The storm came without warning.
One moment, the sky above the quiet village was calm and painted in shades of gold. The next, it cracked open with a roar that shook the earth itself.
Thunder did not simply echo.
It screamed.
Arin stood in the middle of the rice fields, staring at the sky as villagers rushed past him in panic.
"Arin! Get inside!" someone shouted.
But he couldn't move.
Because the lightning—
It wasn't striking randomly.
It was circling.
Around the ancient banyan tree at the center of the village.
The same tree that had stood there for centuries.
The same tree elders called sacred.
Another bolt tore through the sky.
This one didn't hit the ground.
It hit the tree.
The impact exploded in a blinding green light.
The entire village went silent.
No wind.
No thunder.
Just light.
And then—
Pain.
Arin dropped to his knees, clutching his arm. A burning sensation spread through his skin like fire under flesh.
He screamed.
When the light faded, the storm vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Villagers slowly stepped outside their homes.
Smoke rose gently from the banyan tree, but it was not burned.
It was glowing.
Arin lay on the ground, breathing heavily.
On his right arm—
A mark had appeared.
Strange.
Ancient.
Glowing faintly green.
He stared at it in horror.
"What… is this?"
The air around the tree shifted.
Leaves rustled, though there was no wind.
And for a split second—
He heard a whisper.
"Guardian…"
Arin's heart pounded.
"Who's there?!" he shouted.
No answer.
Only silence.
The villagers began to gather around him.
Some stared at the mark with fear.
Others stepped back.
The village elder slowly approached.
His old eyes widened the moment he saw the symbol.
"It has begun…" the elder whispered.
"What has begun?" Arin demanded.
But before the elder could answer—
A wave of cold darkness swept across the fields.
Not wind.
Not mist.
Something else.
Something alive.
In the distance, far beyond the hills, the sky darkened unnaturally.
As if night itself had opened its eyes.
And deep within that darkness—
Two red lights flickered.
Watching.
Waiting.
A voice echoed, not in the air—
But inside Arin's mind.
"So… you are the new one."
Arin froze.
His blood ran cold.
"I have waited a very long time."
The red lights faded.
The darkness withdrew.
The sky returned to normal.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
The elder placed a trembling hand on Arin's shoulder.
"You must leave the village."
"What?"
"You have been chosen."
"For what?"
The elder looked toward the ancient banyan tree.
"To protect us… or to destroy us."
Arin looked down at the glowing mark on his arm.
It pulsed once.
As if it agreed.
And somewhere far away—
Something laughed.
The storm had not been random.
It had not been natural.
It had chosen him.
And the real battle…
Had only just begun.