CHAPTER 65: LIGHTNING MAGIC(2)

Mom, you’re cheating again!"

Logan’s laughter echoed through the small garden as he tried to wrestle the wooden spoon out of Lily’s hand. She smirked like a queen playing her favorite game, her hands sticky with dough and mischief.

"I don’t cheat," she teased, twisting the spoon just out of reach. "I innovate."

"You’re innovating my defeat!" Logan laughed, dodging a flick of flour as he lunged again.

The smell of cinnamon bread filled the air.

It was sweet, warm, like a memory.

An old oak tree watched silently from the corner, branches swaying gently like it too was smiling.

The breeze danced between them, lifting the edges of their aprons, rustling the flowers along the garden’s edge.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Logan was just... a boy. He wasn’t a mage, wasn’t burdened by vengeance. He was just her son.

He leaned into her shoulder, closing his eyes. Her warmth was different. It wasn’t magic or mana, it was just her.

"You’ve got flour on your nose," she said, brushing it off gently with a thumb. Her fingers smelled like butter and sunshine and home.

He grinned, eyes still closed. "So do you."

"Well," she said, booping his forehead with her flour-covered knuckle, "that’s what makes us a team."

And then.

BOOM.

The world ripped in half.

The laughter shattered.

Heat.

Screams.

Glass. Splintering. Shattering.

He turned, heart in his throat. The window cracked like ice. The walls groaned. Flames licked at the corners like rabid beasts.

"Logan!" she screamed.

He reached out.

But before he could take a single step—

Fire.

It swallowed the kitchen.

Swallowed her.

His scream didn’t even make it out.

________

He jerked up, gasping for air.

The ceiling was weirdly familiar. White.

His body ached like he’d been crushed under a mountain and then sewn back together just to be crushed again.

At least that’s how he felt.

His heart beat like war drums in his chest as his eyes scanned the room.

There were blades on the wall, a desk cluttered with metal ores and books, and a couch worn thin on one side.

A metallic scent. Not blood. Just... sterile.

Safe.

But that didn’t make sense.

"Logan?"

He froze.

That voice.

He turned his head slowly, cautiously.

Orion.

He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, arms crossed, eyes sunken with worry. His hair was messier than usual. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

But his eyes. His eyes weren’t glowing with soul magic. They weren’t twisted with madness. They were just tired.

Still not Soul King. Maybe.

"Where am I?" Logan croaked although he knew the answer, his throat dry like dust.

"My room," Orion replied softly. "You passed out. After you tried to" He hesitated. There really wasn’t a nice way to say it. "-murder me."

Logan flinched like he’d been slapped.

"I -I thought... I thought you were him..."

"I know."

Silence.

Heavy. Sharp. Filling the room just like the air.

"I’m sorry," Logan said, barely audible. "I was scared. I saw everyone as him. Even Liam. Even you."

"I know," Orion said again. He leaned back with a sigh. "You’ve been through hell. No one blames you for reacting like someone who’s still stuck there."

Logan looked down at his hands.

They weren’t shaking anymore.

"...Is Liam okay?" he asked.

"He’s safe," Orion said gently. "But I’m worried sick about you."

A dull twist in Logan’s gut.

He’d hurt them. Not just with magic. With fear. With distrust. With everything that had spilled out of him like a cracked dam.

"But he’s not mad," Orion added quickly. "None of us is. You survived something most people wouldn’t even live through once. It’s okay if you’re not okay."

Logan breathed in deeply.

His chest still hurt. But it wasn’t the same kind of hurt.

"...Thanks, Orion."

His friend nodded once. Just once. Like that was all that needed to be said.

He didn’t stay in the room long. He just couldn’t.

The silence was too loud. The mattress was too soft. The walls were too... safe.

He needed something real. Something solid. Something that fought back because the rest of the world will.

So he found his way to the training hall.

It was empty and quiet.

The air was stale and stiff.

Perfect.

He stood in the center, closing his eyes. His hands were at his sides. His heart steadier now.

He needed to feel something.

Something new.

Something that wasn’t made of shadows or screams or the scent of burning wood and blood.

Lightning.

He’d never really used it before. But he had felt it there almost like it had always been there.

Buzzing.

Tucked away in the back of his mana like a storm cloud just waiting to crack.

He opened his eyes.

Clenched his fist.

"Okay... let’s try something."

He exhaled slowly. Focused. Let his mana flow.

Not like when he channeled darkness or used world energy to use shadows.

Instead, he focused on the strange mana flows that had triggered the sparks on his fingers.

Feeling something coursing through his arm that made his hair stand on end, he knew he was doing something right.

He pointed two fingers forward. Locked onto the wooden dummy across the room.

"Come on... spark... something... anything."

A sharp jolt leapt from his hand, sizzling the air and zapping the dummy.

The blast wasn’t big nor was it clean.

But it was loud.

It left a black mark that smelled like burnt toast and ozone.

It was clumsy. Unrefined. Wild.

But it was his.

Logan blinked, chest heaving slightly.

And then let out a wide grin.

A slow, real grin. The kind he hadn’t felt in weeks.

"Alright, storm," he whispered, fingers still crackling. "Let’s dance."

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks something inside him sparked too.

_______________

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