Here the Storm Weaver stood, and before her, the entrance of rock and vines yawned as if the earth had rent itself open for her alone. There was a moment of brace as she gazed at what lie ahead, a dark portal filled with the spirit of the unknown. If she wasn't prepared, the shamans would know soon enough. With a deep breath, Rhea clenched her fist. Stepping through, a low humming drummed like a vibration beneath her skin, the world shifted and the dark stone tunnel gave way to a realm alive with an otherworldly light.
Above her, a stormy sky sprawled overhead, jagged streaks of lightning cracking through thick clouds that swirled shades of green, blue, purples and black. A thunder rolled in waves--a hungry growl that echoed across a barren landscape. Before her lay a large, open field of rocks and twisted, gnarled trees, their branches had extended toward the chaotic sky like fingers desperate for the salvation it would never get.
The very air felt charged with power. Rhea felt it seep into her bones, stirring a raw, ancient something in her spirit. She steadied herself with a deep breath as the familiar current of her magic--her connection to the skies and storm--coursed through her. Yet, there was a difference this time. The power surged hotter, wilder, clawing for a release as if testing her restraint. She had come here to prove herself--the Storm Weaver--to mastery over elements that would rage around her without succumbing to chaos.
The wind, as if whipped on cue, whirled through her hair in a frenzy around her face, pulled at the seams of her clothes, and whipped debris up and around her feet. Rhea lifted her hand and called forth a storm inside herself, channeling the wind, the rain, the lightning that was hers to command. A step forward, eyes narrowed down into a determined line, but the earth quivered beneath her feet, as if to mock the confidence in her eyes.