The battle with the Elemental Beast still burned in Soreil's mind as he and Lyra moved deeper into the wilderness. The landscape around them had changed since the Rift first tore the world apart—what once had been forests and plains now seemed haunted by the remnants of destruction. Cracked earth, scorched by blasts of energy, scarred the land. Strange, twisted trees now grew in unnatural patterns, their branches reaching out like bony fingers toward the sky. The air hummed with an unsettling energy, like the earth itself was alive, watching, waiting.
Soreil could still feel the lingering crackle of lightning beneath his skin, the pulse of raw power that surged through him after the fight. It wasn't just physical exhaustion that weighed on him—it was the storm inside. The storm that had always been there, but now felt even more potent, more dangerous.
He wasn't sure if it was the aftermath of the battle or something more. The feeling lingered, a constant hum beneath his ribs, a reminder of the beast he had slain. It wasn't just the storm that was within him now; it was something else, something more primal, more uncontrollable.
He glanced to the side, catching Lyra's calculating gaze. She had been quiet ever since the fight, her movements deliberate and precise. But she hadn't asked about the storm inside him, and he hadn't mentioned it either. They both understood that there were things too deep to discuss, at least for now.
The forest around them was dense, thick with the remnants of the old world. Yet, as they traveled further, the oppressive silence of the place made it feel as though even the creatures of the wilderness had abandoned this land. The world seemed eerily still, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the crackle of branches underfoot.
"Take a break," Lyra said abruptly, breaking the silence. She looked back at him, her eyes briefly flicking toward the heavy clouds above. The sky was overcast, a faint orange hue cast by the dying light of the day. "We've been walking for hours."
Soreil had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the weight of the day bearing down on him. His legs were sore from the trek, and his mind was still spinning from the storm that was building within him. He nodded, gratefully sinking onto a fallen log beside her. She quickly began to unroll their travel gear and pulled out some basic rations—hard bread, dried meat, and a small bundle of vegetables they had managed to gather from the last settlement they passed through.
The food was bland, nothing like the rich meals they used to have before the world had fallen into chaos, but it was enough to keep them going. Lyra handed him a piece of dried meat, and they both ate in silence for a moment.
Soreil chewed slowly, the toughness of the meat not bothering him as much as the silence between them. He could still feel the crackle of lightning beneath his skin, a constant reminder that the storm was always there. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it contained, how much longer he could keep it from spilling out and destroying everything around him.
Lyra finished her food and wiped her hands on her trousers before looking at him again. "You're quiet today," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Something on your mind?"
Soreil hesitated, his gaze flicking to the fire they had started, the flames dancing and flickering in the growing darkness. He wasn't sure how to put it into words, how to explain the storm inside him that seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment.
"It's… it's this power," he said slowly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know how to control it. Every time I use it, it feels like I'm losing myself. Like I'm becoming something else."
Lyra leaned back against a tree, her arms crossed over her chest. "Power like that doesn't come without a price," she said quietly. "The storm inside you isn't just about destruction. It's a force that wants to reshape the world, and it will take everything from you if you let it."
Soreil clenched his fists, feeling the familiar surge of energy that came with his thoughts. "I don't want to become like the beasts we've been fighting. I can't let it consume me."
Lyra studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she spoke again, her voice firm. "You won't. But you have to learn to control it, Soreil. Or it will control you."
Her words were sharp, like a warning, but they hit a deeper chord within him. He knew she was right. He couldn't keep running from it. If he didn't learn to master this storm, it would tear him apart, body and soul.
"I'll figure it out," he said, though he wasn't sure if he believed his own words. "I'll learn how to control it."
Lyra gave him a single nod, a gesture of understanding. "Good. But remember, you can't do it alone. Power like that requires guidance."
Soreil looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
"There's someone," Lyra said slowly, "someone who can help you. Someone who understands what it means to live with power like that."
Soreil frowned, not sure if he trusted her cryptic words. "Who?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes. "You'll find out soon enough," she said. "But for now, get some rest. We have a long way to go tomorrow."
---
The journey continued in silence the next day, the terrain growing more hostile with each passing mile. The forests seemed to close in around them, and the air grew thick with tension. The storm inside Soreil continued to churn, its restless energy only growing stronger as they ventured deeper into the wilds.
They took several more breaks along the way, each time grateful for the respite. Soreil found himself more and more exhausted, not just physically but mentally as well. The strain of keeping his powers in check was wearing on him, and he knew he couldn't keep pushing himself like this forever.
Each break was an opportunity to eat and recover, but it also gave him a moment to reflect on the words Lyra had spoken. You can't do it alone.
The idea lingered in his mind as they made camp that evening. It wasn't just about fighting or surviving anymore. It was about learning to harness the power inside him. If he was going to survive, he had to learn to control the storm—or he would become a danger to everyone around him.
Later that night, as they ate their meager dinner, Soreil glanced at Lyra. She was sharpening her blades again, her focus unbroken. There was a quiet strength in her, something he admired but also feared. She had always been in control, always so composed. He wondered what it was like to have that kind of certainty, that kind of power.
Lyra finished her task and set the blades down, her eyes meeting his. "We'll get through this, Soreil," she said quietly. "You don't have to do it alone."
He nodded, the words settling deep within him. He knew the road ahead was going to be difficult, but at least now he had a small sense of hope. There was still a chance he could learn to control the storm. There was still a chance to save himself.
And maybe, just maybe, Lyra would be there to help him through it.