The Storm's CallThe night after the strange mark appeared on Arin's hand, the entire village felt different.
The wind was colder than usual, and the sky above the mountains was covered with thick, dark clouds. It was as if the heavens themselves were watching.
Arin sat alone beside the small wooden house where he lived with his mother. The glowing symbol on his palm had finally faded, but the memory of it still burned in his mind.
He slowly closed his fist.
"What does it mean… to be chosen by the sky?" he whispered to himself.
Earlier that evening, the villagers had gathered in the town square. Everyone was talking about the strange light that had fallen from the heavens.
Some people were excited.
Some were afraid.
And some believed it was a bad omen.
Arin remembered the serious look on Master Elric's face. The old man had said that a prophecy existed—one that spoke of the "Last King chosen by the sky."
But Arin could not believe it.
He was just a normal young man who helped farmers in the fields and carried water from the river.
How could someone like him become a king?
Suddenly, a cold gust of wind rushed through the village.
The trees shook violently, and the clouds above began to move faster.
Arin looked up.
A low rumble of thunder echoed across the sky.
Boom.
The sound was deep and powerful, like the voice of a giant.
Arin's heart began to beat faster.
For some reason, the thunder did not feel frightening to him.
Instead… it felt familiar.
As if it was calling him.
He slowly stood up.
The mark on his palm suddenly appeared again.
This time it was brighter.
A thin line of blue light spread across his skin like lightning trapped beneath the surface.
Arin gasped.
"Not again…"
But before he could react, another thunderclap exploded in the sky.
BOOM!
A bolt of lightning flashed across the clouds, lighting the entire valley.
At that moment, Arin heard something.
A voice.
It was not loud.
It was not even clear.
But it echoed inside his mind.
"Come…"
Arin froze.
The voice sounded distant, ancient, and powerful.
"Come to the mountain…"
His breathing became heavy.
"What… is happening to me?" he murmured.
Just then, the door of the house opened behind him.
"Arin!"
It was his mother.
She looked worried as she stepped outside.
"The storm is getting worse. You should come inside."
Arin turned around slowly.
For a moment he thought about telling her everything—the mark, the voice, the prophecy.
But he stopped.
If he said those words out loud, everything would become real.
And he was not ready for that.
"I'm coming," he said quietly.
His mother nodded and went back inside.
But Arin did not move.
Instead, he looked toward the distant mountains at the edge of the valley.
The dark clouds above them were swirling strangely.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky.
And for a brief moment, Arin saw something standing on the highest peak.
A tall shadow.
Watching.
The lightning vanished, and the mountain returned to darkness.
Arin felt a chill run down his spine.
"Was that… real?"
He stared at the mountain for several seconds.
Then the voice returned.
Stronger this time.
"Come to me… chosen one."
Arin's eyes widened.
The mark on his hand burned like fire.
He clenched his teeth.
"I don't know who you are," he whispered toward the mountains.
"But if you're calling me… I will find the truth."
Inside the house, his mother had already gone to sleep.
Arin quietly packed a small bag.
A piece of bread.
A water bottle.
And the old dagger his father had left behind many years ago.
He looked at the sleeping figure of his mother.
"I'll come back," he said softly.
Then he stepped outside.
The storm had grown stronger.
Rain began to fall from the dark sky.
But Arin walked forward without hesitation.
Toward the mountains.
Toward the unknown.
And toward the destiny that the sky itself had chosen for him.
Far away on the mountain peak, the mysterious shadow smiled.
"The boy has begun his journey," the shadow said quietly.
"And soon… the world will remember the return of the Sky King."
Lightning flashed across the heavens.
The storm had only just begun.