I did not ask to be chosen. I did not seek out the burden of sacredness or the weight of unseen war. But in the silence between battles and the spaces between breath, something called my name—and it was not a whisper. It was thunder.It came at night, as these things always do. When the world is quiet and the lies no longer hold. I was not sleepin

The Storm Came Without AskingThe thing about storms is—they never ask permission.They don’t knock. They arrive. Sudden. Unforgiving.You might catch the sky darkening, but by then, it’s already too late.The wind’s tearing at the door, and it doesn’t care if you're ready.Doesn’t care if you just set your life in order,or if your hands are