unravelling the thread

The following morning, the village was quieter than usual. The sun, still low on the horizon, painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, but the peaceful light did nothing to ease the tightness in Lira's chest. Niamh's words had haunted her throughout the night. The storm is coming, and you will have to face it.

It was a promise—or a threat. Lira wasn't sure which. All she knew was that the weight of it pressed against her, a constant reminder that time was slipping away. The power inside her had been awakening with a force she hadn't anticipated, pushing against the walls she'd built around herself. It was growing, and she could feel it gnawing at the edges of her control.

The village, though tranquil, was beginning to feel more like a cage than a sanctuary.

Lira sat on the edge of a stone bench, her hands clenched in her lap as she tried to still the tremors that ran through her. The morning air was crisp, but it did little to cool the heat that burned inside her. Magic—the power that had been thrust upon her—was both a gift and a curse. It could be the thing that saved them all, or it could be the force that destroyed everything. And she had no idea how to wield it.

She wasn't alone for long. Thorne appeared beside her, his usual easy confidence tempered with a quiet uncertainty. He looked down at her with concern, but didn't speak immediately. He knew as well as she did that words weren't always enough.

"I've been thinking," Thorne said after a long pause, his voice low.

Lira turned her head to meet his gaze, her heart tightening. "About?"

"About what Niamh said," he replied, his brow furrowing as he sat down beside her. "About the storm. It doesn't sit right with me."

Lira nodded, her throat tight. "I know. I can't stop thinking about it, either. She said… that I would have to face it. That the magic inside me was going to take control."

Thorne's jaw clenched, and for a moment, there was an edge to his voice that she hadn't heard before. "I don't trust her. There's something about the way she spoke to you. She's hiding something, Lira. And whatever it is, I'm not sure we're ready for it."

Lira felt a wave of frustration wash over her. Not ready for it. How could they ever be ready for something like this? The truth was, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. The magic wasn't something she had asked for. It had chosen her. Or maybe, in some twisted way, it had always been a part of her, waiting to be unleashed. But how could she control something so wild?

"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But I don't know how to stop it. It's like a storm inside me, just waiting to break free."

Thorne's gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused. "You're not alone in this, Lira. I don't care what Niamh says or what anyone else thinks. We'll face it together."

Lira swallowed, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn't afford to break down. Not now. But Thorne's words, simple and unwavering, were the anchor she desperately needed. They had come so far together, and though the road ahead was uncertain, she knew she couldn't do this without him.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Thorne didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced toward the heart of the village, where Niamh's house sat at the highest point, shrouded in shadows. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before he turned back to Lira.

"I'm going to speak to Niamh," he said, his voice firm. "I don't trust her. And I don't like the way she's been talking about the magic, like it's something we have no control over. You deserve answers, Lira. And I'm going to get them."

Lira's heart raced at his words. She didn't know if she wanted to confront Niamh just yet, not with the storm inside her threatening to break free. But at the same time, she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there were pieces of the puzzle she still didn't understand. There was too much mystery around the village, and too much about the magic that didn't add up.

"Be careful," Lira warned, her voice steady despite the unease swirling inside her.

Thorne nodded. "I will. But we can't keep hiding from the truth."

With that, he stood and walked off toward Niamh's house, his footsteps confident, though his expression was darker than usual. Lira watched him disappear into the shadows, her stomach churning with uncertainty.

As she sat there, the weight of the situation settled even heavier on her shoulders. The storm was coming, but Lira wasn't sure if it was a metaphor or something much more literal. If Niamh was right, the magic inside her would consume everything in its path. And the only way to stop it—if stopping it was even possible—was to understand it. To control it.

But how could she do that when she didn't even know where to begin?

Lira stood up, her muscles stiff from sitting too long. She needed to clear her mind, to find a way to focus. The magic, the weight of her destiny—it was all so overwhelming. And deep down, she feared that the more she learned, the less she would be able to control.

As she wandered through the village, the people went about their daily tasks, completely unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. They smiled, spoke to each other in soft tones, and moved with a peacefulness that seemed so out of place in the midst of everything that was happening.

She passed a small garden filled with bright flowers and herbs. The scent of lavender filled the air, calming her nerves for a moment. She knelt down to touch one of the flowers, running her fingers over the delicate petals. The touch was soft and grounding, a reminder that some things were still simple, still beautiful, even in the face of the unknown.

Suddenly, a voice broke the stillness.

"You're restless."

Lira looked up to find Niamh standing a few feet away, her gaze piercing and unyielding. She had a way of appearing from nowhere, as though she had been watching from the shadows all along.

"I didn't hear you coming," Lira said, her voice guarded.

Niamh smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "I don't make noise when I don't want to. It's a useful skill, one that I think you'll learn in time."

Lira stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. "I'm tired of secrets, Niamh. I'm tired of being told that everything is out of my control. If you know something, tell me. Now."

Niamh's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Perhaps it was a glimmer of respect. "You think you're ready to hear the truth?" she asked softly. "You think you're ready to face the consequences of knowing what you're truly capable of?"

Lira swallowed hard. "I don't have time for riddles. Just tell me what's happening. Tell me what this magic is, and how I can stop it."

For the first time, Niamh's demeanor shifted slightly. Her gaze softened, just a fraction, but it was enough for Lira to see that there was more to the woman than the hardened exterior she presented.

"You want to stop it," Niamh said slowly, her voice almost reverent. "But what if stopping it is the very thing that destroys us all?"

Lira felt a chill run down her spine. "What are you saying?"

Niamh stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You think the storm is something to fear. But the truth is, Lira, you are the storm. The power inside you is ancient, and it has been waiting for someone worthy to unleash it. You have a choice. You can control it, or it will consume you. But either way, the world will never be the same."

Lira stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest. The weight of Niamh's words settled over her like a blanket of ice.

She wasn't just trying to stop the storm. She was the storm.