When Evan finally left that night, the apartment felt heavier. The faint hum of static still lingered in the air, clinging to the walls, the ceiling, even the shadows. Alaric shut the door behind him, exhaling deeply. His veins still shimmered faintly under his skin, that golden current whispering like a restless storm that refused to fade.
He sat on his bed for a long time, staring at his hands. Sparks danced faintly between his fingers—gentle, harmless, almost rhythmic. For a second, he thought he had it under control.
Then a small pulse jumped from his thumb to the nightstand, cracking the edge of the wooden frame.
"Still not perfect," he muttered, wincing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Not even close."
The hum in his chest pulsed in response, as if mocking him.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under. The glow in his veins dimmed as sleep took him—uneasy, filled with echoes of thunder and light.
The smell of breakfast woke him—eggs sizzling, the faint scent of toast. The sound of the kettle whistling.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
Alaric blinked against the sunlight bleeding through his curtains. His muscles still ached, his nerves tingling faintly. He sat up, stretching as the memory of last night drifted through his mind. The experiments. The sparks. Evan's grin when the multimeter readings went off the charts.
He groaned softly. "Yeah, definitely not telling Mom about that."
Pulling on his hoodie, he walked to the kitchen. His mother stood near the stove, phone propped against a cup, replaying the morning news while flipping an omelet.
"You're up late," she said without turning. "Breakfast's almost done."
"Yeah," Alaric replied, running a hand through his hair. "Didn't sleep much."
"Nightmares again?"
He hesitated. "Something like that."
She finally turned to him, concern softening her face. "You need rest, Alaric. You've been… off lately."
"Yeah, I know," he said, forcing a half-smile. "I think I'll stay home today."
Her brows lifted slightly. Normally, she would've argued, but not this time. She just nodded, quietly plating his breakfast. "Alright. Maybe you need a break."
He stared at her for a second, surprised. "No lecture?"
She shrugged. "You've been through a lot lately. I can tell when my son needs a day off."
"But I was Suspended For a week you know"
"You want me to send you to school"
"Of course not !"
"Then Just Eat "
That small moment almost made him smile. Almost.
He ate in silence, glancing once at the faint glow beneath his wrist. It pulsed softly, hidden from her eyes. When she left for work an hour later, Alaric watched the door close and exhaled.
Now he was alone again. And he needed answers.
---
The apartment was still when he began.
Alaric stretched out his hand, focusing. Sparks flickered across his fingers—small, controlled, almost beautiful. He took a deep breath and tried to direct the flow.
The golden light slithered up his arm, thin streams of electricity crackling like tiny serpents. The sensation was intoxicating—warm and weightless, like he could command the air itself.
"Okay," he whispered. "Focus this time. Flow, not burst."
He visualized the current, channeling it through his veins. A faint hum filled the room. The light bulb above flickered, then steadied. For the first time, the current didn't lash out. It moved—obeyed.
But when he blinked, something snapped.
The hum surged into a roar. Sparks exploded from his palm, blasting the chair in front of him backward. The lamp shattered, sending a flash of light through the room. Alaric stumbled, gasping, his heart hammering.
"Dammit!" he hissed, gripping his wrist. His skin was unscathed—again. Not even warm. But his shirt sleeve had burned through completely.
He stared at the faint smoke curling up from the carpet. "I can't do this here."
---
An hour later, Alaric stood in the middle of an old, overgrown park on the outskirts of the city—a forgotten patch of land surrounded by cracked concrete and silent trees. It was the one place no one came anymore.
The wind rustled faintly through the leaves. He looked around, exhaled, and took off his jacket, tossing it aside.
"Alright," he murmured to himself. "No distractions. Just me and this power."
He raised his right hand. The glow responded instantly—threads of light racing down his veins, pooling into his palm. The static in the air grew heavy, thick, humming with anticipation.
He closed his eyes and visualized the current again. Flow. Control. Direction.
The air crackled. A faint golden aura shimmered around him, distorting the air.
"Come on… come on…"
A sudden surge hit him—stronger than before, raw and violent. His heartbeat quickened. The charge built up in his chest, crawling up his spine like fire. His fingertips sparked uncontrollably.
"No—wait, slow down—"
The ground trembled.
Then came the flash.
A blinding burst of light erupted around him, tearing through the clearing with a deafening crack. Dust and leaves exploded outward. The trees nearest to him blackened, their bark splitting.
When the light faded, silence reclaimed the park.
Alaric stood at the center of a scorched circle, chest heaving. His hoodie was torn, charred at the edges, his hair disheveled—but his skin was untouched. Not even a scratch.
He stared down at his trembling hands, electricity still crawling lazily across his fingers like dying embers.
"…What the hell am I?" he whispered.
The distant echo of thunder rumbled faintly above, though the sky was clear.
Alaric swallowed hard, grabbed his jacket, and quietly made his way home before anyone noticed.
---
The house was silent when he entered. He moved carefully, avoiding the creaky tiles near the living room, and went straight to his room. His reflection in the mirror looked like he'd just crawled out of a storm—hair wild, soot smudges on his cheeks, eyes faintly glowing.
He stripped off the ruined hoodie, changed quickly, and threw the burnt fabric into a plastic bag. His hands still tingled with residual current.
Without thinking twice, he grabbed his phone and called Evan.
The line clicked.
"Yo, man," Evan answered, half-awake. "You sound like you just ran a marathon."
"I… might've blown up a park," Alaric said flatly.
There was a pause. "You… what?"
"I was testing control. It didn't go well. But listen—I didn't get hurt. Not even a burn."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was," Alaric replied, pacing. "I lost it for a second, and everything around me just—lit up. Trees, grass, everything. But I'm fine. Completely fine."
Evan's tone shifted instantly, from disbelief to fascination. "That's impossible. You should've at least gotten thermal damage. The temperature required for that discharge would be enough to melt metal."
"Yeah, tell that to my shirt," Alaric muttered. "It's the only thing that didn't survive."
Evan went quiet for a moment, then said, "You realize what this means, right? Your body's not just generating electricity—it's resisting it. It's redirecting the current internally. You're a living conductor, Alaric."
"That's not comforting."
Evan chuckled nervously. "Well, it's… insane, yeah, but think about it. If you can survive that output, there's potential for speed, for reaction—hell, maybe even travel through conductive mediums."
Alaric frowned. "You mean like… moving as fast as electricity?"
Evan hesitated, then said, "Of course not. You'd burn up instantly. Friction alone would rip you apart before you even hit half that speed."
Alaric leaned back in his chair, the faint hum in his veins syncing with his heartbeat. "Then what's the point of all this?"
"There's one way," Evan said, his voice lowering.
Alaric's eyes lifted toward the window, where faint lightning danced behind the clouds. "What way?"
"If you can somehow convert your body into electric ions—or even cover yourself with a layer of them—you might bypass friction entirely. Move like electricity, not through it."
Alaric's breath caught. "You're serious?"
"As serious as science can get without breaking it," Evan said quietly. "But to do that… you'd need absolute control. Every atom in sync. Every charge stable. One mistake, and—"
"Boom?"
"Boom."
Alaric sat there in silence for a moment, staring at his hand. The faint arcs of gold danced across his skin, soft and alive.
"Then I guess," he said finally, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips, "it's time to learn control."
The call ended.
Outside, thunder rumbled again—soft, distant, yet strangely familiar.
And for the first time since the experiment, Alaric didn't feel afraid of the storm.
He was the storm.