He stood upon the precipice of calamity, holding his beloved in his arms. He gazed out into the roiling black depths and grasped its width and intricacy. He teetered on the edge of a darkness. No one could save him. No one could stop him.

-An Excerpt from the Legend of the Dark Cloud-

Nimbus Clearski did not like the rain.

He stared off into the horizon, the sky above him cloudy and a monotonous gray. The rain splattered around in the park, performing it's dismal dance in the puddles.

Far off in the distance, a jagged piece of white light appeared suddenly. It split the grey monotony for a mere second, and then it was gone. The deep rumble of thunder shook the earth, a testament that the bright lightning was no figment of the imagination.

Untouched by the rain, Nimbus looked out at the grey sky glumly as he shifted his position upon the uncomfortable metal bench. The rain pounded upon the metal roof of the gazebo, adding a dull, monotonous roar to the white noise of rain colliding in with the grass. Maybe he didn't like the rain because it resembled his life too much.

He rested his elbow upon the park table and propped his chin on his hand, the metal lattice of the table biting gently into his elbow.

By society's point of view, he should be happy.

He was young. He was good looking. He was healthy. He was wealthy. He was skilled.

Yet he wasn't happy. His life seemed to be as grey as the sky he sat under.

The ground rumbled once again under his feet.

He yearned for those flashes of lightning. Those things that would light up his life. He felt alive when those flashes of inspiration took him, but only for a brief instance. But then, just as he hadn't caught every flash of lightning, how many opportunities had he missed? He couldn't always be watching

Removing his glasses from his face, the gray expanse remained just that, except with much less detail. He rested his head upon his beloved case.

The car was just too far, he couldn't muster the energy. Closing his eyes, he wished for lightning. But not the type that would come and leave, one that would stay. Still Lightning. His own thoughts were drowned by the rain as he drifted off to sleep.

He really did not like the rain.

Nimbus raised his head from his case, and gazed out upon a vast plain.

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Directly above him, the sky was a blanket of clouds, yet off in the distance, he could see a blue sky detailed with puffy white clouds. His eyes were drawn to a mountain range.

Nimbus raised his head, the mountain in the foreground was a black and defined, while the range of towering mountains in the background seemed to fade in and out of existence, blending with a peculiar gray backdrop of wispy grey clouds, that seemed to hang like curtains from the gray cloud ceiling. Nimbus' attention was drawn to the indistinct peaks and the peculiar "curtains." The peaks were illuminated by small bolts of lightning flitting from random points in the clouds to behind the mountain, tearing away the obscurity for a scarce instances. The flickering lights drew his attention, and he was enthralled by the ephemerality of the lightning, and their contradictory consistency in placement.

Drawn to this phenomenon, he picked up his violin case, and walked across his dream-like plain. The sun dipped into view, turning the far off blue into a rich florid display. The scarce bushes cast long shadows, saluting the departing sun, then it was gone.

At the base, he gazed upwards, the deep blue night sky illuminated by the moon. Between Nimbus and the vast open sky, the mountain loomed over him, a vast immeasurable Titan, wreathed in with a majestic green forest and cloaked in the deep shadow of night. A shadow passed the moon and flew, cawing goodnight.

Nimbus sat at the base of the mountain, a smile spreading across his face. The Lightning had struck.

Excitedly, he opened up his case and placed his instrument upon his shoulder and clenched it with his chin. He drew his bow into position, and slowly slid it across the strings.

A slow tune began to from his strings. Smooth and deep, rich and dark, slow and mourning, his violin sang into the night. It hung in the air, soared with the crow, flowed through the forest.

His bow became still, and the song came to an end. The smile left his face, and it once again reverted to one empty. He sighed.

Just as quickly as it had come, it had gone. That happiness never stayed for long. Nimbus set his violin back in its case. He suddenly froze.

At the edge of the forest, a ball of wispy blue flames floated silently.