The sun was lazy that summer morning, still rising, like even it had overslept. Dew clung to every blade of grass, glimmering silver across the village fields. The birds were louder than usual, and the air had that golden softness only early summers ever really managed. And in the middle of all of it—half-awake and brushing dirt off his tunic—stood Kael, squinting as if he could burn the sun back into the sky.
"You're late," said a voice behind him.
Kael turned. Ela stood barefoot in the grass, holding two ripe apples in one hand and her shoes in the other. Her smile was lazy, almost teasing, and Kael forgot whatever excuse he'd planned to give.
"I'm not late," he mumbled. "You're just early."
"I've been here. Long enough to see you trip on that same root twice."
He frowned. "I was inspecting it. For root-related dangers."
She threw an apple at his chest. He caught it. She took a bite of hers and started walking toward the lake trail. "Come on. The others will be waiting."
There were ten of them altogether. The village knew them as the "storm gang"—not for trouble they caused, but because wherever they went, noise followed like thunder. Laughter. Arguments. Sometimes screaming. Sometimes song.
They gathered near the lake most mornings, just past the crop fields and wildflower patches. It was their place, claimed years ago, when they were younger and dumber and not much had changed since.
Dren was already in the water, clothes still on, splashing around like he wasn't supposed to help his mother at the bakery in an hour. "I found a frog with three legs!" he yelled.
"That's tragic, not exciting," called his younger sister, Liri, who sat on a rock sketching the sky with charcoal fingers.
Yen, the tallest, was building something pointless with stones. "It's a bridge to nowhere," he announced. "Like my future."
Rian and Sol were sword-fighting with sticks, shouting fake battle cries. Rian wore a crown of dandelions. Sol had one eye closed for extra drama.
Elra, Ela's little sister, was watching them with mild disgust. "You two are idiots."
"Thank you," Rian bowed. "We train for that."
Torin leaned against a tree, half-asleep, chewing on something he refused to name. "You all wake up too early. Morning is for cows."
Bran, who took everything a little too seriously, was trying to stop Dren from stealing his boots. Again.
And Kael, lagging behind, finally reached the clearing, Ela beside him.
They made noise. They always did. Birds flew off. A squirrel nearly fell from a branch. Somewhere far off, a goat screamed. But it was theirs, this chaos.
Each of them was different in that way that only childhood friends can be. Kael never said much unless Ela was near, and even then it was half-stammer and half-nonsense. He lived with his mother, the village herbalist, who was kind and always tired. He never spoke of his father. People stopped asking.
Ela was warmth with edges. Hair dark and often messy, sharp eyes like she could see past every lie. She teased Kael more than anyone. But never cruelly.
Elra, her younger sister, was quiet but vicious when she wanted to be. Protective. Sarcastic. She fought like a boy and drew like a dream.
Dren was chaos incarnate—muddy, grinning, forever hiding from his chores. His dream? To live fat, happy, and surrounded by dogs. No magic. No swords. Just peace.
Bran wanted order. He hated unpredictability, and loud sounds made him flinch. He talked of becoming a scribe or judge. Something safe.
Yen was slow in movement and speech, not because he lacked thought but because he lived in dreams. Often staring at clouds. Once said he wished life would skip to the happy ending.
Torin liked sleep, silence, and grilled fish. He claimed he would marry early, raise goats, and never leave the village.
Sol and Rian were inseparable—best friends or worst enemies, depending on the hour. Rian wanted to be a knight. Sol just liked the idea of people telling stories about him.
There was a small incident near midday. Ela's father arrived at the lake clearing—stern, with calloused hands and a voice like a cracked drum.
"Elra! Ela!"
Everyone froze. Even the frogs.
He looked furious. Apparently, someone had painted the family's goat. Pink.
Kael turned slowly to Ela. "Did you—?"
"It was Elra," she said, too quickly.
"Liar," said Elra.
It was a whole scene. He lectured them all, made promises about punishments that never quite happened. As he turned to leave, he added, "And Kael. Tell your mother the salve worked. My back hasn't hurt all week."
Kael blinked. "Oh. Um. Okay. Thank you."
"And keep your nose clean. You're always around trouble."
Kael nodded, red-faced. Ela was grinning at him.
They ate berries from a bush they pretended was cursed, told scary stories that made Rian jumpy, and dared each other to swim across the lake.
Later, when most had wandered off home or to chores, only Kael and Ela remained.
They sat by the water, legs dangling over the rocks. The wind played with her hair, and the lake shimmered with lazy sun.
"Do you think it'll always be like this?" Ela asked softly.
Kael stared at the ripples. "I hope so."
She turned to look at him. "You never say what you're thinking."
He hesitated. Then, without meeting her eyes, he said, "Because I think about you more than I should."
The wind stilled.
Ela blinked. Then smiled, just barely. "That's not much of a problem."
He looked up. Their eyes met.
The moment stretched like a secret. He leaned closer—just a breath. She didn't move away.
And then the wind returned, scattering petals from a nearby tree across the lake.
Neither of them said anything else. They didn't need to.
Not yet.
End of Prologue.