The wind howled through the trees as Soreil and Lyra made their way through the dense forest, their feet crunching on the dead leaves that covered the ground. The strange figure from the clearing still lingered in Soreil's mind, his words echoing through his thoughts like a deep, haunting drumbeat.
"You are not ready," it had said. "But soon… you will be."
Soreil couldn't shake the weight of those words. What had the figure meant? What kind of power had it been speaking of? And why had it singled him out, referring to him as a child of the Rift?
His grip on his sword tightened. It felt heavier now, as if the storm within him was making its presence known, pushing against his control. He could feel the power building inside him, stretching, growing stronger. The feeling was intoxicating, almost maddening, but he resisted the urge to release it.
Not yet.
Lyra was quiet beside him, her expression unreadable as they trudged through the thick underbrush. Her eyes scanned the surroundings constantly, ever watchful, but Soreil knew she could sense the same unease that he felt. Something had shifted in the air since they had encountered that figure, and neither of them knew what it meant.
They had been traveling for days now, moving cautiously and without rest, always on alert for any signs of danger. The storms had subsided, but the beasts were still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for their chance to strike.
But today, there was an unsettling stillness in the air. The usual sounds of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the calls of distant animals—had all but disappeared. The world around them felt hollow, as if it were holding its breath.
Soreil glanced at Lyra, noting the tightness in her jaw, the flicker of worry in her eyes. She wasn't one to show fear, but he could tell something was bothering her. He could only guess that it was the same unease gnawing at him, the feeling that they were being watched.
Finally, Lyra spoke, breaking the silence.
"Do you think it will come for us?" Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was an edge of uncertainty in it. For Lyra to question something like this, it spoke volumes. She never doubted her abilities or their mission, but even she could feel the tension rising.
Soreil's gaze hardened as he thought of the figure. "I don't know, but it's clear that we're connected to whatever's going on. The storm, the Rift, the powers we've gained. I don't think it's a coincidence."
Lyra nodded, her eyes narrowing. "We should be prepared. If that figure is right and we're not ready, then we need to get stronger. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."
Soreil couldn't help but agree. He had never felt more vulnerable than he did now. They were walking into the unknown, and despite his newfound abilities, he didn't feel invincible. He was only beginning to understand the extent of the power that coursed through him, and it was both a gift and a curse. The storm inside him was a constant presence, a reminder of how little control he had over it.
The journey continued, the weight of the silence growing with each step. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, made Soreil's senses go on high alert. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, the familiar weight grounding him, even as his mind wandered to the storm that still stirred inside him. The figure had said he was a child of the Rift, but what did that mean? And how much power had the Rift truly granted him?
By midday, they reached a clearing, and Soreil could feel it—a shift in the air, an unnatural pressure that seemed to press down on them from all sides. He halted abruptly, his eyes scanning the area. Lyra did the same, her sharp gaze darting around the clearing, her muscles tensed for action.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, sensing his unease.
"I don't know," Soreil replied, his voice strained. "But something's off."
Before he could say more, the ground trembled beneath their feet. The trees around the clearing shook as though some unseen force was pushing against them. Soreil's grip on his sword tightened as the earth rumbled, the storm within him starting to surge. His pulse quickened as the air grew thick with an overwhelming energy.
Then, with a deafening roar, the ground erupted.
A massive creature, its form shrouded in shadows and crackling with dark energy, burst from the earth. It was a beast unlike any Soreil had seen before—twisted and monstrous, with jagged, obsidian-like scales that shimmered with an eerie light. Its eyes burned with a fiery intensity, glowing like embers in the dark.
The creature let out another roar, its voice a guttural, bone-shaking sound that reverberated through the clearing. Its massive form towered over them, and the air around it crackled with raw energy. It was no ordinary beast. This was something far darker, far more dangerous.
Lyra immediately sprang into action, her weapons drawn and ready. "Soreil, we need to move!" she shouted.
But Soreil didn't respond right away. His eyes were locked on the beast, the storm inside him roaring to life. He could feel the power within him rising, a force unlike anything he had ever experienced. His sword, still sheathed at his side, seemed to hum with anticipation, as if it were waiting for him to unleash its power.
He knew what he had to do.
"Sword style," Soreil muttered under his breath, his voice steady despite the chaos. "I need to create my own style. One that will be powerful enough to face this."
Lyra glanced at him, her eyes widening. "What are you talking about?"
But Soreil didn't answer. He stepped forward, the storm inside him swirling to life. His mind focused on the beast before him, and for the first time since the Rift, he understood. The storm, the power—it wasn't just a weapon. It was a part of him. And it was time to learn how to wield it.
Soreil drew his sword, the hum of the blade resonating through the air. He could feel the energy crackling in the atmosphere, the beast's dark power pushing against him. The storm inside him surged, and for a fleeting moment, Soreil felt the weight of his responsibility.
With a single, fluid motion, he moved. His body became a blur as he charged toward the beast, the world around him slowing as the storm guided his movements. The air around him crackled with the energy of the storm, the force of his speed and power tearing through the clearing.
The beast snarled, its fiery eyes locking onto him, but it was too slow. Soreil moved with lightning speed, his blade striking out in a perfect arc. His sword sliced through the air, the storm amplifying the strike as it collided with the beast's jagged scales.
The creature howled in pain, its massive body recoiling from the impact. But Soreil didn't stop. He pressed forward, his movements fluid and precise, the storm guiding each strike. Every step he took, every swing of his blade, was part of something greater—something he was just beginning to understand.
Lyra watched in awe as Soreil fought, his movements almost impossibly fast, his strikes devastating in their power. She knew he was growing stronger, but she had never seen anything like this before. The storm inside him was changing him, shaping him into something more than human.
But as Soreil continued to fight, he could feel it—the storm was growing stronger, more demanding, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could control it.
He needed to find a balance. But for now, all that mattered was the beast before him.
With a final, decisive strike, Soreil's sword cleaved through the beast's heart, the dark energy within it dissipating with a final, anguished scream. The creature fell to the ground, its body crumpling into a pile of dust and shadow.
Soreil stood over the fallen beast, his chest heaving with exertion. The storm inside him raged, but he had managed to contain it—for now.
Lyra approached, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the beast's corpse. "What was that thing?"
Soreil didn't answer immediately. His mind was still racing, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt the storm swirling within him, its power still beckoning, but he pushed it aside. "I don't know. But I think it's just the beginning.".
The air around them crackled, the weight of the storm pressing down on them both.
The journey had just begun, and Soreil knew that whatever came next, he would need to be ready.
Because the storm, and whatever followed, would not wait.