Chapter Fifteen: Whispers in the Wind

The camp was still, blanketed in the calm that followed exhaustion. The stars shimmered high above, scattered like shattered glass across the dark velvet sky. Kieran sat up from his bedroll, still feeling the residual pulse of Thorne's awakening deep within the fabric of the air around them. The wind had quieted, but it hadn't gone completely. There was a new hum in the world now—subtle and strange—and it resonated with the edge of his senses like a distant voice murmuring just out of reach.

He closed his eyes and extended his mana sense outward, letting it stretch across the small clearing where their group lay resting. For a brief moment, he could feel them—Maera's firm, steady core; Ysolde's quiet, flickering flame; the new, vibrant storm that pulsed from Thorne.

There was something else, though. Something darker, faint and far away, like a storm cloud just forming on the horizon.

He drew his senses back with a soft breath and opened his eyes.

Maera stirred nearby, ever alert despite the rest she tried to steal in short bursts. Kieran stood and made his way to the edge of the clearing, where the tall grass bent slightly in the night breeze. He wasn't sure what drew him there—curiosity, instinct, or something older—but he stood in the hush, listening.

Footsteps approached. Light ones.

"You're up early," Thorne's voice broke the silence as he approached, eyes scanning the camp. "My turn on watch."

Kieran shook his head. "Too much on my mind."

Thorne nodded, his hair still faintly tousled from sleep. "That was... a lot earlier. I still feel like I'm buzzing."

"You'll get used to it," Kieran replied, a faint grin on his face. "Your body's learning a whole new rhythm. Give it time."

A moment passed in quiet. Then Thorne glanced sideways at him. "Did it feel this weird for you? When you awakened?"

Kieran's expression sobered. "Yeah. It felt like being lit on fire and then left to cool into ash—strange, weightless, but still smoldering underneath. Everything changed. But it also felt... right."

Thorne nodded slowly, thoughtful. "It feels like there's a voice in the wind now. Like it's trying to say something, but I can't quite understand it."

"That's your affinity reaching out," Kieran said, turning toward him. "If you listen long enough, it'll start to make sense."

Thorne gave him a sidelong smile. "And here I thought you were just good with fire."

Kieran chuckled, nudging his shoulder. "Maybe. But fire's just one piece of the world. There's a lot more waiting for us."

The wind picked up then, a low, spiraling breeze that whispered through the trees. Kieran's eyes narrowed. There was something in it—something that didn't feel right.

"Come on," he said suddenly, turning back toward the camp. "We need to get some rest. Tomorrow, we find out what's really waiting for us on Emberroad."

They turned back toward the dying embers of the campfire, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the flickering light. Kieran kept glancing over his shoulder, the unease crawling just beneath his skin. Thorne noticed but said nothing.

As they settled by the fire, Ysolde stirred from her blankets. Her eyes, bleary with sleep, caught theirs. "Everything alright?"

Kieran hesitated. "Y-Yeah. Just needed some air."

She didn't press further, only nodded and pulled her cloak tighter around her. But Kieran noticed the way her gaze lingered on the trees beyond the clearing, as if she, too, felt the strange tension clinging to the night.

Maera sat up soon after, her sword across her lap, eyes sharp despite the weariness in her frame. "Something's out there, isn't there?"

"I'm not sure," Kieran replied honestly. "But the wind... it doesn't feel right."

Maera's expression tightened, and she stood, scanning the darkness. "We'll move early. Be ready before first light."

They nodded.

Maera got up and took a watchful post, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees. Ysolde curled back beneath her blanket, and Kieran settled down beside Thorne. Neither spoke for a while, both lying awake with their eyes toward the stars. The quiet wasn't peace anymore—it was waiting.

Something was coming. Kieran could feel it—a pressure in the air, a tension winding itself tighter with each breath. His mana sense, still humming with sensitivity from earlier, tingled at the edges, picking up faint irregularities, distant fluctuations in the natural flow of energy. It wasn't a presence he could name, but it stirred an instinct deep in his bones.

He shifted slightly on his bedroll, casting a glance toward the tree line. Shapes moved in the dark, harmless shadows most likely—but every instinct in him warned not to look away for too long. Beside him, Thorne's breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep. Across the fire, Maera's posture remained taut even in stillness.

Kieran curled his fingers into the grass, grounding himself. The feeling hadn't left since the wind changed. Something old, something hungry, was drawing closer.

The first hints of dawn began to pale the eastern sky, painting the edges of the trees in soft silver. Kieran sat up, not from the cold—he barely noticed it, even though frost still clung to the grass—but from the tension that had lodged itself deep in his chest. The air held a sharpness that would have made most shiver, but to him, it was only a faint discomfort. Maera stood from her post, stretching stiff muscles, her eyes still scanning the forest with soldier's precision. The others stirred slowly, their movements groggy, reluctant to leave the safety of their dreams.

Ysolde yawned, her hair a sleepy tangle as she rose from her blanket. "We still alive, then?"

"Barely," Thorne muttered, blinking blearily at the gray sky.

Kieran forced a smile but said nothing. He hadn't slept—not really. After settling down, his eyes had remained fixed on the canopy above, watching the branches sway gently in the uneasy wind. His body rested, but his mind stayed alert, tethered to the strange pressure in the air. His senses were still on edge.

His stomach gave a quiet grumble, and he glanced toward their packs. "Anyone got some jerky?" he asked lightly, trying to break the morning's tension. "Could use a bite before we head out."

Thorne reached into his satchel and tossed him a small bundle. "Here. It's not much, but it's something."

Kieran caught it and offered a grateful nod. "Thanks."

Ysolde stretched, rubbing at her eyes. "Don't suppose there's any left for me?"

Thorne grinned. "Might be. Depends on how nice you are to me today."

"Ugh, fine. You can have first pick of the snacks when we reach the next town," she muttered, accepting a strip of jerky that Thorne reluctantly handed over.

Thorne chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced toward Maera. "Hey, Maera? How far do you think we are from the next town?"

Maera looked up from her gear, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "If we keep a good pace, we should reach it by late afternoon. Depends on the road—weather, obstacles. But we're close."

Kieran nodded, making a mental note. It would be good to get some proper rest—and maybe answers—when they arrived.

Maera turned to them. "Let's break camp quickly. I want us moving before full light. There's something out here—we've all felt it. Best not to linger."

No one argued. They moved with quiet efficiency, gathering their belongings, dousing the fire, tightening straps and packs. The survivors they had rescued stirred quietly as well, casting wary glances into the trees as they packed what few belongings they had salvaged. Though exhaustion clung to their movements, they needed no reminders to stay swift.

The road ahead lay hidden in the morning mist, winding through a forest that felt different than it had yesterday.

More watchful. Less forgiving.

As they set out, the birds remained silent. Not even the wind dared speak.