5 | Thunderstorm

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Unlike the others, Thorn could not even get close. There was a ring of swords, all cackling with lightning that killed. They surrounded only one person. Thunderstorm did not look at him, merely sitting crossed legged in the middle of it all.

His eyes were closed. His arms were on his knees.

"I don't want you here." His expression was dark, but there was no feeling. It was a front, like everyone else. "Leave me alone."

His voice was as clear as the cackle of lightning.

Thorn did not know this place well. At the corner was a metal-plated roof with attic doors. It was a dump, but there was no garbage or debris.

He could only watch Thunderstorm from afar. His black clothing looked like he was dressed for someone's funeral.

Has he always been so guarded with others?

"I'm not here to hurt you," Thorn tried.

Thunderstorm did not cast one glance at him. His head was hung low, like he was chanting prayers. "I don't care about what you're here for," he growls. "Leave."

He had breath-taking red eyes, but he did not show them to Thorn. They were terrifying when he was provoked. An embodiment of beautiful death.

"I just want to ask a question," Thorn pleaded.

Hollow.

That was all Thorn could see in Thunderstorm.

"If you do that, will you finally leave?"

"Yes."

The swords in front of Thorn crackled just a bit louder.

"Then ask."

Thorn held his hand on his heart. "Do you know where they are?" he asked, almost sounding like he was desperate. "Our friends, I mean."

Silence was all that followed, for there were no words to describe it.

"How long has it been, Thorn?"

"I don't know."

A jolt of lightning shocked Thorn's hand. There was no pain, only numbness and stinging.

Thorn turned away. He would honour his promise. Behind them, behind Thunderstorm's barrier of death were two stray swords. Each of them was impaled into the ground, impaling two jackets of different colour. One of them red, the other yellow.

As Thorn left Thunderstorm, the terrain deformed. There were deep holes, there were scorch marks, and amongst all of them was a black cap hanging on a ledge, falling into the deep chasm from the whiff of the wind.

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘺  [✔️]Where stories live. Discover now