The winds of Mt. Hayp had changed, and with them, the very foundation of my world shifted beneath my feet. I stood on the balcony, my knuckles white as I gripped the cold stone railing. The granite was rough against my palms, grounding me even as my thoughts spun wildly. For days, the currents of Aerthalis had thrashed around the mountain like a living, restless beast—electric, volatile, and heavy with the scent of an approaching storm that had nothing to do with rain. The tang of ozone stung my nose; the metallic scent of charged air made my chest tighten. Birds had vanished, their nests abandoned in silent treetops. Wolves howled mournfully to a moon that seemed to shrink back in fear. Even the shadows in the valleys trembled. War was no longer a whisper drifting along the wind. It was a
