Chapter 11: Chapter 10: Shadows and Lightning

The fever broke sometime in the night, leaving me hollow but clear-headed for the first time in days. My body felt lighter, as if the storm inside me had settled into a gentler rhythm, no longer fighting so desperately against the corruption. I could still feel it there—both of them—the storm and the corruption, locked in silent battle beneath my skin. But the immediate danger had passed.

I sat on the edge of the small bed, legs dangling, watching moonlight filter through the cabin's lone window. My fingers traced the leather bracelet Mira had given me, the familiar texture both comfort and torment. Did she know I was alive? Did my mother still leave a light burning, hoping I'd return? The thought sent a ripple through the storm, a small flicker of lightning dancing between my fingers before I could suppress it.

"Control," I whispered to myself, practising the breathing Thalia had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Feel the storm, acknowledge it, direct it. Don't fight it.

The cabin was quiet. Everyone must have been sleeping, exhausted from days of keeping me alive. I owed them so much, yet I barely knew them. Strangers bound to me by this thing inside me—this storm they seemed to understand better than I did.

I felt it before I heard it—a shift in the air, a prickling at the back of my neck. Someone was watching me.

"I know you're there," I said, my voice stronger than I expected. "You can stop lurking in the shadows."

A soft exhale, almost a scoff. Then Riven stepped into the moonlight, his tall frame imposing even in stillness. His eyes were cold, assessing, as if he were looking at a weapon rather than a person.

"You should be resting," he said. Not concerned, just stating a fact.

"I've rested enough." I met his gaze, refusing to look away despite the chill it sent through me. "What do you want?"

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "To understand what makes you different."

"Different?"

"From her." The word hung between us, heavy with unspoken history.

I knew who he meant. They never said her name, but I could guess who she is. The storm-bearer before me. The one they couldn't save.

"I'm not her," I said, though I had no idea if that was true.

"No?" Riven's voice was quiet but sharp. "You have the same storm. The same corruption is fighting to take hold. The same potential to destroy everything around you."

The storm flared inside me, responding to my rising anger. I clenched my fists, forcing it back down. "I didn't ask for this."

"Neither did she." His eyes narrowed. "Neither did the sixteen people who died when she lost control."

My breath caught. Sixteen? The number hit me like a physical blow. Was that my future? More deaths on my conscience, more lives shattered by my uncontrolled power? Lior's face flashed in my memory—his eyes wide with shock as the lightning struck him down.

"Is that why you watch me?" I pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly but refusing to show weakness. "Waiting for me to fail? Waiting to put me down like you did her?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "If necessary."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The words burned coming out, fueled by fear and the storm's rising energy. "To finish what you started with her. To prove you were right all along."

Lightning sparked between my fingers, unbidden. Riven's hand moved to the knife at his belt, a movement so subtle I might have missed it if I weren't watching for it.

"You know nothing about what happened," he said, voice dangerously low. "Nothing about what she became. What you could become."

"Then tell me," I challenged, taking a step toward him. The storm pushed against my skin, eager for release. "Stop with the cryptic warnings and sideways glances. If I'm such a danger, if I'm doomed to become like her, then at least give me the courtesy of knowing what that means."

Riven's eyes flashed with something—anger, pain, I couldn't tell. "You want to know what it means? It means watching someone you trusted turn into something unrecognisable. It means seeing lightning tear through flesh and bone while whatever's left of them laughs. It means making a choice no one should have to make, and living with it every day after."

The raw emotion in his voice shocked me more than his words. For the first time, I saw past the cold exterior to the wound beneath—still fresh, still bleeding after all this time.

The storm inside me responded strangely, not with aggression but with something like recognition. A hollow ache that matched my own grief for Lior.

"I know what it's like," I said, quieter now. "To watch someone die because of what I am. To live with that."

"Not the same." Riven shook his head. "You didn't choose to kill them."

"And she did?" I asked, genuinely wanting to understand.

His silence was answer enough.

A crackle of energy passed over my skin, the storm reacting to my emotions. Riven tensed, his hand tightening on his knife. We stood there, locked in a silent confrontation, neither willing to back down.

"That's enough."

Thalia's voice cut through the tension. She stood in the doorway behind Riven, her expression unreadable in the shadows. "Both of you."

Riven didn't move, his eyes still fixed on me. "She needs to know the risk."

"Not like this," Thalia said. She moved between us, a physical barrier. To my surprise, she faced Riven, not me. "We agreed, Riven. We do this differently this time."

"Different approach, same ending," he muttered, but his hand dropped from the knife.

"Go check the perimeter," Thalia told him firmly. "Now."

For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Then he gave a curt nod and turned away. At the door, he paused and looked back, his gaze finding mine over Thalia's shoulder.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I hope I'm wrong about you."

Then he was gone, leaving only the lingering tension in the air and the storm still prickling beneath my skin.

Thalia sighed, turning to face me. "You shouldn't be up."

"So I've been told." I sank back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. The brief confrontation had drained what little strength I had. "He hates me."

"No," Thalia said. "He hates what he fears you might become."

"And what's that, exactly?" I asked. "Everyone dances around it, but no one will say it plainly. What happened to her? Whoever she is."

Thalia's expression shifted, a shadow passing over her face. She sat beside me on the bed, her weight making the old frame creak.

“Nira,” she said, simply. "The corruption won. She stopped fighting it. Or perhaps she couldn't fight anymore. Either way, she turned."

"Into what?"

"A Hunter." Thalia's voice was heavy with old grief. "The very thing that now hunts you."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Those creatures—the glass-skinned thing on the ridge, the twisted form in the mist—they had once been like me? People with storms inside them who lost their battle?

"Is that... is that what's happening to me?" I whispered, looking down at my arm where the corruption had spread. Though the fever had broken, thin black lines still traced beneath my skin, a constant reminder of what lurked inside.

"It's what we're fighting to prevent," Thalia said. She placed her hand gently on mine, stilling my fingers that had been worrying at Mira's bracelet. "And why Riven watch you so closely. He was... close to Nira. He was the one who had to end it when she turned."

The pieces clicked into place—his coldness, his vigilance, his barely concealed fear. "He had to kill her."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Thalia nodded once. "It nearly destroyed him. That's why he's so afraid of history repeating itself."

I thought of Lior, of lightning tearing through him as he reached for me. Of the guilt that had driven me from Ashgrove, that still haunted my dreams. I understood Riven better in that moment than I wanted to.

"I won't become that," I said, the words coming out with surprising conviction. The storm hummed in agreement, a steady pulse beneath my breastbone. "I won't lose myself to this thing."

Thalia studied me, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Nira said the same thing, once."

"I'm not Nira." I held her gaze, channelling every ounce of determination I had left. "And I'm going to prove it. To all of you. Even to him."

The ghost of a smile touched Thalia's lips. "Then you'd better get some rest. Training begins at dawn."

As she stood to leave, I caught her arm. "Thalia? Thank you. For stopping us. For... believing in me when he doesn't."

She gave me a long look. "I believe in possibility, Kaela. The rest is up to you."

After she left, I lay back on the bed, feeling the storm settle into a watchful quiet inside me. For the first time since the fever broke, I felt something other than fear or pain or guilt.

I felt resolved.

The corruption might be inside me. The storm might be part of me now. But I would not become a Hunter. I would not be another ghost haunting Riven's conscience, another failure in Thalia's memory.

I would prove them wrong. I would prove myself wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, I would find a way back to the girl who once ran through orchards with Mira and Lior, laughing at the storm instead of fearing it.

----------------------------------------

"No, no, no! You're thinking too hard again!" Flynn's voice cut through the morning air, exasperated but not unkind. "The storm isn't some weapon you point. It's part of you—like breathing or blinking."

Two days had passed since my confrontation with Riven, and I was still weak but recovering. Thalia had assigned Flynn to train with me this morning—"something lighter," she'd said, though I wasn't sure Flynn knew the meaning of the word.

We stood in a small clearing behind the cabin, dappled sunlight filtering through pine branches. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wild herbs and distant rain.

"I am breathing," I said through gritted teeth, trying again to summon a controlled spark to my fingertips without letting it cascade up my arm. "And blinking. Neither is helping."

Flynn snorted, pushing a wild curl back from her forehead. Unlike the others, she didn't treat me like I might shatter—or worse, explode. Something was refreshing about her irreverence.

"That's because you're still afraid of it," she said, circling me with quick, light steps. "You're treating your storm like it's a rabid wolf you're trying to collar."

"Isn't it?" I let my hand drop, exhausted from the effort. The corruption in my shoulder throbbed dully, a constant reminder of what waited if I failed.

Flynn surprised me by laughing. "Gods, no. A wolf would be easier." She stopped in front of me, her green eyes bright with mischief. "Here, try something different. Close your eyes."

I hesitated, then complied, feeling immediately vulnerable. The storm stirred uneasily within me.

"Now," Flynn continued, her voice closer now, "forget all that nonsense about control and direction. Just feel it. Where is it in your body right now?"

I focused inward, past the lingering weakness, past the aches. "My chest," I said after a moment. "And... spreading down my arms when I think about it."

"Good. Now, don't try to move it or push it. Just—I don't know—dance with it."

"Dance?" I opened one eye skeptically.

Flynn rolled her eyes. "Metaphorically, storm-girl. Although—" a wicked grin spread across her face, "—that's not a bad idea."

Before I could protest, she'd grabbed my hands. "Come on. Move those feet."

"You can't be serious."

"Deadly." But her eyes sparkled with amusement. "You're so stiff all the time. No wonder your storm's all bottled up and angry."

She pulled me into an impromptu dance, humming some tavern tune under her breath. I stumbled awkwardly, my body still remembering the fever, my mind caught between embarrassment and disbelief.

"This is ridiculous," I protested, even as she twirled me gently.

"Probably," Flynn agreed cheerfully. "But you're smiling for once, so I count that as progress. Now, feel the storm while we move. Don't direct it—just notice it."

Surprisingly, I could feel a difference. As we moved—awkward as I was—the storm seemed to flow more naturally within me, following the rhythm of my steps rather than fighting against my constraints.

"There," Flynn said softly, nodding at my hand where tiny motes of light danced between my fingers. Not the harsh, cutting lightning of before, but something gentler. "You're not forcing it now. You're just... being with it."

I stared at the dancing lights, a strange mix of wonder and wariness flooding through me. It was beautiful, in its way. Not the weapon that had killed Lior, but something else entirely.

"I didn't know it could be like this," I whispered.

Flynn's smile turned oddly sad. "Yeah, well. There's a lot they don't tell you about storms." She released my hands and stepped back, the moment broken. "That's enough for today. Don't want to push too hard and have Thalia lecture me about overtaxing you."

I let the lights fade from my fingertips, a strange reluctance filling me. For just a moment, the storm hadn't felt like a burden.

"Flynn?" I called as she turned to go. "Thank you. For not treating me like I'm going to break. Or... you know, turn into a monster and kill everyone."

She glanced back, something complicated passing across her expression. "Everyone's broken somewhere, storm-girl. And monsters?" She shrugged. "I've known a few. You don't have the right eyes for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Monsters don't worry about becoming monsters," she said simply. Then her usual smirk returned. "Besides, if you do start getting all glassy and weird, I'll just push you off a cliff before Riven gets the satisfaction. Deal?"

A startled laugh escaped me—the first since I couldn't remember when. "Deal."

Flynn winked and headed back toward the cabin, leaving me alone with the morning light and the quiet hum of the storm within me.

I tried the exercise again, closing my eyes and feeling the storm's movement. This time, instead of trying to contain it, I let it flow naturally, like water finding its course. Small sparks danced over my skin, but they didn't burn or cut—they simply were.

For the first time, I understood what Thalia had been trying to tell me. The storm wasn't separate from me. It was me, in some fundamental way, that I was only beginning to understand.

I thought of Mira's bracelet on my wrist, of her steady presence. I thought of my mother's quiet strength. And yes, I thought of Lior—not of his death, but of his life. His laugh. His warmth.

The storm surged in response to the memories, but this time, it felt almost... protective. As if it recognised what I held dear and wanted to preserve it too.

I opened my eyes, watching the light fade from my fingertips, and wondered if perhaps Flynn was right.

Maybe I had been fighting the wrong battle all along.

----------------------------------------

Flynn slipped through the forest like a shadow, each step precise and silent. Early evening light filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns that helped conceal her movements. She'd been tracking the signs for nearly an hour—broken twigs, scattered leaves, the faintest impression of something heavy passing through.

Not a normal Hunter. Something bigger.

She paused, crouching to examine a patch of disturbed earth. Fresh. Within the hour. Her fingers hovered over the soil, sensing rather than touching. There was a vibration there, the lingering echo of corruption.

"Anything?"

Flynn didn't jump at Riven's voice behind her. She'd sensed him approaching—he wasn't trying to be silent, at least not with her.

"Track's still warm," she said without looking up. "Heading southwest, toward the ridge. Big one."

Riven squatted beside her, his own fingers tracing the edge of the track. His face was impassive as always, but Flynn knew him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders.

"It's hunting her," he said quietly.

Flynn rolled her eyes. "Don't they always? That's kind of their thing."

"This is different." Riven stood, scanning the forest ahead. "This one's persistent. Following the same trail for days."

"You think it can sense her storm?"

"I think it knows exactly what she is." Riven's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, an unconscious gesture. "The question is why it hasn't attacked directly yet."

Flynn rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her hands. "Maybe it's waiting for backup. Or..." She hesitated.

"Or what?"

"Or maybe it's not here to kill her." Flynn met his gaze steadily. "Maybe it wants something else."

Riven's jaw tightened. They both knew what she meant. Nira hadn't been killed by the Hunters—she'd been corrupted, converted. Turned into one of them. It was a fate possibly worse than death.

"She's not Nira," Flynn said, voicing what hung between them. "She's fighting it differently."

"Everyone fights at first," Riven replied, his voice flat. "It doesn't matter in the end."

Flynn felt a flash of irritation. "Does anything matter to you anymore? Or did you leave all that behind with Nira, too?"

Riven turned to her, his eyes cold. "Be careful, Flynn."

"Or what? You'll brood at me extra hard?" She stepped closer, unintimidated by his stare. "I've been watching you watch her, waiting for her to fail. Maybe you want her to, just so you can be right."

"You think I want this?" Real anger flickered across his face. "To watch another storm-bearer turn? To have to—" He cut himself off, looking away.

"To have to kill another one?" Flynn finished softly.

The silence between them stretched, filled only with the soft sounds of the forest.

"I trained her this morning," Flynn said finally. "The storm... it responds to her differently. It's not fighting her. It's protecting her."

"It protected Nira, too, at first."

"This is different," Flynn insisted. "You'd see it if you weren't so determined to see history repeat itself."

Riven's gaze returned to the trail ahead. "For all our sakes, I hope you're right. But we can't take chances." He nodded toward the tracks. "We follow this to the source. Find out what we're dealing with before it gets any closer to the cabin."

Flynn nodded, recognising the shift back to business. That was Riven—emotion tucked away, mission at hand. Sometimes she wondered if the man who'd existed before Nira was still in there somewhere, or if that Riven had died alongside her.

"I'll take point," she said, already moving forward through the underbrush. "Try to keep up, old man."

She didn't need to look back to know he was following, silent and lethal as always. Whatever waited for them ahead, they'd face it together, just as they always had. But as Flynn tracked the creature's path, she couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was changing.

The Hunters were getting smarter. The storm-bearers were getting rarer. And Kaela...

Flynn thought of the girl's surprised laugh earlier that day, of the gentle dance of lightning across her skin. Not destructive, but alive. Conscious.

Different.

Maybe, just maybe, this time would end differently, too.