The wind howled through the broken trees, carrying with it a sense of foreboding. It was the kind of wind that felt unnatural, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Soreil felt the tension, the oppressive weight of it, pressing down on him as they continued their journey deeper into the wilderness.
The landscape had grown even more desolate since the day before. The ground was cracked and barren, the remnants of forests once teeming with life now reduced to twisted, charred remains. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt wood and ash, the echoes of a world that had been torn apart by the Rift.
Lyra walked a few paces ahead, her silhouette barely visible against the darkening sky. She had been quiet since their last conversation, her usual sharp demeanor tempered by a quiet intensity that Soreil couldn't quite place. Something was off, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was as if she was hiding something, but he didn't know if he should press her about it.
Still, despite the silence between them, they were making progress. The road ahead was treacherous, but they had learned to move cautiously through the shattered landscape, picking their way through the debris and avoiding the dangerous pockets of beasts that roamed the area.
It wasn't long before they found a small ravine to camp in, the rocks providing some shelter from the biting wind. Soreil set down his pack and stretched his aching muscles, the weariness of their journey catching up to him. He couldn't ignore the storm inside him, either—the crackling energy that surged through his veins, restless and demanding. Every step he took seemed to intensify the pressure, as though he was walking on the edge of something far greater than himself.
Lyra had already begun to set up their camp, her movements swift and practiced. She worked in silence, as she always did, the only sound the soft rustling of the firewood she gathered. Soreil watched her for a moment, his mind swirling with questions he wasn't sure how to ask.
"Lyra," he began, his voice breaking the quiet between them, "when you said I wasn't alone… what did you mean?"
She paused, her back still to him as she arranged the firewood. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer at all, but then she spoke, her voice low.
"I didn't mean it like you think," she said, her words measured. "You're not the only one with a storm inside them."
Soreil furrowed his brow, confusion flooding his mind. "What are you talking about?"
Lyra turned to face him then, her eyes hard and guarded. "You're not the only one who's learned to wield power, Soreil. There are others out there who have been touched by the same forces, the same entities that have shaped you."
Soreil felt a chill creep down his spine, a shiver of unease that had nothing to do with the cold. "You're saying there are more people like me?"
She nodded slowly, the firelight flickering across her face, casting long shadows that seemed to distort her features. "Yes. And some of them aren't as… controlled as you. Some of them have given in to the power, and it's twisted them."
Soreil's heart quickened at her words. The idea that there were others like him—others who had been touched by the same destructive forces—was unsettling. He thought of the beasts they had fought, how wild and uncontrollable they had been, driven by primal hunger and rage. If there were humans like that, with the same kind of power, how could anyone stand against them?
"What happened to them?" he asked, the question slipping from his mouth before he could stop it.
Lyra's expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing her face. "They were consumed. By the storm. By their own hunger for power. Some of them were once like you—trying to control it, trying to survive. But eventually, the storm takes them. It's only a matter of time."
Soreil's mind raced. "And you think I'm going to become like them?"
She hesitated before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know. But you're not the only one who can hear the whispers, Soreil. There are others who've been marked by the storm—people who have learned to wield the power of the Rift."
Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Soreil felt a knot tighten in his stomach. If there were others like him, others who had been marked by the Rift, what would happen when they all came together? Would they fight for control? Or would they fall under the influence of the storm, just as Lyra warned?
As if in answer, a distant growl rumbled from the shadows of the ravine, followed by the soft rustle of movement. Soreil's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, his senses sharpening in an instant. Lyra was already moving toward their packs, pulling out weapons with fluid efficiency.
"Stay alert," she murmured, her tone suddenly all business. "It's not safe out here."
The growl came again, closer this time, a low, guttural sound that sent a ripple of unease through Soreil. The beasts they had encountered so far had been dangerous, but this… this felt different. There was something else lurking in the dark, something far more insidious.
Soreil's eyes scanned the ravine, the darkness pressing in on them from all sides. His instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, but he forced himself to stay calm, to wait for whatever was approaching to reveal itself.
Suddenly, there was a flash of movement—something large, something fast. A shadow darted between the rocks, its silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Soreil's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the storm within him stir, itching to be released.
He didn't wait any longer. With a fluid motion, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the firelight. The storm surged within him, a rush of energy that threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it down, focusing on the threat ahead.
Lyra was already in motion beside him, her blades flashing as she cut through the air with deadly precision. Together, they advanced into the darkness, the storm of power inside them mingling with the deadly silence of the ravine.
The growl came again, louder now, and Soreil knew—whatever was out there, it wasn't going to be easily defeated.
---
The fight came quickly, the beast emerging from the shadows with terrifying speed. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, its body covered in scales that shimmered like polished obsidian. It was massive, easily twice the size of any beast they had fought before, its claws raking the ground as it stalked toward them.
Soreil's heart raced as he raised his sword, feeling the storm within him respond to the creature's presence. The energy surged again, faster this time, stronger. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, and for a moment, he let the storm take control.
The power coursed through him, crackling like lightning, filling his body with a heat that burned from the inside out. The sword in his hand seemed to hum with energy, vibrating with the intensity of the storm. He swung it at the beast, his movements faster, sharper—just like the storm within him.
The blade connected with the beast's scales, sending a shockwave of energy rippling through the air. The creature howled in pain, stumbling backward, but it wasn't enough to stop it. The storm within Soreil pushed him forward, driving him to strike again.
But as he raised his sword for another blow, something in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop. He hesitated, just for a moment, and in that split second, the creature lunged forward with terrifying speed.
Lyra's voice cut through the chaos. "Soreil! Get back!"
But it was too late. The beast's claws raked across his chest, tearing through his clothes and sending a wave of pain through his body. Soreil grunted, stumbling back, his sword slipping from his grasp. The storm inside him flared once more, but this time it was different—chaotic, uncontrollable.
His vision blurred, his senses spinning, and all he could hear was the rush of the storm, drowning everything else out.
"Focus!" Lyra shouted, her voice cutting through the storm inside his mind. "You have to control it!"
Soreil's eyes snapped open, the storm inside him howling louder than ever before. He could feel the power threatening to take over, threatening to consume him. But Lyra's words—her command—ground him. He took a deep breath, forcing the storm back, forcing himself to focus.
With a final, desperate push, Soreil grasped his sword again, his grip tight and steady. He swung it toward the beast with all the control he could muster, focusing on the calm in the storm.
The sword struck true, slicing through the creature's heart. The beast let out one final, gut-wrenching cry before collapsing to the ground, its body twitching as the life drained from it.
Soreil stood over it, panting, the storm still swirling inside him, but now… now it was under control.
Lyra approached him slowly, her eyes narrowing as she assessed him. "You're getting better. But don't forget, Soreil—control is key. If you lose it again, you might not be able to stop yourself."
Soreil nodded, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. He had won, but the storm was still there, still clawing at the edges of his mind. And he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
The storm within him was far from over.