The storm arrived without warning, a churning wall of black clouds that devoured the sky. Lyra Elowen sat near the edge of the village well, her lantern swaying against the wind. The golden glow danced in her hand, struggling to keep the encroaching darkness at bay.

"Storm's coming," called the baker, pulling his daughter toward their home. "Lyra, you'd best head inside!"

But Lyra didn't move. There was something different about this storm. The air around her was thick, charged with energy that sent a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes and reached out with her light magic, but all she felt was resistance. Her magic was feeble at best—just enough to light a lamp or warm a teapot—but now, even that felt swallowed by the unnatural darkness.

A deafening crack split the air. Lightning, blue and jagged, streaked across the sky, illuminating a figure on the hill just outside the village. Cloaked in black, the man stood still as the storm raged around him.

Lyra's breath caught. She had never seen anyone outside her village before. The world beyond was forbidden—dangerous, the elders always said. But there he was, tall and unmoving, his silhouette commanding against the storm.

As if sensing her gaze, the man turned his head, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. His piercing gray eyes bore into hers, cold and calculating. Lyra stumbled back, the lantern slipping from her grasp and clattering to the ground.

"Lyra, come inside!" Her neighbor's urgent voice snapped her out of her trance.

She turned and ran, her heart pounding in her chest. By the time she reached her home, the winds had grown fierce, rattling the shutters and shaking the small cottage. Her grandmother, a frail woman with sharp eyes, sat by the fire, her knitting needles moving in rhythmic clinks.

"Strange storm tonight," her grandmother murmured without looking up.

Lyra nodded, her hands trembling as she bolted the door. "There was… someone out there."

The needles stopped. "Someone?"

"A man. On the hill."

Her grandmother's face darkened, and she set the knitting aside. "No one from the village would be out in a storm like this."

"He wasn't from the village," Lyra whispered, sinking into the chair by the fire. "I've never seen him before."

The old woman's gaze grew distant. "Stay away from strangers, Lyra. Especially those who come with storms."

Before Lyra could respond, a loud knock echoed through the house.

The two women froze. No one ever knocked at their door—not in a storm, not at this hour.

"Don't," her grandmother whispered, gripping Lyra's arm as she stood.

But Lyra's curiosity burned brighter than her fear. She stepped to the door, unbolted it, and pulled it open.

There he was.

The man from the hill stood in the doorway, his black cloak soaked from the rain. Shadows seemed to cling to him, pooling at his feet despite the light from her lantern. His gray eyes studied her, sharp and unyielding.

"You need to leave," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Lyra blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The storm is no ordinary storm," he continued, stepping closer. "You're all in danger."

"Who are you?" Her voice wavered, but she stood her ground.

"Kael Draven."

The name meant nothing to her, but the weight with which he said it made her hesitate.

"What kind of danger?" Lyra's grandmother had joined her, leaning heavily on her cane.

Kael's gaze flicked to the old woman, then back to Lyra. "The kind you can't fight with your magic."

"How do you know what we can or can't fight?" Lyra demanded, her unease giving way to irritation. Who was this stranger to come into their village and issue warnings as though he knew them?

"I know enough." Kael's expression darkened. "I know that whatever little light magic you have won't save you when the shadows come."

Lyra flushed. She didn't need him to remind her of her weaknesses.

Her grandmother took a step forward, her cane tapping against the floor. "If you're so wise, tell us—what do you want from us?"

Kael hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I don't want anything. I came to warn you. The storm is a harbinger. It's only the beginning."

"Beginning of what?" Lyra asked, her voice quieter now.

Kael's eyes softened for a moment, and for the first time, Lyra thought she saw something in them—regret, or maybe sadness.

"Chaos," he said finally.

Another crack of lightning illuminated the village square behind him. This time, Lyra saw movement—shadows that seemed to writhe and twist unnaturally.

"What is that?" she whispered, her heart pounding.

Kael didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the house and shut the door behind him.

---

The storm raged on through the night, and Lyra sat by the fire, watching Kael as he stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the shadows outside.

"Why are you here?" she asked finally, breaking the tense silence.

Kael turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Because the darkness is spreading, and you're not ready for what's coming."

"Me?" Lyra frowned. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything."

Her grandmother placed a hand on Lyra's shoulder. "Enough for tonight. The storm will pass, and you'll leave in the morning," she said firmly, addressing Kael.

Kael said nothing, but the look he gave Lyra sent another shiver down her spine.

As Lyra lay in bed that night, the shadows outside seemed to move closer, pressing against the windows. She couldn't shake Kael's words.

The storm was only the beginning.

---

Sneak Peek for Chapter 2:

The morning after the storm, Lyra wakes to find the village changed. The shadows left behind have begun to corrupt the land, and Kael insists on taking her with him to learn the truth about her magic. Lyra faces a difficult decision: stay in the safety of her village or follow Kael into the unknown.