For a second I'm fifteen again. Deep in training and fast on my way to becoming a Storm Guard. I'm desperate, back then, to one day be as celebrated as Andras and Crisiant -- the Storm Bringers. The first two, the two that had formed the Guards and forced the atomic war to come to a swift end.

Crisiant had not yet retired. Her black hair only riddled by a single shot of white that trickled down her long fringe like an icy waterfall. Andras had survived the atomic war, but he hadn't survived bowel cancer. I never got to meet him, but occasionally Crisiant would come visit us, stay with us a few weeks, monitor our training.

Sometimes in the evenings, after our training was over, she'd speak to us. Tell us stories about what the what-had-been, and the what-would-no-doubt-be.

"Man will try to make other wars," Crisiant, in so motherly a voice, explained to us. "And you, you're the generation that will take over from us. That will ensure this peace is prolonged. The future belongs to the Storms in America, in China, in Europe -- the world over." She pauses dramatically and says, "Nature bore us to end its destruction. Countries bend to our will, because our will can crush them. If we say 'no war!' then there will be no war."

We -- Storms -- were almost our own country, back then. A global alliance of Storm Borns that would crush any country looking for war. Even if that country was where we were born, if that was the price of peace.

"She's awesome, right?" says Susie, sometime after, her eyes as bright as the white streak of Crisiant's hair. We're in a room with four sofas, but its just the two of us and a bottle of vodka that we pass back and forth between swigs.

"She can make the sky rain fire," I say. "Yeah, she's pretty cool."

Susie rolls her eyes. "I don't mean that. I mean her idealism! You know: principles. It's not what she can do, it's what she chooses not to do."

"Oh. Sure. Yeah, I guess I can see that, too. Sort of."

She bites her lip and smiles.

Then in comes her future husband. He sinks down on the sofa next to her.

"Hi pretty lady," Jonas says.

"Drink?" she offers.

"I'll pass," Jonas replies, his germanic accent still strong back then. "I like to keep my brain clear and my liver functional."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"That's what makes you so fun," I quip, and I'm thrilled to see Susie trying to cover up a grin.

And it's not like me and Susie were dating -- we wouldn't be for another five years. But as I watch him hold out his hand and see the big brown seed sitting on his palm, I already feel a pain in my heart.

"For you," he says.

Susie frowns, confused. Then the frown melts away into joy, her eyes widening, as the seed grows. As it sprouts green, as it elongates and thickens, as he has to hold it in both hands and avoid the thorns. Then more stems.

In only a few seconds, the first rose blossoms.

I get up to leave; Susie's eyes are firm on the flowers, and there's not a glance to spare.

Figures she'd marry him, I think, as the elk rips through the woods and its antlers, flat and dull -- lucky for me -- bash like hammers into my chest and send me flying into a tree. Only the deep bag on my back stops my head from hitting the wood.

Nice. I let Susie creep into my mind when I'm being attacked by an elk with no fur, with skin hanging off it, and with chunks of meat literally bitten out of its sides so much so that I can see its ribs. Do you really want to die?

Maybe her dad's right. Maybe the drink really has rotted my mind, 'cause there was a time, back when I was a Storm Guard, that I'd have actually moved out the fucking path of a charging undead animal.

The elk is stomping its front legs heavily into the mud, as it gets ready to come at me a second time. No breath pumped out of its nostrils, no heavy breathing.

I shrug the rucksack off my back and ignore the pain that's surged up around my chest. I'll see to the bruising later. If I live.

My Colt is in the bag's side pocket; I snatch it as the elk charges.

I roll.

An antler snaps as the creature hurtles into the tree.

But its not even phased. It turns, opens its mouth wide to show half of a silvery tongue somewhere behind those dagger-like teeth.

I fire two shots straight into its head before it can snap at me.

No blood comes out the other side; just skin and meat.The creature doesn't seem to notice.

"Well, fuck."

Its jaws come for my thigh; I stick my boot into its mouth instead and hear a couple of teeth crack.

The beast is wild. It rears up and then sends its front hooves down onto my chest. I hear myself scream as its me that cracks this time.

"I'm not going to be killed by a fucking elk!" I inform it. Then, taking in as deep a breath as my battered chest allows, I suck in the air around me. The poisoned air.

And despite the pain, my body feels alive. Crackling with that storm energy I've been sensing.

The elk has me pinned by my chest; it lowers its jaw to my neck and means to snap.

But I grab its face in my hands. Its cheeks. And I press inwards.

My hands are pulsing with green fire. They push into its skin, melting its face away. Its eyes give me a desperate look that's something like surprise, then they roll out of its disintegrating skull and plop onto the earth next to me.

I let go.

The elk takes a single step back, almost headless now, its brain half-melted and visible to the world.

It tries to buck onto its rear legs.

And for a moment, it looks like it'll manage.

It's in the air, hanging.

Then, finally, instead of falling back down onto me, it collapses to its side, unmoving.