High upon the wind-swept cliffs of the Storval Plateau lies Bolt Rock, a jagged outcropping marked by strange, spiraling patterns carved into the earth. The locals claim these symbols were burned into the stone by lightning itself — the divine touch of a storm god, or perhaps the wrath of something older.

Two enormous trenches divide the plateau, forming natural paths that converge upon a narrow pass. The air smells faintly of ozone, and even on clear days, thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. Ancient cairns and scattered stones hint at rituals long forgotten — sacrifices or offerings to appease the sky’s fury.

Those who linger too long say they feel the hairs rise on their arms and the pulse of energy beneath the ground — a storm waiting to be born.