It was time to try again.

  Marty stood again in the clearing. Same place. Same smooth rock.

  “Remember,” Thialfi cautioned, “let it flow.”

  The first crack of energy danced across Marty’s fingers. For a heartbeat, it was there—raw power, alive in his gut. That’s when the fear and hesitation took over. His breath caught. His muscles locked. And then—

  The world exploded.

  Lightning tore out of him—not a bolt, but a torrent. Blinding, white-hot, unshaped. It cracked the sky open, the blast hurling Marty off his feet. He slammed into the ground, ears ringing, eyes burning.

  To his left, Thialfi dove behind a fallen log with a curse. Roskva hit the dirt beside him, wide-eyed for once.

  The bolt missed the boulder entirely. Instead, it hammered the treeline, detonating among the pines like a mountain being ripped open. Bark flew like shrapnel. Trees split and groaned, roots torn from the soil. A flock of birds scattered, their cries swallowed by the echoing blast.

  Smoke curled from blackened trunks. The acrid sting of ozone hung thick.

  Then—silence. Heavy and sudden.

  No one moved.

  Flat on his back, Marty blinked up at the sky. His whole body buzzed, nerves alight. He exhaled—shaky, slow.

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  Thialfi emerged, brushing dirt from his tunic. He surveyed the wreckage.

  Roskva sat up, staring at the smoldering trees. “Maybe we should practice somewhere less flammable.”

  Marty flexed his fingers. The energy hadn’t left. It waited—coiled, hungry. His stomach twisted. He hadn’t wielded it. He’d unleashed it.

  If that blast had gone anywhere else…

  He thought of his Mom. Of the others. He was dangerous.

  Thialfi crouched beside him. “Good.”

  Marty blinked. “Good?”

  “You connected,” Thialfi said. “I mean, you could work on your aim, but you connected with the lightning. It was good.”

  Roskva rose and moved toward the smoldering trees. Calm settling over her like a cloak. “I’ll handle them,” she said to Thialfi.

  As she approached, there were first murmurs—then a high, chattering hiss. Eyes gleamed in the undergrowth. Shapes darted between trunks. The skogsnisse stirred, pelting her with pinecones, shaking branches.

  Roskva raised her hands. Her voice unfurled—soft, fluid syllables winding into the air like a song older than language.

  The forest shimmered.

  The skogsnisse slowed. Their movements slowed, as if caught mid-motion in a dream. Their cries softened, then hushed.

  One by one, she cowed them.

  She guided them away like a shepherd among storm-stung spirits. As she returned, the treeline began to change—wounds mending, bark sealing, roots pulling back into earth.

  The whispers they left behind were quieter. Almost peaceful.

  Thialfi clapped a hand to his shoulder. “You better get out of here, it will make it easier for Roskva with the nisse if they can’t see you anymore.”

  Marty nodded, absorbing it. His muscles ached. His thoughts spun. But something inside—something new—held steady.

  connected to it.

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  If you had Marty’s power right now… would you try again immediately? Or take a long break from lightning practice?