---
The sky above Elyndor did not whisper—it growled.
Loose stones shifted beneath their boots as the three figures made their way up the mountain trail, the wind curling like a restless spirit between the cliffs. Asteria walked in front, hood down, fire-colored hair catching the breeze like it too had no patience for stillness. He walked like he belonged to the road—shoulders relaxed, eyes always scanning the horizon, one hand loosely gripping the hilt of his sword.
Behind him, Valron and Tarn followed with quieter steps.
Valron's posture was calm, composed—but his eyes were always watching Asteria, like a shadow that refused to be shaken off. Tarn, on the other hand, walked like he was part of the mountain itself—broad-shouldered, silent, a longsword strapped across his back. Dirt and dust clung to him like he didn't mind them. Maybe he didn't.
The sky above was dark with storm clouds. Thunder rolled in the distance—not yet close, but not far either.
"Storm's following us again," Valron said, voice low.
"Maybe it just likes my voice," Asteria replied, kicking a rock off the path.
"It's probably waiting to fry you for the next stupid thing you say," Tarn muttered behind them.
Asteria gave a half-smile. "Relax, stone-man. If the storm hits, I'll talk it into turning around."
"That's not how storms work," Valron said without looking at him.
"You'd be surprised," Asteria replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Most people don't work that way either, but they still listen."
They continued on. The trail curved into a narrow pass where dead trees leaned like forgotten soldiers. Tarn was the first to speak again after a long silence.
"We've been gone three weeks."
"And?" Asteria asked.
"People are going to notice. Especially with where we're heading."
Asteria glanced back, tone still playful but quieter now. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"
Tarn didn't answer. He didn't need to.
---
Later That Day – Nytherion Border
They reached the outskirts of a water village by sunset. The stone road dipped into wetlands and soft, shimmering pools where glowing plants lit the marshy edges. Small boats drifted through clear blue canals. Houses floated above the water, held up by wooden stilts. Mist hung like silk above it all.
Valron stopped, eyes narrowing. "This is where we're supposed to meet the contact?"
Asteria nodded. "That's what the map said. The innkeeper's contact lives here—he said she knows something about the old legends."
"Does this legend come with warm food and a real bed?" Tarn grunted.
"Maybe if you smile at her nicely," Asteria said, nudging him.
"I'd rather sleep outside."
As they entered the village, all eyes turned toward them. Outsiders were rare in Nytherion. Fire Tribe clothing stood out like smoke in a sea of blue.
They made their way to a small wooden platform by the main canal. A quiet figure stood there, back turned, speaking to a fisherman. She wore a long dark robe with silver-blue embroidery, and her hair was tied high in a warrior's knot. Even without turning, she seemed like someone who didn't waste words.
"Are you the contact?" Asteria asked, leaning on the post beside her.
The woman turned slowly—her blue eyes sharp and unreadable. She was beautiful, but there was nothing soft about her expression.
"I'm not here for games," she said coldly. "And if you touch anything, I will drown you."
Asteria blinked. "...Well, hello to you too."
"You're late," she added. "You were supposed to be here yesterday."
"Actually," Asteria said, "I was exactly on time. You were just expecting a different kind of charming."
She gave him a dead stare and turned to walk off. "I hate charming."
Valron snorted. Tarn muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse.
"Who is she?" Asteria whispered.
"I think that's Mira," Valron replied, folding his arms. "Healer. Combat tactician. Water Tribe prodigy."
"Oh," Asteria said with a slight grin. "That explains the personality."
---
They settled at the edge of the village as the sky darkened. Mira kept her distance. Asteria remained unfazed, casually dismissing her barbed words but clearly watching her when she wasn't looking. Tarn sharpened his sword by the fire. Valron stayed quiet.
The storm that had followed them since morning finally broke overhead. Lightning arced through the clouds, far above. Asteria tilted his head up toward it, feeling something in his chest stir. It was like a whisper in his blood.
That night, when he closed his eyes, the voice returned.
"Awaken... the storm is yours."
He said nothing. Not yet.
And outside, the rain fell like the sky was washing the world clean for something about to begin.
---
Morning came with the scent of river mist and fresh bread. Mira greeted them with a packet—a carefully rolled map sealed in wax and twine.
"This," she said dryly, "is what you came for. It shows the old trade routes your legends seem obsessed with. Some of the paths are broken or overrun, but the markings are authentic. This copy was passed down from one of our Navigators."
Asteria took it carefully, giving her a short nod. "Appreciated."
"It wasn't free," she added, watching him. "You owe a favor to the Nytherion."
"Noted."
They sat down around a low stone table to eat and review the map.
Tarn unfolded his arms. "You sure we're ready for this route? It looks like one of the old outer rings that crosses into untamed lands."
Valron glanced over the markings. "We'll manage. You're almost level three now, right?"
"Close enough," Tarn muttered. "Cracked most of the second wall last season. My sword arm's been holding up."
"And you?" Asteria asked Valron, half-curious.
Valron shrugged. "Mid-level two. I can handle myself well enough."
Asteria gave a small smirk. "Level two," he said, tapping his chest. "Barely. And perfectly fine with it."
"You should push harder," Tarn said. "You're not going to coast on instinct forever."
"Maybe," Asteria said, voice light. "Or maybe instinct's been doing just fine so far."
"That won't last," Valron added. "Not with what we're chasing."
Asteria's eyes flicked to the map. For a moment, the joking left him. Then it returned with a shrug.
"We'll burn that bridge when we get there."
---
The rain had passed, but the sky remained pale and brooding. Thin beams of light slipped through the gray clouds above Nytherion, bathing the village in a quiet silver glow. Mist still hovered above the canals, and the rhythmic slap of oars against water echoed faintly in the distance.
Asteria stood on a platform near the water's edge, skipping stones across the surface of the canal. He wasn't particularly good at it. The stones spun once, maybe twice, then sank with a plop. His sword leaned against a post nearby, untouched.
Behind him, Tarn hauled a crate of supplies from one boat to the next. The veins on his forearms bulged slightly with the effort, though his face remained calm. Mira watched from the opposite dock, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.
"Is he ever going to do anything useful?" she asked Valron, who was stacking wrapped bundles of herbs nearby.
Valron didn't look up. "Define useful."
Mira shot Asteria a glare. "Something besides tossing rocks and flirting with shadows."
"He's helping... in his own way," Valron said, smirking faintly.
At that moment, Asteria turned with a grin. "You're talking about me, aren't you?"
"If you have to ask," Mira said, "then yes."
He picked up another stone, flipped it in the air, then let it drop. "I figured I'd let the level threes and mid-twos handle the heavy lifting. Wouldn't want to embarrass anyone."
Tarn grunted as he passed. "You mean you'd rather not break a nail."
Asteria mock-gasped. "Tarn, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
Valron sighed and stood, stretching. "We still have a week or two of this left. Maybe try swinging that sword for something other than show."
Mira stepped forward, arms still folded. "The deal was you help the village while you're here. We're short on warriors, and there's a patrol leaving at dawn to check the outer wetlands. You're joining it."
Asteria's smile faded slightly. "Didn't know I signed up for dawn-shifts."
"You did when you took that map," she replied. "Consider it your down payment."
---
Later that evening, the group gathered at a small fire just outside the main canal ring. The Nytherion nights were quiet but unnerving—too still, too damp, too silent. Insects whispered under the reeds. Distant splashes hinted at creatures that stayed below the surface.
Tarn sat with his sword across his lap, sharpening it slowly. Mira leaned against a tree, arms crossed. Valron poked the fire. Asteria lay on his back, staring at the clouds.
"You ever wonder what made them stop using that old trade route?" Asteria asked, eyes following the fading stars.
"Too many disappearances," Mira said without looking at him. "Our elders say something ancient woke up beyond the Weeping Hills. Something the clans buried long ago."
"Sounds like a bedtime story."
"Maybe," she replied. "But villages started vanishing. We stopped sending people. The rest is just guesswork."
Tarn glanced over. "And we're walking straight into it."
"Of course we are," Valron muttered. "Because Asteria had a dream."
"It wasn't just a dream," Asteria said, more serious now. "It felt... like something was calling me. Like the sky was speaking through thunder."
"That's not reassuring," Mira said.
"I never promised it would be."
They fell into silence for a while.
Then Tarn spoke again. "You sure you're ready for this? You're barely a level two. You've barely trained since we left."
Asteria exhaled slowly. "I know. I've just... I haven't felt the need. Yet."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "That kind of pride gets people killed."
Asteria sat up. "It's not pride. It's... waiting. For the right moment. For something real to push me."
Valron looked at him. "And if that moment never comes?"
Asteria smiled faintly, but there was something distant in his eyes. "Then I guess I'll keep skipping stones until it does."
----