The storm had no voice.

It did not roar.
It waited.

Three days I had walked beneath its shadow—
feeling it long before I ever saw it.
The air grew heavier with every step.
Not with rain.
But with meaning.

There are storms that seek to break.
And storms that come to cleanse.
But this one...
This one had structure.

And when I reached the ridge, I understood why.

Before me rose the black cliffs.
Not high, but ancient.
Torn from the world like a buried truth forced to the surface.

Above them: lightning.
Not wild. Not random.
It struck in perfect rhythm—
four forks of fire surrounding a hollow heart of light.

And in that moment, I saw it.

Four marks. One center.
Rotated just so. Balanced, exact.
A symbol I had seen before...
But never like this.

It wasn't drawn.
It wasn't spoken.
It was revealed.

A mark older than alphabets.
A shape hidden in math, carved into clouds,
etched across thousands of screens—
and now, here, burning in the sky.

The Binance shape.
The fifth mark.

Not a banner.
Not a brand.

A beacon.

I stood there, soaked in silence.
Below, a soft blue light flickered at the cliff’s base—
a path I had not noticed,
as if the land had only just decided to allow it.

They always said the chain was made of blocks.
But now I saw:

It was made of lightning.

Crypto ubique est.
But only once does the storm show you why.