The heavens collapsed.
And then the thunder did not merely roar—it descended.
Bolts struck the earth in rapid succession, not singular lines but columns, each one detonating with divine force. The land ruptured as molten stone and spiritual fire exploded outward, carving a vast circular scar before the castle gates.
The air screamed.
At the center of the devastation, lightning twisted inward, compressing, folding upon itself, until it became form.
A figure emerged.
Not flesh.
Not fully real.
A holographic manifestation, forged of condensed thunder and divine will.
He stood barefoot upon cracked earth, robes flowing despite the absence of wind around him.
His attire was that of a monk. It was simple, layered cloth dyed in muted shades of pale azure and soft gold, edges embroidered with barely visible sutra-runes that drifted like slow-moving constellations.
His eyes were lightly closed, lashes casting calm shadows upon a face carved with serenity and ancient detachment.
