The storm broke without warning. One moment, the sky above Eryndor Vale was clear, scattered with lazy clouds drifting in the blue. The next, a wall of dark thunderheads rolled in from the northern hills, swallowing the sun in their shadow. Wind roared through the trees, bending their branches, while the villagers looked up in confusion.
Storms came to the Vale, of course—but never like this. Not so sudden. Not so violent.
Jayden was helping Thom patch the roof when the first peal of thunder rattled the cottage walls. He froze, hammer in hand, staring at the horizon. The clouds churned as if alive, their edges flickering with veins of silver light. His chest tightened. The air tasted charged, every breath sharp and electric.
"Down, boy!" Thom barked, gripping his shoulder. "We'll finish later. Get inside!"
But Jayden barely heard him. His pulse pounded with the rhythm of the thunder. A strange pull dragged him forward, toward the storm, like something in its heart was calling his name.
The wind picked up, howling across the fields. Crops flattened in its path, and shutters banged as villagers hurried to bar their doors. Mira appeared, cloak whipping about her, hair tangled in the gusts.
"Jayden!" she shouted over the storm. "What are you doing? Get inside!"
He should have obeyed. But his feet carried him down the slope, past the fence and toward the river. The storm's fury drew him, irresistible and terrifying. Every step made his skin prickle as though fire and ice coursed beneath his veins.
At the riverbank, the current raged. Waves battered the shore, frothing higher than Jayden had ever seen. He fell to his knees, clutching his head as lightning split the sky.
And then—something happened.
The river responded.
Not like water pushed by storm, but as though it recognized him. The current surged in a circle around where he knelt, forming a spiraling wall of foam and spray. His breath caught as droplets hovered in the air, suspended like glass beads, shimmering with an unnatural glow.
For a heartbeat, Jayden felt as though the storm was inside him. Thunder was his heartbeat. The river was his breath. Lightning ran through his veins.
And then it stopped.
The wind fell still, the storm clouds broke apart, and the water crashed back into its channel as though nothing had happened. Silence pressed heavy over the Vale. Birds began to sing again. Villagers crept from their homes in confusion.
Jayden staggered back, chest heaving, drenched from head to toe. His hands trembled.
"Jayden!" Mira was suddenly at his side, grabbing his arm. Her eyes were wide, terrified, though not entirely of the storm. "I saw what you did. The water—how did you...?"
"I—I don't know," Jayden stammered. His voice shook as badly as his hands. "I didn't do anything. It just—happened."
Mira pulled him to his feet. "We can't stay out here. People will start asking questions."
Together they stumbled back toward the village. Thom was waiting, worry carved deep in his weathered face. He pulled Jayden into a rough embrace, then held him at arm's length.
"You fool," Thom said, though his voice cracked. "You could've been killed out there."
"I'm fine," Jayden muttered, though his uncle's searching eyes made him feel anything but fine.
Mira gave Thom a meaningful look, one that Jayden caught but didn't understand. There was something in her gaze—fear, yes, but also knowledge.
That night, Jayden lay awake in his small room, staring at the ceiling beams. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the river rising to meet him, the droplets suspended like stars. His veins still buzzed with the memory of lightning.
Sleep came only in fragments. And with it, dreams.
He saw fire dancing in the palms of strangers. He saw towers carved from stone that breathed like living things. He saw skies filled with winged beasts, and a great rift in the air itself, pulsing with light.
And always, in the dreams, a voice whispered his name.
Jayden.
By dawn, he was certain of one thing: his life in Eryndor Vale would never be the same again.
The morning after the storm, the Vale buzzed with rumors. Some said it had been the work of witches in the northern hills. Others swore the gods were punishing the land for forgotten sins. A few claimed they saw lightning strike twice in the same spot—a bad omen, they muttered over tankards of ale.
Jayden kept his head down as he moved through the village. He felt eyes on him, whispers trailing in his wake. Mira had promised not to tell anyone what she'd seen, but her silence did little to ease the knot in his chest.
At the market square, the air smelled of bread and roasted meat. Merchants spread their wares while children darted between stalls. It all looked the same as every other day, yet Jayden felt like a stranger in his own home. His world had tilted, and no one else seemed to notice.
"Jayden," Mira said quietly as she joined him near the well. Her cloak hood shadowed her face, though her eyes searched his. "We need to talk."
"About the storm?" he whispered.
She nodded. "I don't know what you did, but it wasn't natural. You need to tell Thom."
Jayden shook his head. "He wouldn't believe me. He'd think I'm—" He cut himself off, glancing at passing villagers. "...mad."
Mira grabbed his wrist. "You nearly called the river to life. I don't think madness covers it."
He opened his mouth to answer, but the ground shuddered beneath their feet. A faint tremor, like the earth itself had drawn a breath. People gasped, clutching their stalls, while a cart toppled over with a clatter. The quake lasted only a moment before silence settled again.
Jayden's pulse hammered. First the storm, now this? Something was wrong with the Vale—wrong with him.
Later that day, as the sun dipped low, Jayden returned to the river alone. He had to know. He had to try. Kneeling at the bank, he stretched out his hand.
"Please," he whispered, though to what or whom, he wasn't sure.
The current shifted. Slowly, deliberately. The water curled toward him, rising into a crest that shimmered in the light. Droplets lifted into the air, forming a ring around his hand.
They sparkled like stars, moving in rhythm with his breath.
Jayden's throat tightened. He wasn't imagining it. The river obeyed him. "Why me?" he murmured.
"Because you are not who you believe you are."
The voice was not Mira's, nor Thom's. Jayden spun, heart lurching, and found a stranger standing on the path.
The man was cloaked, his face shadowed by a hood. His clothes were torn, scorched as if from battle, and his arm hung in a bloodied sling. Despite his injuries, his presence filled the air with quiet power.
"Who are you?" Jayden demanded, stumbling back.
The stranger's eyes glowed faintly in the dusk, silver like moonlight. "One who has searched for you a long time. You do not belong to this world alone, Jayden Arkwell. Your blood is older, stronger. You are heir to a legacy hidden across the veil."
Jayden's mouth went dry. "I don't understand."
"You will," the man said. He swayed, gripping the trunk of a tree for balance. "But not here. They are coming. If you stay, the Vale will burn."
Before Jayden could speak again, the man collapsed.
Jayden rushed forward, kneeling beside him, torn between fear and duty. His hands shook as he pressed them to the stranger's wound, Mira's voice echoing in his mind: Tell Thom.
But how could he? What could he say—that a storm obeyed him, that rivers bent to his will, that dying strangers claimed he belonged to another world?
The man's words thundered in Jayden's head.
You do not belong to this world alone.
And for the first time, Jayden realized he believed it.