Chapter 1 - Thunderstruck

My feet pounded on the dirt and gravel path, and my heavy breathing was the only sound on the deserted track. My dry-fit shirt and running shorts had long surrendered to the heavy, humid August air, which seemed determined to wring every last drop of moisture from my body.

I hadn’t been able to sleep—again. It was becoming routine. The king-sized bed felt too big, too empty. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d find myself reaching for a warmth that was no longer there. A hand that would never squeeze mine back. A voice I’d never hear whisper my name again.

I used to complain about her habit of reading in bed, the soft light of her e-reader glowing long into the night, when I was trying to fall asleep. Funny how much I’d give just to see that irritating blue light again.

But there’s no one else in that bed now—just me and the hollow ache of what’s missing. So instead of drinking myself unconscious, I did what any responsible middle-aged adult would do.

I went for a run... In the middle of the night.

The canal I run along crosses Gilbert Road between Ocotillo and Chandler Heights and has a locked gate barring any further access. I use this as the turnaround point of my run. It’s a familiar route, one I used to take to clear my head after long days at work. Only now, instead of easing my mind, every step feels like a reminder of what I’ve lost.

I can’t count how many nights I’d come home to find her on the couch, curled up with some book, waiting for me. Or the way she’d perk up when she heard my key turn in the door, her smile making all the stress melt away. There was always a light on—always. A promise that no matter how late I worked, there was someone waiting for me.

But there’s no light left. Just darkness.

The weight of it bore down on me, slowing my pace. I was tempted to stop, to just let it all wash over me, but I knew where that path led. The last thing I needed was to let myself drown in the pain.

With a growl, I forced myself to pick up speed, pushing harder until my legs burned and my lungs felt ready to burst. Focus on the run. Focus on the pain. Focus on the next step and the next. Keep going until the only thing I could think about was the exhaustion.

I just needed to be tired enough not to dream. Not to remember.

The sweat pouring down my back blurred the lines between running and running away, but I didn’t care. As long as I could make it back home, collapse into that bed, and pass out without having to fight my memories.

Because it’s not the loneliness that scares me. It’s that when I finally do sleep... I won’t wake up wanting her there.

And that thought—that horrifying moment of acceptance—made me pick up my pace until the only thing I could feel was the beat of my heart, drowning out everything else.

All I wanted was to be too tired to think. To remember.

Just too damn tired to feel.

The canal I run along crosses Gilbert Road between Ocotillo and Chandler Heights and has a locked gate barring any further access. I use this as the turnaround point of my run.

I pivoted to head home. A brilliant column of light tore through the night sky. It flared at the far end of the valley, nearly a hundred miles away. The radiance was so intense, afterimages burned into my vision. I turned, shielding my eyes. Glancing back, the light had pierced the night, scattering the clouds. The sky was left clear and stark.

While Thunderstruck by AC/DC blared in my right earbud, the light exploded outward, erupting from its base in a silent detonation. The absence of sound made the scene even more unsettling. Waves of energy rippled out from the base of the beam, spreading like the shockwave from an atomic blast.

A translucent, purplish cloud rolled across the valley expanding in a perfect circle, swallowing the city as it moved. The edges of the storm shimmered, faint arcs of energy crackling along its boundary like distant lightning.

And still, there was no sound—just an eerie, oppressive silence.

As the cloud of purple-tinged energy rolled over the city, electronics flickered and died. Darkness swallowed the streets, plunging everything into blackness. The storm pressed forward, relentless, forming a dark ring that trailed the explosion. Moments later, as the edge passed, the lights returned creating the illusion of a shadow sweeping over the city, chased away by the restored glow.

The ominous dust cloud rolled toward me, a silent storm of shimmering particles swallowing everything in its path. And there I stood, watching. In every disaster movie there’s that dumbass that stands there, looking. You lean forward in your seat and yell RUN! Yeah, that was me. Just… standing there.

When all the hair on my body stood straight up and my earbud went silent, I realized I should be concerned.  The wave reached me, swallowing my body in a swirling cocoon of glowing power.

My entire body buzzed with an intense tingling sensation, like when your arm falls asleep. Although uncomfortable, I wouldn’t call it painful. Tiny sparks of purple energy danced across my skin. I looked down at my hands, watching as the energy wrapped around them, caressing my fingers.

An area on my left hand shone brighter than any other. I stared, heart pounding, as the glow grew stronger. For the second time in just a few minutes, I found myself turning my eyes away, shielding them from the blinding light.

The tattoo on my ring finger—the one my wife had insisted we get—was a vibrant violet light that outshone the storm swirling around me.

Panic flared. Instinctively, I started shaking my hand furiously, trying to fling off whatever the hell it was, like it was a stray spark or some weird bug stuck to my skin.

“Ahhh!” I yelped, jerking my hand back and forth. But the glowing symbol stubbornly remained, bright as ever.

It felt alive, like it was reacting to the cloud—whatever the hell that was. Purple sparks danced along the ink’s edges, swirling and merging before flowing outward, as if the tattoo were channeling the storm’s power through my skin.

For a moment, I felt a flicker of warmth—familiar, comforting—coming from the ring. I stopped shaking my hand, calming as the sensation washed over me. It felt almost like a presence. Her presence.

No. That’s not possible.

Before I could make sense of it, the cloud began to pass, and the glow from the tattoo faded, the energy moving on.

I exhaled, a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The full-body tingling sensation ebbed away as the purple cloud drifted further, leaving me standing alone in the dark, my mind still reeling.

None of it made sense. Nothing could explain what I felt in my hand. Why the tattoo—just a simple piece of inked skin—had reacted like that.

I glanced down again, flexing my fingers. The wedding ring tattoo was back to its usual, quiet black. Whatever I’d just seen—or felt—was gone, and the night was once again eerily still.

The rational part of my brain urged me to dismiss it, to file it away as some weird trick of the light. But I couldn’t shake the sensation. That fleeting moment of warmth... like she’d been right there beside me, wrapping me in the same love and comfort that made everything feel right, even when the world was falling apart.

It’s just grief, I told myself. My mind playing tricks on me because it’s her ring. I wanted it to mean something. Wanted to believe that for just one moment, she was back.

But if it was just in my head, why did I feel it in my bones? Why did the storm seem to swirl around me—around us—like it was drawn to that ring?

Turning slowly, I watched the shimmering cloud roll further into the distance, its ethereal glow illuminating the darkened streets in a hauntingly beautiful display.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Around me, the city lights blinked back on, one by one, as if awakening from a deep sleep.

What the hell just happened?

My first thought was some kind of attack—an EMP, maybe? But I shook my head. That didn’t fit. If it had been an electromagnetic pulse, the streetlights and every electronic device in the area would have been fried.

I glanced at my watch; the face lit up, showing my erratic heart rate. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. It, too, appeared to be working fine.

And yet… what else could it have been?

A new weapon? Some kind of experimental tech? My mind raced, flipping through every half-baked theory I could come up with—HAARP, weather manipulation, or maybe a directed energy weapon like the ones conspiracy theorists love to rant about. It didn’t seem any crazier than what I’d just experienced.

Suddenly, Thunderstruck blasted into my ears, making me jump and yanking me out of my thoughts.

I looked around instinctively, half-expecting to see someone else gawking at the strange storm, but there was no one. Just me, the lingering energy, and the faint hum of the city waking up again.

Scoffing at myself, I took one last look at the dissipating cloud. “That was… weird,” I mumbled. With my hair still standing on end, I turned and began jogging home. The air felt cleaner, lighter, and less humid after the bizarre storm blew away all the pollution and monsoon moisture.

A nervous chuckle escaped my lips as I took my first few steps. “You stupid ass, you just stood there,” I muttered to myself. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, making my hands tremble. A relieved smile crept across my face as I settled back into my running pace, the steady thud of my sneakers a comforting sound in the otherwise silent night.

But the smile didn’t last long.

My gaze drifted back to my left hand, to the simple black band that now felt anything but ordinary.

What was it about this tattoo? It’s a simple design my wife found on pinterest... It was just a wedding ring inked into my skin. Hell, did the artist sneak some kind of metal into the ink? Silver? Copper? Maybe it’s got some weird alloy in it, and when that purple cloud rolled over me, I got zapped like a burrito in a microwave.

The image popped into my mind unbidden—me, glowing and crackling like a TV dinner in a foil wrapper. I almost laughed out loud. Yeah, because that’s a logical explanation. My tattoo artist secretly works for the government, implanting spy devices in middle-aged men’s fingers. The government doesn’t need to implant tracking devices on us. We gladly carry them around in our pockets.

“Of course, I get the one tattoo that comes with a built-in light show,” I muttered.

Maybe I should leave them a five-star review: 'Great work, amazing attention to detail, and oh yeah, it glows purple and nearly fries you alive during mysterious storms.' Or would a scathing review be better? 'Warning: Artist adds dangerous electromagnetic properties to otherwise normal tattoos!'

The thought was ridiculous, but somehow comforting in its absurdity. Because no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, the truth was, I had no idea what had just happened.

With a sigh, I shook my head, with one last quick glance at my tattoo I stepped up my pace.

I have a bad habit of keeping my gaze fixed on the ground ahead of me as I run to avoid stumbling or injuring myself. Most likely from the cross-country team I ran for in school. It gives me bad posture when I run and probably wears me out sooner. For tonight's run, that was fine. The point of the run was to help me sleep, and it was doing its job.

Despite my growing exhaustion and eagerness to get home, something caught my eye as I crossed Gilbert Road and passed a row of strip malls. A few of the local businesses, ones I’d run by a hundred times, had changed their signs. Strange, neon symbols had been added, glowing faintly in the darkness.

They reminded me of nightclub stamps, the kind that only show up under blacklight. I hadn’t noticed them before, though this wasn’t my first late-night run. How had I missed them?

The symbols had an almost calligraphic quality to them, something vaguely Asian in their design. I had no idea what they were, but there were quite a few—the dry cleaners, the taco shop, the nail salon, and even the local dive bar. I assumed they were something like a QR code, a way for businesses to spread their message and let people know they were available.

As interesting as it was, I was getting tired. The heat and humidity made my run even more exhausting, and the post-adrenaline fatigue from the light show and energy wave hit me like a Mack truck, so I didn't spend much time dwelling on it.

I rounded the corner, crossed Ocotillo, and stepped back onto the gravel running path roughly a mile from home when a flicker of movement on the dimly lit path caught my eye. Twenty-five yards away, a monstrosity unlike anything I'd ever seen scuttled across the walkway.  An elongated, segmented body, glistening black in the pathway lights, pulsed with an unnatural rhythm.  Too many legs, too many twitching antennae. My breath caught – it was something primeval, straight out of a nightmare.

The creature paused, its head swiveling towards me. Panic surged, icy and sharp. Before I could move a gust of wind hit me from behind pushing me a few steps closer to the nightmarish creature. I suddenly needed to pee. That's when a colossal shadow plunged from the sky above. A monstrous bird, its wingspan wider than the street itself, blotted out the moon for a terrifying heartbeat. It snatched the creature in its beak, a flurry of chitinous claws and desperate writhing. The colossal bird wrestled its eight-foot-long prey into the night sky with a thunderous beat of its wings, the wind whipping debris around me.

The bird's eyes were glowing orbs, piercing through the darkness like arcs of electricity. Lightning crackled around its form, illuminating its massive wingspan. Occasionally, a flash of light bursts from its wings, casting fleeting shadows on the ground. Each time the moonlight touched its feathers they would shimmer with an iridescent glow, reflecting hues of deep blue and silver.

I stood, mouth wide open like a fish gasping for air. Realizing it was hanging open, I snapped it shut. "What in the actual fu..." I yelled, my voice cracking with exasperation and fear. Before I could finish, a voice whispered in my ear, "It's the thunderbird."

With a yelp that was decidedly manly—and definitely not a high-pitched squeal—I snapped my head back in a vicious arc, aiming to crush the nose of whoever dared get so close. My head met nothing but air.

I spun, throwing my elbow in a tight arc toward where I sensed them. Empty space. My momentum nearly sent me off balance. Before I could recover, something light brushed my shoulder. A simple touch—barely there—yet it shifted me, pushing my weight just enough that I stumbled.

What the—

I whipped around, fists up, but they were already gone. No, not gone—just there. A shadow in the corner of my vision, a ripple of movement that danced just beyond reach. Teeth gritted, I lunged forward, snapping a quick jab toward their side. They didn’t dodge. Instead, a light pressure on my wrist redirected my strike, twisting me in place.

Another touch—a finger brushing along my shoulder—sent me spinning, my balance gone. I stumbled, feet tangling awkwardly.

A growl escaped my throat, more frustration than rage. They weren’t attacking, weren’t even trying to hurt me. Each time I moved, they flowed around me, guiding me off-balance with the ease of a master redirecting a clumsy student.

Like fighting smoke, or trying to catch a shadow. Each motion I made was countered before it even began. They were faster—too fast—slipping around my every attempt to regain control.

Breathing hard, chest tight, I stepped back. This wasn’t a fight—it was a demonstration. Years of practicing martial arts and sparring and I can’t even touch them. Definitely not elite, but I could always manage to land a point.

Not this time. Not even close.

The shadow swirled just out of reach, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of the horizon. No clothes, no face—just a shape. A three-dimensional void that absorbed light, its form rippling and shifting as if struggling to hold onto a solid shape.

What the hell was this thing?

My hands tightened, but I didn’t press forward. There was no point. I couldn’t land a hit. Couldn’t touch them. They hovered there, dark and liquid, like the embodiment of night itself, their outline blurred at the edges, bending and twisting as if reality itself recoiled.

They made no move to close the distance. Just stood there, waiting. Waiting for me to do… what? Attack again? Fall on my ass?

The shadow tilted its head slightly, and in a voice that barely carried over the distance, they spoke. “The bringer of storms.”

“What?” The word escaped me, more a frustrated bark than a question. Confusion twisted through me. What the hell are you talking about? I thought, my brow furrowing. Nothing about this made sense.

They nodded toward the sky where the massive bird had vanished. “The Thunderbird. It’s known as the bringer of storms.”

The Thunderbird? Like the totem on top of those kachina dolls my mom used to collect? The image popped into my mind—a carved wooden figure with a massive bird perched on top. I vaguely recalled seeing a grainy, black-and-white photo once. The kind you’d find on conspiracy forums. You had to squint to even see the outline of a bird.

Shadow people are weird.

“Who are you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

“I’m not here to fight, Mr. Reign,” they murmured softly, ignoring my question. But that wasn’t what sent ice through my veins.

Mr. Reign. My stomach tightened. They knew my name. Every muscle in my body tensed, instincts screaming at me to bolt. To get the hell away from here. I forced my face to remain neutral even as my thoughts raced. This wasn’t random. This shadow—whatever it was—had come here specifically for me.

But why? What did they want?

“Then what are you here for?” I asked, forcing the words out evenly, struggling to keep the edge of anxiety from bleeding through.

Their shadowy form rippled, and for a heartbeat, the edges of their silhouette brightened, as if they were… smiling.

“I’m here with an invitation.”

The back of my neck prickled. “Uhhh…Nope. I’m busy. Forever. I’m forever busy,” I replied instantly, my mouth moving before my brain caught up.

The figure glided forward, their steps silent, unnerving. They were shorter than me by a few inches, more slender, almost delicate, and they moved with effortless grace. It was clear they could handle themselves. They weren’t in a hurry, either. They considered me harmless.

“To meet with Dr. Caldwell,” they replied, without missing a beat.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the chaos of the night. “Dr. Caldwell?” I echoed. “Based on everything I’ve seen tonight, that sounds like the name of a mad scientist. Should I expect a laboratory filled with lightning and Frankenstein monsters?”

The figure tilted their head ever so slightly. “Dr. Caldwell is a respected member of Vortex Academy,” they said calmly like they were reciting from a brochure.

I smirked, shaking my head. “Yeah, but no one ever claims to be a mad scientist, right? You don’t exactly see that on a business card. It's always 'respected' this, 'distinguished' that.”

They remained silent, completely unfazed by my sarcasm. “You’ve been summoned,” they repeated, clearly not interested in the debate.

I was still thinking of another retort when they leaned in slightly. “I’m afraid I must insist, Mr. Reign.”

Before I could react, the shadow moved and my world went black.