Novels by A knight in skirt

Ryan had never felt so exposed.The television in the convenience store across the street played the footage on loop. The shaky phone video, filmed by some terrified civilian, had already spread across every news channel and social platform.There he was—his face, his hands sparking, lightning tearing through hunters that looked more like demons than men.The captions screamed:“MYSTERIOUS LIGHTNING BOY IN CITY ATTACK.”“TERROR OR SAVIOR?”“SUPERNATURAL EVENT CAUGHT ON CAMERA.”Ryan stood frozen on the sidewalk, hood pulled low, watching strangers gather around the screen.“That’s fake, right?” one man muttered.“CGI,” another scoffed. “Has to be.”But a woman whispered, voice trembling, “I was there. I saw him. He saved us.”Ryan’s stomach twisted. His secret wasn’t a secret anymore.Maya tugged his arm sharply. “Move. Standing still paints a target.”They ducked into a narrow alley, the air thick with the smell of garbage and rain. Olivia kept close, her small hand clutching Ryan’s

The city pulsed with life. Neon lights buzzed, car horns blared, and streams of people surged through the streets, their chatter a constant murmur.Ryan hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he stepped out of the factory’s shadows and into the crush of humanity.“It feels… normal,” Olivia whispered, clinging to his arm. “Like none of this is real.”Ryan gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. Just two siblings buying groceries. Totally normal.”Maya walked a few steps behind them, hood up, her gaze never resting. “Don’t get comfortable. Crowds are cover—for us and for them. Stay sharp.”Ryan tried to obey, but the moment he let his storm-sense stretch, he regretted it.The city wasn’t quiet like the factory. It was a storm of its own.Every person buzzed in his awareness—heartbeats, emotions, electric signals flickering like sparks. Fear, joy, irritation, hunger—it all flooded into him at once.His stomach clenched. He stumbled, clutching his head.“Ryan?” Olivia’s voice cut through the stati

The factory stank of smoke and scorched steel. Shadows lingered like stains where the creatures had been torn apart, their claws etched into the concrete as if the night itself had tried to leave its mark.Ryan sat slumped against a wall, his chest still heaving, every nerve raw from the storm’s fury. Olivia fussed over him, pressing a damp cloth against the burns on his arms.“You shouldn’t keep pushing yourself like this,” she murmured, her voice tight with worry.Ryan forced a weak smile. “Not exactly like I have a choice.”Maya paced nearby, blade still drawn, her gaze sweeping every dark corner of the factory. Even now, she hadn’t relaxed.“They’ll be back,” she said coldly.Ryan groaned. “Can’t we get one night without doom on the menu?”Maya shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Those were scouts. They were testing you, testing us. Now their master knows where you are—and what you can do.”Ryan’s stomach twisted. He glanced at Olivia, who avoided his eyes.“What do they w

Ryan’s muscles still ached when he woke the next morning. Every inch of his body felt bruised, as if he’d been beaten by a pack of sledgehammers.The factory’s roof leaked faintly, drops of water plinking into puddles. Olivia slept curled beside him on a pile of old blankets, her breathing steady. Across the room, Maya sharpened her blade, the sound grating like steel teeth.“You’re awake,” she said without looking up.Ryan groaned. “Barely.”“Good. You’ll need every shred of focus today.”Ryan sat up, rubbing at his face. “What new form of torture do you have planned?”Maya finally looked at him, her dark eyes gleaming. “You learned to touch the storm. Now you need to learn to listen to it.”Ryan frowned. “I thought that’s what I did yesterday.”“No.” She slid the blade back into its sheath and stood. “Yesterday you dipped your toes in the tide. Today you learn that the storm isn’t just inside you—it’s around you. Everywhere. And if you’re quiet enough, it will speak.”Ryan stared at

The morning air was sharp with the smell of rust and damp concrete. The safehouse was tucked inside an abandoned factory on the edge of the city, its wide floor strewn with broken pipes and shattered windows.It wasn’t much, but Maya had declared it “adequate for training.”Ryan stood in the middle of the vast floor, arms crossed, stomach knotting tighter with every second.Maya paced around him like a drill sergeant, blade strapped to her back, her eyes cool and calculating. Olivia perched on a stack of crates nearby, knees hugged to her chest.“Rule one,” Maya said. “Your power is not a toy. It’s a weapon. Treat it like a live grenade—because that’s exactly what it is.”Ryan muttered, “Yeah, tell that to my muscles. They feel like I’ve been hit by a truck since last night.”Maya ignored him. “Rule two. You don’t control the storm by brute force. You guide it. Your bloodline gives you the spark, but your mind is the fuse. Lose focus, and you burn out—or worse.”Ryan raised an eyebrow

Ryan’s eyes snapped open to darkness. For a terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the abandoned parking lot, shadows closing in, Olivia screaming—But no. His head rested on something soft. The faint hum of a ceiling fan stirred the air above him.He sat up slowly, wincing as pain lanced through his muscles. Every nerve felt raw, his arms heavy as lead. His skin still tingled faintly, like embers smoldering beneath his flesh.“Easy,” Maya’s voice came from the corner.Ryan turned his head. She sat on a wooden chair, her blade across her lap, her posture as rigid as stone. In the dim light, her sharp eyes gleamed with a predator’s watchfulness.“Where are we?” Ryan croaked.“A safehouse,” Maya said. “For now. Don’t get used to it. No safehouse lasts forever.”Ryan swung his legs over the side of the bed. He realized the room was small—bare walls, a single lamp, a cracked mirror. Olivia was curled up on a cot against the far wall, asleep at last.Relief flooded him. “She’s okay,”