I woke to sunlight filtering through the cabin's small window, casting warm patches across my blanket. For a moment, the unfamiliar ceiling above me sent panic surging through my chest—but the storm inside me remained quiet, almost contemplative.

  Five days had passed since I'd first opened my eyes in this place. Five days of fever dreams, whispered conversations at my bedside, and the slow, grudging retreat of the corruption that had nearly claimed me.

  I lifted my arm to examine it. The glowing veins had receded from my shoulder, now only visible around the wound itself. The angry heat had cooled to a dull throb.

  "Better," I whispered to myself, flexing my fingers. No sparks today. The storm was calm, not gone, never gone, but patient.

  I sat up carefully, testing my strength. My body felt hollow, like a tree struck by lightning, but somehow still standing. Weak, but alive. The wooden floor was cool beneath my bare feet as I stood, steadying myself against the wall.

  Outside my small room, voices murmured in conversation. I recognised them now: Thalia's measured tones, Elyra's gentle cadence, Flynn's quick chatter, Daro's rumbling responses. And Riven's voice was harder and sharper, always with an edge of wariness when I was mentioned.

  I touched Mira's bracelet on my wrist, the leather worn smooth by my constant fidgeting. I'm still here, I promised her silently. I'm still me. However, what "me" meant was becoming less certain by the day.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped into the main room for the first time on my own.

  The conversation stopped abruptly. Five pairs of eyes turned to me—Thalia's hazel gaze steady and assessing, Flynn's bright with curiosity, Elyra's warm with concern, Daro's watchful, and Riven's cold and distrustful.

  "You shouldn't be up," Elyra said, rising quickly from her chair.

  "I'm tired of lying down," I replied, my voice rusty from disuse. "And I'm hungry."

  A startled laugh burst from Flynn. "She speaks! And wants food! That's a good sign." She turned to Daro with a grin. "She's stronger than she looks."

  "Never doubted it," Daro rumbled, but I caught the relief in his eyes.

  Thalia gestured to an empty chair. "Sit before you fall."

  I took a step forward, but my knees buckled unexpectedly. Elyra was at my side in an instant, her arm supporting my waist with gentle firmness.

  "Easy," she murmured, guiding me to the chair. "Your body needs time."

  I leaned on her gratefully, aware of how they all watched me, not just with their eyes, but with a deeper attention. They were watching the storm, sensing its movements beneath my skin.

  "The corruption?" Thalia asked, nodding toward my shoulder.

  "It feels... quieter," I said, tugging my sleeve down self-consciously.

  Elyra helped me settle into the chair before carefully rolling back my sleeve. Her fingers were cool and gentle as they examined the wound.

  "The corruption has stopped spreading," she confirmed, her voice carrying the quiet certainty of someone who understood healing deeply. "See how the edges have hardened?" She traced a line just shy of the glowing veins. "It's contained now. Your storm is helping fight it."

  "My storm is... helping?" The concept felt foreign—the storm as protector rather than destroyer.

  "It recognises the corruption as foreign," Elyra explained, rewrapping the wound with fresh herbs and bandages. "Not all storm energy is destructive. It can also shield, protect."

  The idea settled strangely in my mind as Elyra placed a wooden bowl of stew before me, steam carrying the scent of herbs and wild onions. My stomach growled audibly.

  "Eat slowly," she advised. "Your body is still healing."

  I nodded, picking up the spoon. My hand trembled slightly—not from weakness alone, but from the strangeness of sitting among these people who knew what I was, who had seen my storm, yet still offered me shelter and stew.

  As I ate, I felt the weight of Riven's stare. He stood by the window, arms crossed, keeping his distance. His steel-blue eyes never blinked, tracking each bite I took with the rigid focus of someone who'd faced my kind before. The muscle in his jaw twitched once, fingers digging into his crossed arms while I swallowed another mouthful. The stew turned tasteless in my mouth as his scrutiny intensified, like he could see the storm stirring beneath my skin, waiting for the moment I'd prove as dangerous as he clearly expected.

  "Is there something you want to ask me?" I said finally, meeting his gaze directly.

  The room went quiet.

  "Many things," he replied coldly. "Starting with how many people died when your storm first broke."

  "Riven," Thalia warned, her voice sharp.

  But I set down my spoon, the grief rising fresh and raw. "One," I said, the word barely audible. I swallowed hard. "Just one. That was enough."

  Something flashed across Riven's face—not softening, exactly, but a flicker of grim understanding.

  "And the Hunters?" he pressed. "How many have you destroyed?"

  "Two," I answered. "One on the ridge above my village. One in the mist."

  "And did your storm surge with pleasure when you killed them?" His eyes never left mine, searching for signs of something I couldn't name.

  The truth burned in my throat. "Yes," I admitted. "It wanted more. It... recognised them."

  Daro shifted uncomfortably. Flynn's usual smile had faded. Elyra watched me with sad eyes that seemed to understand too much.

  "That's enough, Riven," Thalia said firmly, but I raised my hand.

  "No, he should ask." I twisted Mira's bracelet on my wrist. "I need to understand what's happening to me. What I am."

  "What you are," Thalia said, coming to stand beside my chair, "is a storm-bearer. One of the rarest beings in this world, someone who carries an ancient power that most people can barely comprehend."

  "Not the first," Riven cut in, his voice like steel. "But perhaps the last."

  A shadow passed across Thalia's face.

  "The Hunters seek your kind," she continued. "They're drawn to storm energy like moths to flame. Some want to corrupt it. Others want to consume it."

  I stared down at my half-empty bowl. Storm-bearer. The word settled over me like a cloak, both too heavy and somehow fitting. It explained everything—the winds that came with my nightmares, the lightning that danced at my fingertips when anger surged, the rain that fell when I couldn't stop my tears. It explained what happened at the harvest festival. What happened to—

  I forced the thought away before it could fully form, before I could see his face again.

  "And what do you want from it?" I asked quietly. "From me?" The question hung in the air, honest and dangerous.

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  I watched them carefully as I waited for an answer. Daro's eyes dropped to his hands, his broad shoulders tensing slightly. Elyra's gaze turned distant, a flash of something like grief crossing her features. Flynn shifted her weight, the first time I'd seen her perfectly still. And Riven—his face had gone completely rigid, as though carved from stone.

  "To help you control it," Thalia answered finally. "To keep you alive. To prevent what happened... before."

  I caught the hesitation, sensed the weight behind those words. These weren't just strangers offering charity—they carried scars, secrets about people like me. The realisation made my stomach tighten. What did they see when they looked at me? A weapon? A victim? A disaster waiting to happen?

  "Before?" I prompted.

  A silence stretched. Glances passed between them—warning, remembering, conflicted.

  "We had another in our care once," Elyra said gently when no one else spoke. "Someone like you."

  "What happened to them?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.

  "We failed her," Thalia said simply.

  I absorbed this, the fear and understanding dawning slowly. The storm inside me stirred—not violently, but with awareness. Like it knew something I didn't.

  "I don't want to lose control," I said, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "I don't want to hurt anyone else."

  "Then you'll need to train," Thalia told me simply. "You'll need to accept the storm, not fear it. Fear gives it power over you."

  "How can I not fear something that killed—" I stopped myself, swallowing the name I'd been about to say.

  "Someone you loved," Thalia finished for me, her voice softening slightly.

  I nodded, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.

  "It's yours, though!" Flynn interjected, fidgeting with the loose strands escaping her uneven ponytail. Her perpetual smirk flashed as she leaned forward. "Storm isn't some outside monster—it's your power. Like how I can..." She wiggled her fingers, briefly shimmering into shadow before reappearing. "Different package, same deal. You're just carrying something bigger."

  I felt the air crackle slightly around my fingertips and clenched my fist, rubbing at my wrist as I stared at a frayed edge of my sleeve. "If it's mine—if it's part of me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "then his blood is on my hands. Not just the storm's." The grey of my eyes darkened like gathering clouds.

  "Yes," Thalia said simply, her steady gaze checking the sky through the window before settling back on me. No coddling, just truth. "That's why you need to learn control."

  Flynn shrugged, already restless again, bouncing on her toes. "What she said. Better than moping about it." The teasing in her voice carried an undercurrent of something I hadn't expected—concern.

  I looked around at these strangers who had saved me, who knew more about what I was than I did myself. Trust didn't come easily—not after Ashgrove, not after what happened there. But I needed them. And perhaps, from the way Thalia watched me, they needed me, too.

  "When do we start?" I asked.

  A ghost of a smile touched Thalia's lips. "Can you stand?"

  I pushed myself up from the chair, steadier than before, though not without effort. The storm hummed faintly inside me, attentive but calm.

  "Then we start now," she said. "With the simplest exercise. But first, you need fresh air."

  Elyra moved to my side. "I'll help you walk. You shouldn't overexert yourself."

  I accepted her support gratefully, leaning on her arm as we made our way to the cabin door. Her presence was steady, reassuring—a healer's calm confidence.

  Outside, the mountain air filled my lungs—clean and sharp and alive. The storm stirred in response, as if tasting the wind. Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, dappling the small clearing around the cabin.

  "It's beautiful here," I murmured, taking in the wild serenity of the place.

  "Yes," Elyra agreed, guiding me to a flat stone warmed by the sun. "This valley has old magic. Quiet magic. Good for healing."

  With her help, I lowered myself onto the stone, its heat seeping into my aching muscles. Thalia followed us out, her bare feet silent on the pine-needled earth.

  "Close your eyes," she instructed, standing before me. "Feel the stone beneath you. Feel the storm inside your chest."

  I did as she asked, acutely aware of the storm's presence—no longer the chaotic force that had erupted at the Harvest Festival, but something more focused, more attentive.

  "Now breathe with it," Thalia continued. "In as it rises, out as it settles."

  "What if it doesn't settle?" I whispered, fear flickering through me.

  "It will," she said with quiet confidence. "Because you will."

  I took a deep breath, feeling the storm rise with my inhale—not threatening, but expanding, like lungs filling with air. As I exhaled slowly, I imagined the storm settling, calming like water finding its level.

  To my surprise, it responded, easing with my breath.

  "Good," Thalia murmured. "Again."

  We continued like that for what felt like hours—breathing, rising, falling. The storm and I, moving as one. Elyra stayed nearby, gathering herbs from the edge of the clearing, her presence a gentle anchor.

  When I finally opened my eyes, the shadows had lengthened, and the air had cooled with approaching evening. My body ached from sitting so long, but the storm inside me felt calmer, clearer.

  "Was that control?" I asked, stretching my stiff limbs.

  "That was recognition," Thalia corrected. "The first step toward control."

  I nodded, understanding. The storm was quieter now, not gone but settled—like a wild creature that had finally paused to acknowledge its keeper.

  A sudden flurry of movement at the cabin door caught our attention. Flynn burst out, Riven close behind her, both in their travelling cloaks with weapons at their belts.

  "Don't look so worried," Flynn called to Thalia, adjusting a strap on her boot. "Just a routine patrol. Daro spotted tracks near the western ridge."

  "Hunters?" I asked, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

  "Probably not," Riven said shortly, checking his blade. "But we don't take chances."

  "We'll be back by nightfall," Flynn added with a wink in my direction. "Don't do anything exciting without me."

  Thalia frowned slightly. "Be careful. Both of you."

  Flynn's laugh floated back as she and Riven disappeared into the trees. "Always am!"

  I watched them go, a strange mixture of relief and concern settling in my chest. Relief that I wasn't the immediate cause of danger; concern for these people who had taken me in despite the risk.

  "She's never careful," Elyra said with a small smile, returning to us with her basket full of fresh herbs. "But she's quick. And Riven watches her back."

  "They've been doing this a long time," Thalia added, helping me stand from the stone. "Keeping watch is second nature to them."

  I leaned on Elyra's arm as we walked slowly around the clearing, my legs steadier with each step. "Because of me? Because of... storm-bearers?"

  "Because the world has grown darker," Thalia replied simply. "Hunters existed long before you came to us."

  The cryptic answer didn't satisfy me, but I sensed she wouldn't elaborate further—not yet. Instead, I focused on the simple pleasure of walking without pain, of feeling the storm quiet inside me, of the gentle support of Elyra's arm.

  "You're doing well," Elyra said as we completed a circuit of the clearing. "The wound is healing cleanly, and your strength is returning faster than I expected."

  "The storm helps," I said, surprising myself with the words. "It feels... protective now. Different."

  Thalia's eyes sharpened with interest. "Different how?"

  I struggled to find the words. "Before, it was like a wild thing trapped inside me. Angry. Desperate. But now it feels... aware. Like it's watching through my eyes."

  A look passed between Thalia and Elyra—concern mixed with something else. Recognition, perhaps.

  "That's a good sign," Thalia said carefully. "It means you're beginning to merge with it, rather than fighting against it."

  "Is that safe?" I asked, remembering the destruction my storm had caused.

  "Safer than the alternative," Thalia replied with quiet gravity.

  We returned to the cabin as dusk began to fall. Daro had prepared a simple meal, and I found I could eat more than before, hunger finally outweighing exhaustion. The conversation flowed around me—talk of herbs and weather and mundane things that felt strangely comforting after days of fever and fear.

  As night deepened, I grew restless, moving to the window to watch for Flynn and Riven's return. The forest beyond the clearing was dark, the moonlight casting long shadows between the trees.

  "They'll be back," Daro said, coming to stand beside me. It was the first time he'd addressed me directly.

  "I know," I said, though I didn't, not really. "I just... I don't want anyone else in danger because of me."

  Daro was quiet for a long moment, his broad shoulders solid in the dimness. "Some dangers are worth facing," he said finally. "Some people are worth protecting."

  I glanced at him, surprised by the simple, unadorned sincerity in his voice.

  "Even someone like me?" I asked softly. "With this storm inside me?"

  "Especially someone like you," he replied. Then, with the hint of a smile: "The real question is whether you're worth all the extra cooking. You eat more than Flynn now."

  The unexpected humour startled a laugh from me—a small, rusty sound, but genuine. It felt strange in my throat, almost painful after so many days of grief and fear.

  Daro nodded, satisfied, and returned to the fire. I stayed by the window, watching the darkness, feeling the storm settle deeper into my bones.

  I'm still here, I thought again, touching Mira's bracelet. Still me. But maybe becoming something more.

  In the distance, thunder rumbled—not from my storm, but from the mountains themselves. Rain would come by morning, washing everything clean. For now, I stood at the window, breathing with my storm, waiting for the others to return safely home.