Chapter 1
The first thing Onix noticed was the sound.
Not thunder.
Breathing.
Shallow. Unsteady. Too small.
That was odd, because the last sound he remembered was very definitely a truck horn and the extremely unhelpful realization that momentum did not care about regret.
So this is either an afterlife, he thought dimly, or I've been reincarnated as something with terrible lung capacity.
He tried to move.
Nothing happened.
Panic flared—brief, sharp, and immediately smothered by something warm. Heavy. Encompassing. Like being wrapped in a blanket that didn't ask permission.
Okay, he revised, terrible motor control too.
Light bled through his eyelids, soft and unfocused. Shapes existed, but only in theory. Voices murmured nearby, low and rhythmic, rising and falling in a way that felt... comforting.
Onix took another breath.
This one came easier.
He didn't know how long he lay there—seconds, minutes, an entire philosophical debate about existence—but eventually a thought surfaced clearly enough to stick.
I'm not dead.
That realization should have been alarming.
Instead, it felt... fine.
The warmth shifted, and suddenly he was being lifted. The world tilted, gently, and a face came into view. A woman's face. Dark hair pulled back loosely, eyes bright with something dangerously close to tears.
"Oh," she whispered. "He's awake."
Her voice shook.
Onix tried to say something reassuring. Something like It's okay, I'm calm, please don't cry, or at the very least Hello.
What came out was a small, indignant noise that sounded like he was deeply offended by gravity.
"...He's perfect," the woman said immediately, as if this explained everything.
Ah, Onix thought. One of those families.
A second face appeared, this one broader, older, with a kind of quiet steadiness that felt like standing next to a wall that had never once considered falling over.
A man. Tall. Scar along his jaw. Eyes sharp, but softened as they settled on Onix.
"He's strong," the man said.
Onix had no idea how he could tell that, given that Onix currently possessed the physical capabilities of a damp loaf of bread, but he appreciated the vote of confidence.
The man rested a hand lightly on the woman's shoulder.
"Welcome to the world," he said.
Something in that sentence clicked.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Onix felt it in his chest.
A presence.
Not pain. Not pressure. Just... awareness. Like a door opening somewhere deep inside him.
The air shifted.
No one noticed at first.
The room—wooden walls, stone hearth, open window—remained unchanged. The soft morning light didn't flicker. The fire crackled gently.
But outside—
A distant rumble rolled across the sky.
The woman stiffened. "Is that... thunder?"
The man frowned slightly and turned toward the window. "The forecast said clear skies."
Onix blinked.
The sensation inside him stirred again, curious now. Responsive.
He didn't know how he knew this—he barely knew how knowing worked yet—but the sound outside felt... familiar.
Comforting.
Huh, he thought. That's new.
The rumble came again, closer this time.
The man stepped toward the window, pulling the curtain aside.
Gray clouds were gathering where there had been blue moments before.
Fast. Too fast.
"That's strange," he murmured.
The woman held Onix a little tighter. "Alaric..."
"I know," he said. "It's probably nothing."
Onix yawned.
Or tried to.
What actually happened was a soft spark crackled near his fingers.
It was small. Barely visible. A faint blue flicker, like static snapping off wool.
The woman gasped.
The man froze.
The spark vanished instantly, leaving nothing behind but silence and the distant sound of rain beginning to fall.
Onix, blissfully unaware of the existential implications of what he had just done, closed his eyes.
Okay, he thought, drifting, note to self: lightning exists now.
When he woke again, the rain had settled into a gentle rhythm against the roof.
The room smelled like herbs and warm wood. He felt... full. Tired, but in a good way, like after a long day that had ended exactly where it should.
Voices murmured nearby.
"...never seen anything like it," a man was saying. Older. Different from before. "A storm forming that quickly—on the day of his birth, no less."
"Lightning runs in our blood," Alaric replied evenly. "You know that."
"Yes, but this—" The older man hesitated. "This felt different."
Onix cracked one eye open.
I feel like I should apologize.
"...he's just a child," the woman said softly. "Please don't start talking like this already."
There was a pause.
Then the older man sighed. "Of course. Forgive me. New life brings old superstitions."
Footsteps retreated.
The room grew quiet again.
Onix stared at the wooden beam above him, watching shadows sway as the rain outside slowed.
Lower noble family, he reasoned vaguely, piecing together fragments without quite knowing how. Lightning magic. Storms.
He felt no panic. No dread.
Just... curiosity.
And beneath that, something else.
A sense of waiting.
Not from the world.
From the storm.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't demanding.
It was patient.
As if it had been listening for a very long time—and had finally heard something it recognized.
Onix smiled, tiny and unconscious of the future.
Well, he thought, drifting back to sleep, this should be interesting.
Onix dreamed of movement.
Not running. Not falling.
Flowing.
Something carried him—not hands, not air, but a rhythm that pulsed beneath everything else. Slow. Steady. Familiar, in a way that made no sense.
When he woke, the world felt heavier.
Not unpleasantly so. Just... present.
He blinked against the light and immediately regretted it. Everything was still too bright, too sharp, like his eyes were still negotiating their contract with reality.
A soft chuckle came from nearby.
"Careful," a woman's voice said. "You glare like that and you'll scare the furniture."
Onix turned his head—slowly this time—and found the same woman from before seated beside his cradle. She looked less tearful now, more tired, but her smile was gentler for it.
"Good morning," she said. "Or afternoon. Time's been a little... flexible today."
Onix opened his mouth.
A yawn escaped instead.
She laughed quietly. "I'll take that as approval."
I'm being bullied by a woman who thinks yawning is conversation, Onix thought. This is my life now.
He shifted, testing his limbs with cautious intent. His arms responded—poorly—but they responded. Fingers curled, then uncurled again.
Control was... minimal.
But not nonexistent.
Interesting.
"You're already very observant," the woman murmured, watching him with keen eyes. "Most newborns don't look like they're planning something."
I feel seen.
Footsteps approached from the other side of the room, heavier, deliberate. The man—Alaric—entered carrying a small bundle of folded cloth. He paused when he saw Onix awake.
"There he is," he said quietly. "How are you feeling, son?"
Onix stared at him.
Son, his mind echoed. Right. That checks out.
Alaric studied him for a moment longer than strictly necessary, eyes narrowing slightly—not with suspicion, but with something closer to assessment.
"He's calm," Alaric said at last. "Too calm."
The woman—Seraphine, Onix realized distantly—snorted. "You say that like it's a flaw."
"For a Stormborn?" Alaric replied. "It's unusual."
Onix had no idea what a Stormborn was yet, but it sounded like a job title with unreasonable expectations.
Seraphine adjusted the blanket around him, her fingers careful, precise. "He didn't cry much last night," she said. "Barely fussed at all."
"That's because he already used all his energy summoning a storm," Alaric muttered.
In my defense, Onix thought, I did not know that was an option.
As if responding to the thought, a faint tingling stirred in his chest again. The same sensation from before—subtle, patient.
The room did not change.
No sparks. No thunder.
Just... awareness.
Onix focused on it, curious.
Nothing happened.
He relaxed.
The sensation settled.
Alaric exhaled slowly.
Seraphine looked up at him. "Did you feel that?"
"Yes," he said. "But it stopped."
They shared a glance.
Onix decided this was probably a good time to pretend to be a normal baby.
He scrunched his face and made a small, indignant noise.
Seraphine immediately softened. "Oh, there it is. Hungry?"
Yes, Onix agreed internally. Let's go with hungry.
Later—after feeding, and what Onix would generously describe as an undignified amount of being held—he found himself resting in a cradle near the window.
The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle. Sunlight filtered through thinning clouds, catching on droplets clinging to the glass.
Peaceful.
Almost too peaceful.
A third presence entered the room without sound.
Onix noticed immediately.
The man who stepped inside moved differently from Alaric. Lighter. Quieter. His steps barely disturbed the floor, and the air around him felt... stretched, like it had been gently pulled thinner.
Wind magic.
Onix didn't know how he knew that.
He just did.
The man bowed his head slightly to Alaric and Seraphine. "My lord. My lady."
"Eldric," Alaric said. "You didn't have to come so soon."
"I felt something shift," Eldric replied calmly. His gaze drifted—then settled squarely on Onix.
The air changed.
Not violently. Not suddenly.
It was as if the breeze itself had paused to listen.
Onix blinked up at him.
Eldric's brows rose a fraction.
"Well," the man said quietly. "That explains it."
Seraphine stiffened. "Explains what?"
Eldric didn't answer right away. He stepped closer, studying Onix with an intensity that felt... respectful. Curious. Not fearful.
"He's not loud," Eldric said at last. "But he's not empty either."
Onix yawned again, mostly because it seemed like the correct response to being stared at.
Eldric's mouth twitched.
"He listens," Eldric added. "That's rare."
Alaric crossed his arms. "You're talking like he's already grown."
"I'm talking like the wind does," Eldric replied. "It doesn't care about age."
A pause followed.
Then Seraphine said softly, "He's just a child."
"Yes," Eldric agreed. "And children grow."
Onix felt the presence in his chest stir again—not restless, not excited.
Waiting.
The storm outside finally broke apart, clouds thinning until blue sky returned, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Eldric inclined his head once more. "I will help however I can," he said. "If you wish."
Alaric nodded slowly. "When the time comes."
Eldric turned to leave, stopping only once at the doorway.
"Welcome to the world, young master," he said, not unkindly. "Try not to break it."
Onix gurgled.
No promises.
That night, as the house slept and the rain faded completely, Onix lay awake in the dark.
He could feel the storm.
Not outside.
Inside.
It wasn't demanding. It wasn't raging.
It was patient.
Waiting for him to grow strong enough to move with it.
Onix closed his eyes, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.
All right, he thought. But we're doing this my way.
The storm, somewhere far beyond the clouds, seemed to agree.