Sleep came fitfully. Lira tossed on her mat, thumb pressed against her lips even in dreams. The storm's memory lingered, but something new stirred in her mind.
She dreamed of the sea rising higher than the cliffs, swallowing boats whole. She dreamed of villagers crying out, their voices drowned by waves. She dreamed of herself standing alone, listening, guiding, saving.
The wind in her dream whispered: Another storm will come. Greater than before.
She woke with a gasp, sweat on her brow. Her mother stirred beside her. "What is it, anak?"
"A dream," Lira whispered. "But it felt real. The sea warned me again."
Her mother's eyes softened. "Then we must prepare."
The next day, Lira told Cindy and Timmy. Cindy's face paled. "Another storm? Already?"
Timmy shook his head. "Maybe it was just a dream."
"No," Lira said firmly. "It was a warning. The wind speaks even in sleep."
The villagers gathered when she told them. Some listened with fear, others with skepticism. Elder Ramos raised his staff. "We cannot live in constant fear of storms. Dreams are not prophecy."
But Aling Rosa stood beside her daughter. "She has never lied. We must trust her."
The villagers murmured, torn between doubt and belief. Lira sucked her thumb, listening. The wind curled around her ears, whispering: Prepare. The storm will test you again.