Title: Whispers of the Hollow Star
Chapter 1: The Whispering Wind
The wind spoke to her that morning.
Kaela Thornhart stood on the edge of the frost-tipped cliff, her cloak whipping behind her like wings made of stormclouds. Below her, the forest of Eldenveil stretched into the mist, endless and unknowable. The sun had not yet climbed past the mountains, but light teased the horizon in streaks of pink and violet. Far beyond the tree line, the ruins of Old Vareth barely poked through the fog like the bones of a forgotten beast.
She didn't know why she had woken before dawn—or why the wind had carried her name.
"Kaela..."
It had come like a sigh, a breeze brushing the nape of her neck as if trying to pull her forward. But no one else had been there. Just the wind. Just the trees. Just the feeling in her chest, like something ancient was stirring.
There had always been something strange about Kaela. She wasn't like the others in Wyrm's Hollow, though she had lived among them her whole life. No known parents, no records of her birth. She'd simply been found on the steps of the old chapel wrapped in blue wool and silence. The villagers said she was a child of the stars, a fanciful way of saying they had no idea where she came from.
She often felt it herself—that pull toward something beyond the trees, beyond the hills. Something calling to her in dreams and whispers, in flashes of stars and flickers of memories that weren't hers. Once, when she was younger, she had wandered into the Eldenveil and emerged with a cut on her palm shaped like a crescent moon. She never told anyone what she'd seen there.
She knelt at the edge of the cliff, her fingers brushing the frost-covered grass. "What do you want from me?" she whispered to the wind.
No answer came. Only the sound of branches shifting far below. A raven cried out in the distance. The mist seemed to curl inward, as if watching her.
Then, faintly, something changed. A sharp cold rippled through the air, tingling down her spine. The frost beneath her hand shimmered. For a moment, the world felt paused. Held.
And then it was gone.
The village bells rang once. Morning call.
She stood quickly, brushing off her skirt, clutching her satchel, and making her way down the stony path back to Wyrm's Hollow. The village clung to the hills like moss, its crooked chimneys and mossy rooftops casting long shadows in the early light. People were already beginning to stir: farmers gathering tools, merchants opening stalls. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of wood and ash.
Old Maeryn, the herb woman, paused as Kaela passed. "You've been out early, girl. Strange dreams again?"
Kaela nodded, but didn't slow. "Just restless."
"Mm. The veil's thin this time of year. You be careful."
That phrase always stuck with her: the veil is thin. It meant something to the old folk, but Kaela had never truly understood it. A barrier between this world and another, perhaps? She used to think they meant the seasons, but now she wasn't so sure.
She passed the fountain in the square, its waters frozen at the edges, and noticed that the old stone gargoyle that perched above it had a crack running through its eye. She frowned. It hadn't been there yesterday.
The market was setting up as she crossed the village square. Children ran with wooden swords, shouting about dragons. A bard tuned a battered lute near the well. And yet, under it all, Kaela felt the same unsettling pressure from the forest.
She reached the schoolhouse just as Master Elric opened the heavy wooden door. He gave her a disapproving glance—he always did when she arrived with wind in her hair and dirt on her boots.
"Try to stay present today, Miss Thornhart," he muttered.
But Kaela was not present. She was still on the cliff, still in the forest, still listening to that voice.
And in the shadows behind her, something moved.
It did not belong in the daylight. It did not belong in the village. But it had come anyway, drawn by the whisper that only she had heard.
As Kaela took her seat by the window, she felt a flicker at the edge of her vision. A shape. Pale and long-limbed. Watching. Then gone.
The wind stirred once more, and the name—her name—rose with it.
"Kaela..."