling, fingers slowly curling into a fist.
This place should've answered him.
Every other time he stood still like this—every time he focused—the air had responded. A crackle. A tremor. A warning. Lightning had always been there, impatient, eager, like it had been waiting for permission.
He lifted his hand.
The motion was familiar. Natural. Muscle memory.
"Lightning Release."
The words fell into the air and died there.
Nothing happened.
The forest didn't flinch. The leaves didn't stir. Even the insects kept chirping, ignorant of what was supposed to come.
His brows knit together.
He raised his other hand, jaw tightening. "C'mon," he muttered, more plea than command. "Don't do this now."
He focused harder, digging inward, reaching for that familiar storm inside his chest. He searched for the pulse, the heat, the pressure that always built behind his ribs.
There was nothing.
No resistance. No response.
It felt like grabbing for something that had never existed.
His breathing grew uneven. Veins stood out along his neck as he tried again, pouring frustration into the attempt, forcing his body to remember what it had done so many times before.
Still nothing.
It was as if the world had decided to ignore him.
His eyes widened, confusion cracking through the calm he wore like armor.
What the hell…?
He tried once more.
This time he screamed.
"THUNDER—!"
The word tore out of him, raw and desperate, echoing between the trees. Birds burst from the branches above, wings flapping wildly as they fled the sudden noise.
But the sky stayed quiet.
No flash split the air. No thunder answered back.
Only the sound of his own breathing remained.
Tomora dropped to his knees.
The impact was dull, his legs folding beneath him like they'd given up all at once. His hands pressed into the dirt, fingers digging into soil and roots, as if he could pull something—anything—back into himself if he tried hard enough.
His shoulders shook, not with fear, but with something hotter.
Anger.
"Not now…" His voice came out low, strained, like it had scraped his throat raw on the way up. "Not after everything…"
His hand moved to his chest, clutching at the place where lightning had always lived. The memories came uninvited, crashing into him one after another.
Jer hitting the ground, breath knocked from her lungs.
Yora crying, small hands shaking as she tried to be brave.
Tala standing frozen, eyes wide, powerless.
Patricia's final expression.
His father running, lightning tearing his own heart apart just to buy a few more seconds.
"Why now?" he whispered.
The forest didn't answer.
For the first time since the lightning had chosen him, Tomora didn't feel dangerous.
He felt empty.
Like a blade dulled down to nothing. Like a weapon thrown aside once it broke.
He stayed there until the light faded completely, until shadows stretched long and the air cooled against his skin. When he finally stood, his legs felt heavy, unfamiliar, like they belonged to someone else.
And he didn't notice the presence watching him from behind the tree.
Didn't hear the soft crunch of leaves under weight that barely touched the ground.
A shape lingered in the shadows, its outline wrong in the fading light. Eyes reflected faintly, unblinking.
"So the power finally sleeps…" a voice whispered, thin and amused, barely carried by the wind.
Tomora never heard it.
By the time he reached the village again, night had settled in.
Lanterns glowed softly along the paths, their light warm but distant, as if it belonged to another life. Tomora moved through the streets like a ghost, head lowered, hands at his sides. No sparks followed his steps. No air bent around him.
People noticed.
They always did.
Some stopped talking when they saw him. Others turned away, pretending to be busy. Fear still lingered in their eyes—but now there was something else mixed in.
Expectation.
He knocked on the doctor's door.
The sound was soft. Polite.
It took a moment before it opened. The woman who stood there had dark circles beneath her eyes, exhaustion etched into her face. She flinched when she recognized him—but she didn't close the door.
"Come in," she said quietly.
Inside, the room smelled of herbs and old wood. The doctor worked without speaking at first, checking his pulse, pressing fingers against his wrists and neck. Her touch was careful, professional, but tense, like she expected something to lash out.
She closed her eyes and activated her ability.
Tomora watched her face change.
Focus gave way to confusion. Confusion tightened into something closer to fear.
She pulled her hand back as if she'd touched something cold.
"You…" Her voice faltered. "Your power signature…"
She swallowed.
"It's gone."
The words settled between them.
Tomora blinked once.
"All of it?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "Your body shows signs of extreme elemental use—damage consistent with someone who pushed far beyond their limit. But your elemental core…" She hesitated. "It's empty."
His hands trembled as he sat down, the movement subtle but undeniable.
"Like I never had it?"
"Yes."
He looked down at his palm.
It was just skin.
No glow. No heat. No electricity crawling beneath the surface.
A normal boy's hand.
Powerless.
And powerless meant something he knew all too well.
It meant running.
It meant watching others get hurt because he couldn't stop it.
It meant being alone.
He stood.
"Thank you," he said.
The doctor lowered her gaze. "Child… I'm sorry."
He paused in the doorway, the lantern light framing his silhouette.
"Don't be," he replied.
He stepped back into the night.
As he walked away, one thought repeated in his mind, steady and merciless.
I'm weak again.
And somewhere in the dark, something smiled.