Chapter 3 – Whispers Beneath the Tide
The scent of salt and damp wood filled the small cottage as Kael stepped outside for the first time since awakening. The sea stretched far into the horizon, endlessly gray and brooding. Gulls circled overhead, their cries sharp and distant, like fading echoes of a life he barely remembered.
Elira sat by the porch sharpening a fishing knife. Her posture was casual, but her eyes flicked toward him with quiet attentiveness. "You're healing well."
Kael gave a small nod. "Thanks to you."
She smiled faintly, motioning for him to sit. "You seem more grounded today."
"I am." He paused. "There's something I need to tell you… about my awakening."
Elira said nothing, waiting patiently.
"I didn't awaken just wind. I thought I did, back on the island, but something… interfered." He glanced at his palm, where moisture gathered with a flick of will. "I awakened water."
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't look surprised.
"…And wind."
That made her still.
He continued, voice quiet, "Wind came first. Strong, wild. But I couldn't control it. I think… I think I was born with it, but my body was too weak to awaken properly. The storm awakened it for me. Then… water came with it."
Elira exhaled softly, the knife still in her hand. "A dual awakening." She looked into the sea. "Those are rare… and dangerous."
"I didn't choose this," Kael murmured. "But I won't lie about it."
"You don't have to lie," she said gently. "But you should hide it. Especially the wind."
Kael blinked. "Why? Water is common, but wind—"
"—is watched," she interrupted. "Too closely. Especially if it's strong. The Whirls were known for their mastery over wind, and for all the fear they brought. That kind of legacy leaves marks. People remember fear more than history."
She stood and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Use water. Learn to control it. Let it be your public face. If you show wind, they'll hunt the name before they see the boy behind it."
Kael clenched his fists. "So I'm supposed to lie about who I am?"
"No," she said. "You're supposed to survive long enough to choose when the truth matters."
He looked down, the weight of her words sinking deep.
A Voice in the Fog
Later that evening, Kael met Joran properly.
The boy was quiet, his dark brown hair tied back loosely. He sat by the fire, sharpening a short training spear. When Kael entered, he didn't look up.
"I heard you're staying a while," Joran said without emotion.
"If that's alright."
"Doesn't matter to me."
Kael sat across from him. "Your mom said you're heading to the Academy soon."
"In two days."
"I'm Kael."
"…Joran."
They sat in silence. The fire crackled between them. Eventually, Joran spoke again.
"You'll need to act normal if you're hiding something. People at the Academy aren't kind to the different."
Kael looked at him sharply. "You knew?"
"Not what. But you're like… the air moves around you differently. It listens." Joran turned his eyes toward the flame. "People don't notice things like that unless they've been forced to watch quietly for most of their life."
Kael felt a pang of something — guilt? Sympathy? He wasn't sure.
"Why are you going to the Academy?" Kael asked.
"Because it's expected. I awakened something useful: a weak barrier. Not flashy, but enough." He looked over. "They'll rank me low, give me some obscure class, and I'll survive if I keep my head down."
Kael frowned. "That's not fair."
"It's the world," Joran said with a shrug.
Kael looked at him, something solidifying in his chest. "Maybe we can change that."
Joran said nothing, but his brow twitched slightly — the only sign that he had heard.
Cutaway – Tower Surveillance Chamber
The detection crystal pulsed again — just once.
The analyst frowned. "Same signal. Lessened. Cloaked."
The lead observer narrowed his gaze. "And it's gone."
"Should we dispatch a probe unit?"
"No," the robed man said slowly. "Let's wait till we pick up the signals. Let him believe he's safe. He'll reveal himself again… and when he does, we'll be ready."
Back in Merrow's Edge
The storm outside had faded into mist, and Kael stood under the porch roof with his hand raised.
Water danced between his fingers — obedient, fluid, unthreatening.
But the wind stirred in his chest, eager, restless, and vast.
"I'll learn," he whispered. "I'll grow."
And when the world was ready — or perhaps when it wasn't — he would show them the truth.
Not a null. Not a failure.
A storm is calm.