The change began not in the sky, but in the blood. Kaelen felt it first as a tightness behind his eyes. A pressure, like the air before a lightning strike, but slower, thicker. Then the wind began. It did not blow from one direction. It moved in fitful, circling gusts, plucking at leaves and stirring the dust in odd, spiral patterns on the path. Above, the sky bruised. Not the grey of rain, but a deep, troubled indigo, shot through with veins of greenish light that pulsed without sound.
It was a magical storm. A surge in the Aether, the raw stuff of creation that flowed beneath the world. They were rare, but not unknown. Usually, they just meant a restless night and vivid dreams for those sensitive to such things. But this felt different. This felt pointed.
Kaelen was on his way back fro
