The Coming Storm

The training in the desert offers something new to you. The loose sand moving beneath your feet as you pace around, swinging your various weapons, makes you feel tired more quickly than normal. However that is what makes the drills feel so rewarding. Sweat pours from your brow as you collect your thoughts, taking a moment to catch your breath. Around you are a few torches and half a dozen or so others who have forgone sleep in the dead of night to work on their various tasks and training. The rest of your friends are already in bed, but that is nothing new. You are long used to training hours past the time your friends would. Your destiny is that of a great hero, and you know that demands dedication. You would not miss a day of training, let alone when a new piece to the puzzle of your great story is now yours.
After going through your normal workout and working with your weapons, you pick up and begin working with the newest tool in your arsenal; Salamandra. The great sword wreathed in flame in the pedestal caught your eye immediately, but you wonder just how great the sword could be. You figure if two sisters were cursed to existence as monsters and left to guard it, it must be good for something. As you wrap your hands around the handle, you feel the familiar warmth fill the sword again. Lightening crackles overhead, a common sight as spring approaches, but it is doubtful you'll see any rain in the desert.
A few swings later and you're already familiar with the weight of the blade. You've handled weapons for so long picking up a new one isn't anything challenging. That's when it happens. The heat from the hilt grows from warm to hot, hot to searing. You drop the weapon in the sands and you see the red glow of the metal fade back to cold steel. Your hands aren't injured, but you doubt holding onto it any longer would be good for your health.
Thunder claps. You look up and see the moon become obscured behind clouds. Well, you will learn more from a night spent with the blade near you than swinging it now. Heard that from Golios. Doesn't make much sense to you, but you figure a wizard knows magic best.
You take a moment before the tent lent to you and your companions to make your nightly prayer. For your sister. For your friends. For Mrs. Sam, back in town. You frown. The vision of Mr. Sam's final moment in life flashes in your mind. You push it away. Sister always told you to mind your temper. You turned it into something with a good use, something to strike down the evil in the world. You knew you'd use that burning anger you felt to make everything better. To become someone who people can look to for protection. A real hero. The vision of the mummy striking you, of waking up with Golios bringing you back to reality. More anger. You clench your teeth. This isn't the time for this. All this adventure is just making you a bit on edge. You calm yourself and return to your prayer. You see Nenet turn the corner. You replay you running around the hallway just in time to see her visor drop. Your eyes snap open and you see it still hanging around your neck. Seething. That's how you feel. You see literal red. I could have saved her. I could save everyone. I WILL save everyone! I'm going to become powerful. I'm going to save the world. From that cult. From all the evil in the world. You snap your head around to your sword, ready to take it up again. A crackle. Lightening strikes.
Except this time it wasn't from the stars above. The storm rages around you. Too much time around the wizard? Too much time around the cleric? Who knows. But this isn't their magic. This is yours. The sword channeled your bolt, and it rages again with its flame, this time letting off heat. You pick up the blade, and seething with anger battle through the pain of wielding it. You will save this world. Your family, your friends, and all the innocents in this world. You will become a great hero, and with this blade no one can stop you!