The storm born reincarnation

Thunder rumbles, shaking the hazy world as I let my awareness expand. Memories rush back—disjointed, fragmented, but becoming clearer as I center myself. The static, the chaotic energy I've felt so many times before, now feels fuller, richer.

I take a deep breath, or what feels like one, and the energy flows toward me. The static, once erratic and wild, begins to settle. I remember the ritual I created when I was younger, trying to give the connection substance, molding it into something tangible. Back then, it was fleeting, weak. I thought if I could shape it, condense it, I might find answers.

It became my meditation, my escape. And now? Maybe here, in this strange liminal place, I could finally succeed.

I push myself to try.

I let the energy swirl around what I think is my soul, pulling it closer, condensing it into something solid. It resists me, chaotic and wild, but I push through, forcing order into the chaos. The more tangible it becomes, the more I feel anchored, real. But it's exhausting—every pull drains me. Sleep calls to me like a siren's song, tempting me to let go, to drift.

I laugh bitterly. Isn't that what I've always done?

The memories flood back. Playing football, basketball, running track—always pushing myself harder than anyone else. Not because I wanted to, but because I was told to. I worked until I could barely breathe, my asthma clawing at my lungs, but I pushed on anyway. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I was always average. Just so-so.

I remember the concussion, the one I never got checked out. It left me with migraines that wouldn't go away, turning every waking hour into a torment. The doctors said nothing was wrong, but the pain never left, and my asthma only got worse. Life became a constant fight—to breathe, to think, to find meaning. I wasn't living; I was surviving.

They called me an NPC. Maybe they were right.

College wasn't any better. I wanted to change, to be more, but I failed at that too. I couldn't think, couldn't focus. Every hour was a battle, and I started to think maybe I wanted to fail. Maybe I wanted an excuse to stop trying.

But not this time.

I grit my metaphorical teeth, determination flooding me. I refuse to fail. Not here, not now. I pull harder, drawing the chaotic energy into myself, forcing it to obey. The static swirls, condenses, and becomes something new.

Something real.

And in that moment, the world changes.

The world shifted. What was once an endless expanse of black-and-white static with faint flickers of color had transformed into a chaotic brilliance. Reds, greens, oranges, and hues I had no name for Some of the colors. The static wasn't aimless anymore—it had form, focus, and intensity.

Shapes emerged from the chaos. I could make out mountains, hills, the tops of trees. Everything was painted with strange, shifting colors: a greenish haze over the land, brown streaks marking jagged cliffs, and gray mist curling over distant peaks. Through the trees darted countless little orbs, glowing like sparks of energy, zipping and weaving through the wild landscape. It was still hazy, still dreamlike, but I could see it. I could feel it.

And I wasn't on the ground.

I was floating in the sky, drifting like the wind itself. A childhood dream made real, but far more vivid and freeing than I could've imagined. The energy around me crackled and pulsed, a mix of white and blue with hints of red. It flooded outward, cold and hot at once, the sensation as overwhelming as it was exhilarating.

I was anchored now—real in a way I hadn't been moments ago. My body, or soul, or whatever I was, felt tangible for the first time since…since I didn't know when. The energy around me surged with each thought, responding to my will, binding me to this strange, beautiful world.

I floated for a time, letting the wind carry me. The world unfolded below—an untamed, primal expanse of life and motion. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, yet somehow it felt right, like I belonged here.

And then I saw it.

A mountain. Not just any mountain—a mountain that floated, suspended in the air as if the laws of physics had given up trying to contain it. It loomed massive and defiant, wreathed in swirling clouds, its base shrouded in an endless cascade of mist.

This wasn't Earth.

"Of course," I muttered, my voice lost in the winds.

Whatever had happened to me, wherever I was now, this place wasn't home. I wasn't even sure it was a place in the way I understood it. But one thing was certain: my life as I knew it was gone.

And for the first time, I wasn't scared