chapter 2
470 Words
The night after Iyara discovered the stone on the hill, sleep refused to visit her.
Every time she closed her eyes, the wind stirred against her window like a restless messenger.
Whisper… whisper… whisper…
At first, the sounds were gentle, but by midnight, they carried a strange urgency.
Iyara sat up in bed.
“What are you trying to tell me?” she murmured.
The curtains lifted as a cool breeze slipped into the room.
Then she heard it clearly.
“It returns.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What returns?” she asked the empty room.
The wind rushed past her again, swirling the papers on her table.
“The storm.”
A cold chill spread through her body.
The storm.
Images from the hill flooded her mind again—the burning sky, the screaming winds, the village disappearing beneath violent clouds. The storm that had taken her life centuries ago.
Iyara rushed outside.
The night sky was calm, but the wind was uneasy. It circled the village like a guard pacing before danger.
She climbed the hill again, her feet moving quickly through the grass.
The stone was waiting.
As soon as she touched it, the wind burst around her like a door opening.
Memories poured into her mind—clearer this time.
Long ago, the storm had not been natural.
It had been summoned.
A traveller had come to the ancient village, a man who wanted to control the wind itself. When the elders refused to share their sacred knowledge, he used forbidden rituals to awaken a storm powerful enough to destroy everything.
Iyara, the wind-listener of that time, had fought against it.
She had succeeded in stopping the storm—but the cost had been her life.
The man vanished.
But the storm… never truly died.
Iyara stepped back, breathing hard.
“So it’s coming again,” she whispered.
The wind answered with a low, worried howl.
Across the valley, dark clouds were forming slowly on the horizon.
It's too slow for ordinary weather.
Too deliberate.
Iyara’s chest tightened.
If the storm was returning, it meant one thing.
The man who tried to control the wind—or someone who learned his secrets—had returned too.
The wind lifted her hair gently, almost pleading.
“Don’t worry,” Iyara said softly, gripping the stone.
“You remembered me for a reason.”
The breeze quieted.
She looked at the growing clouds in the distance.
“Last time, I stopped the storm alone.”
Her voice grew firmer.
“But this time…”
She turned toward the sleeping village below.
“I won’t let the wind fight by itself.”
Far above her, the clouds rumbled faintly—as if something ancient had just heard her challenge.
And in the dark horizon, the storm began to wake.
- Writer
