The Storm's Edge

Hammond tore through the sky, his arrival a symphony of chaos, the air itself trembling as if it knew what was coming. The facility’s elemental sensors—finicky things, more art than tech—picked up his signature before any camera could. No sneaky infiltration here; this was a guardian’s grand entrance, the atmosphere bending to his will, whispering his urgency through pressure shifts that made the air feel alive.

Blake felt it in his bones, that familiar buzz of the guardian connection, like a radio signal cutting through static. Hammond’s air manifestation was a restless storm, sharp and controlled, the kind of vibe you get from someone who’s been dodging trouble for hours but still has a job to do. “He’s coming in hot from the northeast,” Blake said, his voice steady as he relayed the news to Commander Vega. The command center hummed, security systems recalibrating faster than you could blink to let Hammond through without tripping every alarm in the place.