Storm Is Coming

The moment Elian stepped forward, the air around him shifted.

It was subtle at first—just a change in tempo, a small ripple in the rhythm of the game. But then, in the next breath, it was a tidal wave.

A force.

A presence.

Something no one on the pitch could ignore.

Spain's players, who had been pressing relentlessly just seconds ago, hesitated.

It wasn't fear.

No—it was something deeper.

A primal instinct.

A warning.

Something told them—this was different.

Elian moved—and the world moved with him.

The moment the ball touched his foot, he didn't just control it—he commanded it.

With a slight flick of his ankle, he sent the ball spinning into the space ahead, accelerating like a bullet out of a chamber.

The Spanish midfielders reacted instantly, closing in, bodies colliding like crashing waves.