---
After their game by the river, the group continued onward, following the meandering trail through the meadow. The sun was high, casting warmth and light over the world, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the threats lurking in the shadows. Kaelen took a deep breath, trying to savor the rare peacefulness, but his nerves remained prickled, on edge.
As they walked, Lira fell into step beside him, her gaze fixed ahead. "So, you really never had a hat phase?"
Kaelen chuckled. "Hard to believe, I know. Can you imagine me as a hat person?"
She tilted her head, feigning a deep, thoughtful look. "Actually, yes. Something ridiculous—bright, feathered, and with far too many embellishments."
Kaelen snorted. "That's definitely not my style. Though maybe I could rock a dark, mysterious cloak."
Lira rolled her eyes. "You'd have to work on your mysterious stare first. You're more 'accidentally charming' than 'dark and brooding.'"
Kaelen grinned, a strange warmth blooming at her remark. "I'll take that as a compliment."
They shared a rare, companionable silence as they walked. But just as they rounded a bend in the trail, Kaelen froze, his senses instantly sharpening.
"Wait." He held up a hand, signaling the others to stop. "Do you smell that?"
Garak sniffed the air, his expression shifting to unease. "Smoke… and something else."
Elara looked concerned. "It smells… strange. Like something burning, but not wood or food."
Lira squinted, her eyes searching the horizon. "It's coming from up ahead."
They moved cautiously, following the faint trail of smoke that drifted through the trees. Soon, the source of the scent became apparent—a wagon sat smoldering in a small clearing, its wooden frame charred and broken. The remnants of goods and supplies lay scattered around, but not a single soul was in sight.
Garak bent down, inspecting the blackened wood. "This wasn't an accident. The wagon's been deliberately torched."
Kaelen surveyed the scene, noticing a few strange tracks in the dirt. They looked like footprints, but… off. Longer and sharper, as if the feet that had made them didn't quite belong to humans.
"Silent Watchers?" Kaelen guessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lira shivered. "Why would they burn a random wagon? And where's everyone who was traveling with it?"
Elara crouched, brushing her fingers across the ashes. "This isn't just destruction. There's something almost ritualistic about it… Look, these markings—symbols drawn in ash."
Kaelen examined them, a strange sense of recognition tugging at the edge of his mind. The symbols seemed to pulse, an odd rhythm that matched the restless storm in his chest.
"Whoever did this wants to send a message," he murmured.
Garak frowned. "We need to be careful. They might be nearby."
But before they could decide on their next course of action, a sudden rustling sounded from the nearby bushes. The group spun around, weapons drawn, as a figure stumbled out, clutching their side.
It was a young man, dressed in torn travel clothes, his face streaked with ash and panic. He looked up, eyes wide with fear as he spotted them.
"Please," he gasped, stumbling forward. "You have to help me. They—they're after me."
Elara rushed to his side, supporting him as he wavered. "Who's after you? What happened here?"
"The Watchers," the man whispered, his voice trembling. "They… they attacked us. They kept asking questions about some… 'storm.' When they didn't get what they wanted, they set everything on fire."
Kaelen's heart clenched. So, the Watchers were indeed looking for him. But how far would they go to get to him?
"What did they want to know about the storm?" Kaelen asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man shook his head, his gaze unfocused. "Something about… harnessing it. Controlling it. They kept saying that… that it's only a matter of time before it awakens. They thought… they thought someone in our group knew how."
Lira shot Kaelen a worried glance. "Sounds like they're convinced someone has a power they can use. It must be you they're after."
The young man grabbed Kaelen's arm, his grip weak but desperate. "If you know anything about this storm, you have to stay away. The Watchers won't stop until they have it. They'll do anything to get it."
Kaelen's stomach twisted. He'd always known the storm inside him was powerful, dangerous even. But hearing it from someone else—someone who'd suffered because of it—was a different kind of weight.
"Thank you for the warning," Kaelen said quietly, helping the man to sit down. "We'll get you to safety."
The man nodded, visibly relieved. But as Kaelen turned to discuss their next move with the group, he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. A low, eerie whisper echoed in his ears, a familiar voice that sent shivers through him.
"Kaelen…" it murmured, soft and sinister. "The storm is calling. You cannot run from your destiny."
He glanced around, but no one else seemed to hear it. The voice was inside his mind, as if the storm itself were speaking to him.
"Kaelen?" Lira's voice snapped him out of his daze. She was watching him, concern etched on her face.
"Sorry, just… thinking," he muttered, shaking off the unsettling feeling.
The group moved quickly, carrying the injured man with them as they hurried away from the burned wagon. But the whisper lingered, haunting Kaelen with each step, a reminder that the storm within him was growing stronger—and that he couldn't hide from it forever.
---