The lightning strike tore through the village chief’s wife. The blast shook the ground, white light splitting across the square, leaving behind the stench of burning flesh. In an instant, the woman who had once stood so proudly collapsed. Her skin was charred, her hair burned away, and the face that had always been painted with layers of makeup was now unrecognizable.

Her three sons, standing close by, were caught in the surge. Their bodies were flung violently to the wet earth. One fell unconscious, unmoving. The other two writhed, their bodies trembling uncontrollably, weak cries of pain spilling from their lips.

Melly stood frozen. Her eyes widened at the sight of the scorched body. Her breath caught, her chest rising and falling wildly. She barely grasped what had just happened. That it was her doing. That lightning had struck because of her.

That was me…?

Her small hands trembled violently. Her frail body shook so hard her teeth chattered. She wrapped her arms around herself as if trying to deny reality. “I… I just… killed someone…?” she whispered inside.

Her head felt light, her ears rang, as though the world was vanishing around her. Yet the faint whispers of the crowd still pierced through.

“It was… that little girl?”

“I saw it! The lightning struck right after she screamed!”

The murmurs jabbed into her ears like sharp needles. Melly wanted to cover her ears, but her arms would not move. She stood there, swaying, trapped in a dilemma she could not fully understand.

A part of her whispered that the wicked woman deserved it. That the rain, the storm, and the lightning had sided with her. But on the other hand—she was still just a child. Killing… the word was too heavy, unbearable, unthinkable as something belonging to her.

The image of the woman burned alive earlier flashed in her mind. That look of sorrow and despair. Melly had wanted to save her, but she failed. Now, after she had finally done something, it was another woman who had died by her hand.

Rainwater mixed with tears down her cheeks.

I never wanted to be a killer… I only wanted to save…

But the world did not care for intentions. Only results. And the result now lay scorched in the mud.

The eldest son of the village chief’s wife screamed in fury. His face turned red, his eyes wide with rage and fear. “Seize her! Catch that child now!”

Six burly men from the crowd began to close in, their heavy steps sloshing through the puddles of mud. The splashing of water mingled with the pounding of their boots, closer and closer.

But Melly was not paying attention. She was too lost inside the storm within. The world blurred around her, faces becoming shadowy silhouettes behind a veil of rain.

Her ears still rang. Her gaze was locked on the blackened corpse. In her head, one sentence echoed again and again: I just killed someone…

The horror was too much for a fourteen-year-old girl to bear. Her knees weakened. Her vision swam. The blinding flash of lightning still burned in her tear-filled eyes.

She did not even notice someone appear at her side. A figure stood next to her—Ashtoria. The woman’s long red hair was drenched, her face calm, almost cold, though her eyes gleamed strangely as they watched Melly.

Melly had no time to think who she was. Her small body was trembling too hard, weighed down by the unbearable weight of what she had done.

The world spun. The roar of rain faded. Darkness crept in.

And just before consciousness slipped away, she heard a soft voice, gentle, whispering into her ear like a dream:

“Congratulations… you have found your affinity.”

Then came perfect darkness.

As Melly collapsed, unconscious, the storm that had raged began to lose its strength. The rain that once fell like an iron curtain softened into a thin drizzle. Lightning no longer split the sky, only faint thunder grumbled on the horizon.

Six large men circled Melly’s small body lying in the mud, Ashtoria standing calmly at her side. They had all seen it with their own eyes, how the little girl had flung two of them aside and somehow summoned lightning upon the village chief’s wife.

And stranger still was Ashtoria’s sudden appearance, unmoved amidst the chaos. Her presence radiated something unnatural.

They knew at once these two were not ordinary. But they pushed aside their fear. They were hunters of the village—men accustomed to beasts, living with risk, trusting their muscles as proof of strength. Besides, they had been paid by the chief’s family. Gold and pride drove them to stay confident, even with a chill creeping along their spines.

One of them, the tallest with a scarred face, stepped forward. His voice was heavy, meant to sound commanding though it quivered faintly:

“Woman. Are you this child’s kin? Then take responsibility. Surrender yourself and do not cause more trouble.”

Ashtoria turned her head slightly. Her eyes swept across them briefly. Cold, flat, as though they were nothing more than shadows. Her lips did not part to answer.

And in the next heartbeat, the six men exploded.

Brrraakk!

Flesh, blood, and torn limbs burst into the air, mixing with the falling rain. The muddy ground was painted in crimson. The stench of iron filled the square. Cries nearly rose from the throats of the villagers watching, but not a single sound escaped.

A crushing pressure filled the air, unseen yet suffocating. It clung to the tongue, a clear warning etched in their bones: If you scream, if you dare make a sound, you will share their fate.

The crowd froze. Their eyes widened, their bodies trembled, yet silence held them. The noisy village was now reduced to paralyzing fear.

Ashtoria lifted her gaze to the still-gray sky. The clouds hung low like a heavy shroud. Water dripped from the tips of her red hair, falling into the mud, mixing with the fresh blood around her.

Her crimson eyes narrowed, sharp with vigilance.

The ground beneath her feet trembled faintly. It was not the storm. Not the rain. Something else, heavy, foreign, dangerous. She could feel it. The true threat was coming.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep