Tempest wasn’t like anyone else. He wasn’t born in the usual way, but conjured in the heart of a raging storm. Lightning split the sky, and wind screamed through the night when he first appeared, fully grown, his skin buzzing with electricity. He had no past, no childhood memories—just the storm that created him.
Wherever he went, the weather followed. If he was calm, the sky would clear, and a gentle breeze would dance through the air. But when his anger stirred, clouds would gather, thick and black, until thunder rumbled in the distance. His emotions were tied to the world around him in a way he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.
He wandered from town to town, never staying long. People whispered about him, watching as he passed with wary eyes, knowing that with him came the risk of disaster. He’d once met a woman, kind and curious, who seemed unafraid of the storms that followed him. For a moment, Tempest thought he could stay, thought he could belong. But then, in a moment of anger, the skies unleashed a violent downpour. Lightning struck her home, setting it ablaze, and she looked at him with fear—fear he’d hoped he would never see.
After that, Tempest left without a word. The storm wasn’t just outside him; it was inside him, and it would never let him be free.
He wandered through the world, a living storm in human form, searching for a way to calm the fury in his heart. But every step he took seemed to stir the winds, and the storms always followed.