The wind over the high cliffs of Etherreach carried no sound that night. No chants. No laughter. Only silence–a silence that unsettled even the spirits themselves.
Inside the sanctum of the Spirit Clan's Temple, Elder Zephyr stood still, his silver-white robe fluttering gently with each sign of the mountain breeze. The moonlight streamed in through the carved archways above, casting ethereal glows on the polished floor beneath his bare feet.
He hadn't slept.
His eyes–tired, but sharp as ever–were locked on the gently flickering spirit lantern in the center of the chamber. The flame, which burned with the essence of the Spirit Lineage, had trembled three times tonight.
Three. Each like a whisper of sorrow.
His fingers tightened around the staff of hollwwood he carried, carved with ancient runes–one of them glowing faintly violet, the one etched with his daughter's name.
"Liora…" his voice was low, cracked.
"Where are you, child?"
He sat cross-legged before the lantern, closing his eyes, his breath becoming slower, deeper. A gentle aura of spirit-light began to rise from his body like dew from morning grass. He was searching–not with his eyes, but his soul.
Out across the winds, the currents of energy carried his spirit like a whisper on the breeze, moving through threads of life, echoes of memory, shadows of love.
But the further he reached….
The colder it felt.
A wall. A haze. Something…blocking.
His chest tightened.
"No, no… Spirits, guide me…Let me feel her presence once more…"
His voice cracked again, heavy with a pain no title or wisdom could soothe. He pressed both palms together, bowing low until his forehead met the polished stone.
Silence.
Then–faint. Barely audible.
A whisper.
"Father…"
His eyes opened.
The lantern's flame flickered–once, then steadied.
Zephyr gasped, heart pounding. That voice–was it real? Or just longing shaping dreams?
He looked at the violet rune again. It pulsed once. Faintly.
Something had shifted in the weave.
"She's in danger"
He stood, robes moving behind him like wind over grass. His voice hardened.
"And the storm…is already upon us."
He turned to the open archway, staring into the night.
And far to the south, the sky flickered–faint red on the edge of the horizon.
Thick smoke.
"Fire! The village is burning."
The screams tore through the twilight like blades. Panic surged down the narrow paths as thatched rooftops crackled under the rising flame. Mothers clutched their children. Elders staggered with trembling hands. The peaceful village that nestled so quietly beneath the veil of the highlands was now ablaze–its serenity devoured in seconds.
Then came the blast.
Kael's cottage, once a sanctuary tucked between groves and river stone, erupted with a thunderous roar as a fireball struck the side wall. Wood splintered. The windows burst inward, flames licking the curtains like tongues of war.
Inside, Liora spun around just in time. The force flung her back, smoke surging through the room like a beast released. She threw up her hand instinctively, summoning a shimmering barrier of spirit-light that wrapped around her and Leon in a dome of translucent violet.
Leon whimpered, curled against her side, eyes wide in terror.
"Stay with me," she whispered, voice taut, the magic humming at her fingertips.
"We're getting out of here."
She pushed to her feet, coughing against the smoke. The roof groaned. Embers rained. She tightened her grip on Leon's hand and stepped into the chaos.
The village outside was an inferno.
Fire climbed the walls of homes. Shadows of soldiers moved in formation. Blades drawn, merciless. And then– emerging through the smoke like a phantom of war–Ravik. His armor was blackened steel, the crest of House Rhys embossed in crimson. His eyes found her immediately, sharp and cold.
"There." he barked.
"Silver hair. Gold eyes. The child"
Sword lifted. Bows notched.
Liora narrowed her eyes, raising her arm in front of Leon.
"You're not touching him" she said, voice low–calm like the eye of a storm.
Ravik sneered.
"You should've stayed hidden, witch."
They charged.
Liora moved like lightning. With a sweep of her arm, runes lit across her forearm in glowing arcs, and a blast of pure force sent the front line flying backward. She followed with a whip of magic–a ribbon of violet fire scorched the ground as she swung it like a blade. One soldier screamed, armor searing. Another tried to flank her, only to be hurled into the air by a gust of telekinetic rage.
Ravik advanced, meeting her head-on.
Steel clashed with raw spirit. His blade struck her shield–once, twice–before she shattered it in a pulse of power. She spun, launching a lance of light that tore through his shoulder, sending him reeling.
"You–" he growled, spitting blood.
"You little–"
She was already moving, arms glowing brighter now, aura pulsing like a nova.
She would not break. Not here. Not with her son behind her
Then–the arrow.
It cut through the air so fast she barely caught it. A shimmer of energy deflected it mid-flight, but the force of it staggered her.
She looked up.
Archers.
On the ridge.
Too many.
She didn't hesitate. She turned, grabbed Leon by the hand, and ran.
The forest edge. That was their only hope.
Arrows rained behind them, striking ground and stone, hissing as they pierced through her hastily conjured shield. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but she held the barrier firm, her son cradled in its safety.
Then–
A whisper. Soft. Familiar. Ancient.
"Liora…"
Her heart caught. That voice–warm and distant like a memory wrapped in wind.
"Run to the east, child. Follow my voice. I am with you."
She stumbled. Stopped.
Looked up.
Through the smoke, a light had pierced the haze, bright and full.
Her lips parted, breathless.
"Father."
The shield flared, brighter than before, almost golden now. She gripped Leon tighter, then darted through the woods, the echo of her father's presence leading her into the dark.
Behind them, the village fell. The screams rose higher. But the light in her hand never dimmed.