Arc is not merely a storm giant.

He is a god.

But the Material Plane does not allow gods to arrive unfiltered.

The laws that bind reality — ancient pacts between creation and chaos — forbid divine beings from fully manifesting without tearing the world apart. Oceans would rise. Continents would fracture. The sky would not survive the pressure of his presence.

So Arc does what few gods willingly do:

He limits himself.

What walks the seas is not a lesser being. It is a self-contained incarnation, a deliberate compression of divinity into a form the Material Plane can endure.

His pale grey-blue skin is not flesh alone — it is condensed storm essence.
His heartbeat echoes like distant thunder.
His sword is forged from sky-metal capable of channeling only a fraction of his true lightning.

In this form:

• He can bleed.

• He can be wounded.

• He can be resisted.

But this is not weakness.

It is choice.

Arc binds his power into shape so that mortals may stand in his presence without dissolving into ash. He walks coastlines and war-torn shores not as a distant deity demanding worship, but as a god who has stepped down into the storm he commands.

When he fights in the Material Plane, thunder cracks not because he calls it — but because it strains against the limits he has placed upon himself.

Those who have witnessed his battles say the air grows heavy, like reality is remembering something larger trying to press through.

And they are correct.

Should the incarnation ever fracture completely — should his restraint fail — the sky would briefly reveal the truth:

The storm is not weather.

It is him.

(Image on details page made by chat GPT)