Chapter 7: Storms of Doubt

The battle at the Kazehime Outpost had ended, but the victory felt hollow in Kaminari's chest. He stood on the precipice of the outpost's central platform, looking out over the horizon, where the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of amber and violet.

His fingers still tingled with the memory of the lightning, still crackling faintly with the surge of power he had unleashed. And yet, it didn't feel like enough.

In the aftermath of the fight, the rebels had secured the outpost—but it had come at a cost. Several of their own had been wounded, including Akari, who had hidden it well, but Kaminari could see the slight limp she now carried.

And that was only the immediate cost.

What if we're not ready for this? Kaminari wondered. What if we're just playing into the Kazehime Clan's hands?

He couldn't shake the feeling that something about this victory wasn't as it seemed.

Akari had rallied the rebels, shouting about their newfound hope, their first real win. But in Kaminari's mind, the questions piled up.

Where do we go from here?

The Kazehime Clan would retaliate, and when they did, would they even be able to hold what they had won?

"You've been running for so long, Kaminari. What happens when you run out of road?"

The air was thick with the smell of wet stone and charred wood. The rebel camp had set up on the upper floors of the outpost, patching together makeshift barricades and tending to the wounded. Akari had disappeared into the makeshift medical tent, and Kaminari was left alone, his thoughts a tangled mess of doubt.

He had barely noticed the man standing in front of him until the figure spoke.

"You're not sleeping."

Kaminari looked up to see Fujin Akari—the one person whose presence seemed to cut through his internal chaos. She stood in front of him, eyes as sharp as the wind itself, though there was a trace of something else in her gaze—a flicker of understanding.

"I'm not tired," Kaminari muttered, pushing his frustration back into his chest. He didn't want to burden her with his doubts. She had enough to carry.

But Akari didn't leave. She stepped closer, eyes narrowed as she studied him. "I'm not asking about sleep, Kaminari. I'm asking about what's inside your head. You've been fighting like there's no tomorrow, but your mind's still stuck on yesterday."

His heart clenched at the truth of her words. She was right. His mind was swirling with the memory of the storm, of the power he'd barely been able to control, of the questions he couldn't answer.

"I'm fine," he muttered again, forcing a smile. But even he didn't believe it.

Akari didn't flinch at his attempt to brush her off. Instead, she pulled a small knife from her belt and began cleaning it, the glint of steel flashing in the low light.

"I don't want to hear 'fine,'" she said, her voice quiet but firm. "The war's going to get harder, Kaminari. You have to face it—head on, or it'll drown you."

Kaminari swallowed. He was the one who had made the decision to fight—to keep moving forward, even though he could feel the weight of his past crushing him. But the guilt was still there.

His homeland—Tenkū no Kuni.

The storm that had wiped it out.

And the feeling that maybe, if he had done something sooner, something different…

"If I can't control this power—if I can't find a way to channel it—" His voice cracked slightly as the weight of his fear spilled out. "Then it's just going to destroy everything, Akari. Everything I touch."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Akari sighed, a soft, resigned sound that didn't sound like it came from someone so young. "You think I don't know that feeling? Every time I use my wind, every time I breathe life into the storm—I wonder if I'm letting something else take control."

Kaminari turned to her, his brow furrowed.

"I don't have all the answers," she continued, "but I know one thing. You're not alone in this fight." She looked at him, her expression determined. "We need each other to win. And I—" she hesitated, but only for a moment before adding, "I need you, Kaminari. We need you."

Kaminari was silent for a long time, the weight of her words pressing down on him. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm scared, Akari. I'm scared that everything I do… I'll make it worse."

Her eyes softened. "We're all scared. I've seen fear in the faces of people who've lost everything, and they still get up every day to keep fighting. You're not alone in this."

His heart ached at her words. The truth was, he'd been running for so long, trying to avoid the fear, the guilt, the pain of what had happened to his homeland.

But maybe facing it was the only way to break free.

The wind whispered through the cracks in the outpost, and Kaminari closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he let the storm inside him settle.

"Maybe… maybe it's time to stop running."

The next few days were spent fortifying the outpost and rallying the rebels. But even as their forces grew stronger, the doubts that clung to Kaminari remained. How far could they go?

As the sun began to set on another day of preparation, Kaminari stood on the outpost's edge once more. He was no longer alone this time; Akari had joined him, and together, they watched the horizon.

But something felt… off.

The wind had shifted.

Akari stiffened beside him, her eyes narrowing. "Something's coming."

Kaminari's senses were on high alert, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. "What is it?"

Before Akari could answer, a shadow detached itself from the darkness—a figure standing on the farthest edge of the outpost. The wind howled, carrying the figure's form closer.

The figure's face was obscured by a cloak, but Kaminari could feel the presence, a subtle, unnerving chill that washed over him.

The figure spoke.

"You've stirred the winds of change, Lightning Child," the voice was low, echoing with an unnatural calm. "But there are forces far older than you at play here."

Kaminari's heart skipped. "Who are you?"

The figure simply smiled, a slow, eerie curl of the lips that sent a shiver down his spine. "A messenger. And a warning."

Then, with a flick of the wrist, the figure disappeared into the air, leaving nothing but the unsettling sense that the storm was far from over.