New York City – Manhattan, 3:02 A.M.
Thunder rolled through the city like a drumbeat from the heavens.
Rain lashed down in sheets, washing the streets clean as yellow cabs splashed past empty sidewalks. But above it all, atop the unfinished 113th floor of the Orion Tower, something ancient stirred.
A boy stood barefoot on the steel beams.
Soaked. Shivering. Eyes glowing faintly with electric blue.
His name was Isaiah Reed, and tonight, he wasn't dreaming.
He was remembering.
---
Lightning in His Veins
The visions had started a week ago. Flickers at first—flashes of war, of banners in the clouds, of screaming skies split by lightning bolts shaped like wolves.
Isaiah was just seventeen. A high school dropout. No parents. Just an overworked foster system and a deep anger that never seemed to go away. He didn't believe in anything—until he touched the rooftop antenna two nights ago and survived a direct lightning strike.
Since then, he hadn't been the same.
His skin hummed. Electronics buzzed when he walked past. The storm outside? He could feel it responding to his heartbeat.
And tonight, something had called him here.
"I'm not crazy," he whispered to himself.
But the sky answered.
A bolt cracked across the skyline—and from it, something descended.
A shape cloaked in feathers and stormlight. A being tall as a man, but winged and crowned with thunder.
Isaiah stumbled back.
> "Who—what—?"
The figure spoke with a voice like distant thunder.
> "You were once a king. A herald of storms. A judge of skies."
> "The world called you Raijin. You cast down the sky-temple and sealed the tyrant beneath the cloud sea."
Isaiah blinked. "What are you talking about? I'm just some kid from Queens."
The being extended a gauntlet-clad hand.
> "Not anymore."
Lightning danced along Isaiah's arms. His vision swam. And then—
He saw it.
A palace in the sky. Armored warriors riding dragons made of cloud and gold. Himself—older, fiercer, wielding a staff crackling with power, screaming as he brought down an empire with one strike.
He gasped. Fell to one knee.
> "What the hell is happening to me?!"
The being's eyes glowed. "You are awakening, Isaiah Reed. The shard within you stirs."
And then—just as quickly—it vanished into the rain.
Leaving Isaiah alone with lightning in his blood… and a city beneath him that was no longer safe.
---
Arrival
Twelve hours later, a sleek black jet cut through the clouds.
Inside sat Lucian, reading a data slate Yena handed him.
"This kid, Isaiah. Seventeen. No living family. A history of behavioral infractions and juvenile offenses, but nothing violent. However…"
Lucian looked up. "Go on."
Yena's eyes narrowed. "The police picked him up two nights ago after the lightning strike. He fried three patrol cars just by walking past them. No tasers worked. Surveillance footage shows static distortions every time he speaks."
Lucian whistled low. "A walking thunderstorm."
Yena nodded. "If he's the next shard-bearer, we need to reach him before someone else does."
Lucian turned to the window.
Rain still fell.
The storm hadn't broken since the signal flared.
He could feel the pulse of the shard—like a drumbeat in his bones. Isaiah was near.
---
Shadow Moves
Meanwhile, in the shadows of Brooklyn's subway tunnels, something darker stirred.
A man in a gray coat walked past flickering lights. His eyes were sunken, and his footsteps left no sound.
Behind him, something moved.
Dozens of somethings.
Wraiths—beings made of twisted memory and cursed shadow. They followed the man like silent wolves.
He raised a hand.
In his palm was a shard of black glass.
> "The storm-child awakens," he murmured. "Time to bring him home."
And the shadows obeyed.
---
Rooftop Run-In
Isaiah had no idea what he was doing.
He ran across rooftops like something was chasing him—because something was.
They'd appeared at sunset. Pale figures that moved through walls, whispering things in voices made of wind and knives.
They didn't bleed.
They didn't speak.
They just hunted.
Isaiah turned and raised a hand.
A bolt of lightning exploded from his palm, slamming one of the wraiths into a water tank, turning it to vapor.
The others didn't stop.
He ran again.
Then—just as they cornered him on a tenement rooftop in the Lower East Side—
A spear of flame arced through the sky.
It struck the lead wraith, incinerating it in midair.
Isaiah turned, stunned.
A man landed beside him in a burst of light.
Tall. Clean-cut. Cloaked in a coat that shimmered like embers.
Lucian.
He raised a hand.
"Come with me if you want to live."
Isaiah blinked. "Is that a Terminator quote?!"
Lucian grinned. "I've been waiting to use it."
Then the rooftop exploded in chaos as wraiths swarmed.
---
Myth Meets Lightning
Isaiah and Lucian fought back to back.
Fire and thunder danced across the roof, lighting up the skyline like a private war.
Yena arrived a moment later, dropping in from a glider drone, cutting through two shadows with her crescent blade.
When the last wraith fell, Isaiah collapsed.
Chest heaving. Hands still crackling with electricity.
Lucian knelt beside him.
"You're not alone," he said.
Isaiah looked up, confused.
"You're not crazy," Lucian added. "You're Mythborne."
He extended a hand.
"Come with us. We'll explain everything."
Isaiah hesitated. Looked at the scorch marks on the roof. The glowing brand on his wrist.
"…Okay," he said.
Lucian smiled. "Welcome to the war."