The evening sky was painted in gold and violet as Lira walked alone to the shore. The laughter of the other children still echoed in her ears, but she didn't mind. She preferred the company of the waves.
She climbed onto a smooth rock, tucked her knees to her chest, and placed her thumb gently in her mouth. The world grew quiet. The sea breathed. The wind curled around her hair.
Then she heard it.
Storms are coming. Be ready.
Her eyes widened. "Storms? But the sky is clear."
The waves lapped against the rock, steady and insistent. More often than not, danger hides in calm.
Her heart thudded. She looked up at the horizon, where the sun was sinking into the water. Everything looked peaceful, but the voice carried weight.
Her mother approached, carrying a basket of fish. "You're here again," she said gently. "What do you hear tonight, anak?"
Lira hesitated, then whispered, "The sea says a storm will come."
Her mother's eyes softened. She didn't laugh, didn't scold. She simply nodded. "Then we must prepare. Even if no one else believes."
The girl pressed her thumb tighter against her lips, listening as the wind wrapped around her like a cloak. She felt the truth in her bones. Something was coming.
And though the village mocked her, she knew she would be the one to guide them when the storm arrived.