(Opening Scene: Zane, lost in the ancient texts in the library, trying to find some understanding of his venomous touch, is jolted by a sudden surge of chaotic energy and a furious roar that echoes through the normally silent halls.)
Zane's concentration shattered. The headache that had become a persistent companion since the incident with Bartholomew intensified, reacting to the turbulent magic that had suddenly filled the air. He looked up from the dusty tome, a frown creasing his brow. The normally hushed atmosphere of the library had been violently disrupted.
"What was that?" he murmured, a sense of unease settling over him. The air crackled with an unfamiliar energy, and the scent of ozone, usually associated with Astrid's storm magic, was thick in the air, but tinged with something darker, more volatile.
He stood up, pushing his chair back with a scraping sound, and peered around the towering bookshelf. Through a gap in the shelves, he saw Astrid standing near the library entrance, her posture rigid with fury. A visible aura of swirling, dark clouds billowed around her, crackling with uncontrolled lightning. Her stormy eyes were fixed on a figure he recognized as Doctor Finch, who was stumbling backward, his face pale with terror.
"Astrid?" Zane called out, his voice laced with confusion and concern. "What's happening? What are those clouds?" He had never seen her magic manifest in such a raw, untamed way. It was powerful, terrifying, and directed at Doctor Finch.
Astrid didn't turn her gaze from the petrified doctor, her voice a low, thunderous rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the library. "He was going to hurt you, Zane."
Zane's eyes widened in dawning horror. Finch's fearful expression, Astrid's protective rage, the shattered vial of poison glinting on the floor near Finch's feet – the pieces clicked into place. Doctor Finch, consumed by grief and a thirst for revenge, had intended to attack him. And Astrid, sensing the danger, had reacted with a ferocity he had never witnessed. The dark clouds swirling around her were not the controlled artistry of her Tempestuous Onslaught; this was something primal, something born of pure, unadulterated rage – Storm's Fury.
The ancient texts on the shelves seemed to hum in response to the raw magical energy flooding the library, a silent testament to the immense power Astrid had unknowingly unleashed in her defense of him.