The blackout lasted exactly twelve seconds.
In a city this large, that alone was alarming.
Every screen in the transit hub went dark at once. The hum of servers cut off mid-cycle. Even the deep volcanic resonance beneath the floor stuttered, as if something had struck the world's nervous system with a precise, deliberate blow.
Lys sat upright immediately.
His dragon eyes flared—gold shot through with white this time, reacting not to fire, but to pressure. Static crawled across his skin. The fine hairs on his arms lifted.
Nyra swore. "That wasn't you."
"No," Lys said slowly. "That was… fast."
The lights snapped back on.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
And with them came thunder.
Not from the sky—but from inside the building.
A crack like the splitting of reality itself tore through the central platform. Air collapsed inward, then exploded outward as a figure appeared where there had been nothing a heartbeat before.
Lightning arced across the floor, crawling along rails and metal supports, dancing without burning.
At the center stood a man.
Or something wearing one.
He was tall, lean, dressed in a long, dark coat threaded with luminous filaments that pulsed like living veins. His hair was silver-white, lifting slightly as if caught in a perpetual updraft. His eyes glowed a violent electric blue—too bright, too focused to be human.
The smell of ozone filled the air.
Elda stepped forward, staff grounded. "Stormbound," she said quietly. "You choose dramatic entrances."
The man smiled—sharp, amused.
"And you choose basements," he replied. His voice carried a faint echo, like thunder rolling across glass towers. "We all cope in our own way."
Lys stood.
The moment their eyes met, the air between them snapped.
Not hostility.
Recognition.
The Dragon inside Lys recoiled, not in fear, but in instinctive respect.
"You're a vessel," the man said, studying Lys openly. "Fire-bound. Shin-marked." His gaze flicked briefly—briefly—as if seeing something far beyond the present moment. "And dangerously early."
"Who are you?" Lys asked.
The man bowed slightly—not to Lys, but to the power coiled beneath his skin.
"I am Caelum Vale," he said. "Incarnation of the Lightning Dragon. Keeper of the Sky-Wound. Emergency response."
Nyra raised an eyebrow. "Emergency to who?"
Caelum's smile vanished.
"To dragons," he said. "And to timelines that are about to fracture."
Elda's grip tightened on her staff. "The Time Dragon has moved."
"Yes," Caelum said. "And worse—others have felt it. Storms don't gather without pressure, and pressure doesn't build without cause."
He turned back to Lys.
"You shouldn't have stayed on the mountain," he said softly. "Fire awakens memory. Memory attracts correction."
Lys felt it then—a low rumble not beneath the earth, but above the city. Clouds thickened unnaturally fast, swirling into a tight spiral directly overhead.
Thunder rolled.
Caelum's eyes brightened.
"The storm has found you," he said. "Which means the world is about to ask what kind of dragon you intend to be."
Outside, lightning struck the tallest tower in the city—again and again—without damaging it.
The city held its breath.
And somewhere, caught between seconds, the Time Dragon took note of the Storm's arrival.