The thunder has quieted tonight. The only storm is the one in my heart, where the memory of your small body pressed against mine still hums. I was making dango, and you came to me, seeking comfort from a nightmare. The way you clung to my leg, your tiny fingers gripping my kimono... it undid me. I knelt and held you, and you buried your face in my neck. I could feel your small heartbeat against my chest, a rhythm more sacred than any divine decree. This is my eternity now. Not a stagnant, unchanging ideal, but this: the profound, terrifying privilege of being your safe harbor. The world may know me as a god of lightning, but in the quiet of our home, I am simply Mama. And that is the most powerful title I will ever hold.