The Wind Awakens
The blades of Bangui's towering turbines turned lazily in the morning breeze, creating long shadows that covered the fields. On a high platform, a lone figure crouched, twin daggers gleaming in her hands. Around her neck, an amulet shaped like a spiral—a stylized gust of wind—glimmered faintly, as if stirred by an unseen current. A whisper of air danced around her, tugging lightly at her hair and clothing, a silent reminder that the wind itself answered her presence. Her stance was taut and steady, eyes sharp, scanning the horizon with relentless focus. Every line of her body was coiled with intent, lean and restless, as if standing still were unnatural. The calm of the morning felt fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.
A sudden roar cracked the air. From the hills, grotesque monsters spilled into the outskirts of town, their shrieks piercing through the breeze. The figure moved at once, launching herself from the platform with a grace that seemed almost inhuman. Her blades sang, and with each slash the air itself answered—gusts snapping outward, hurling smaller beasts aside.
"Help!" the terrified villagers shouted, pursued by two or three snarling beasts.
She sprang forward, steps impossibly light as if the ground itself could not hold her. The wind surged at her back, propelling her faster and faster. Twin blades flashed in her hands, slicing through the first monster's neck with a sharp gust that sent it tumbling. Another lunging beast met the edge of her dagger, a cutting wind scattering debris around them. She twisted midair, a spinning arc of steel and wind felling the last creature with a gust that hurled it backward into the rubble.
Only then did she crouch and lift the nearest child from the ground, heart pounding, breath ragged. The little one clung to her trembling arms, wide-eyed, as she steadied them both.
To the watching villagers, it seemed as though a spirit had descended upon them. She didn't fight as they did. And the elders who were there to help, wielding their small bursts of wind—lifting rubble, pushing monsters back—saw at once that hers was something different. The breeze bent to her will, not the other way around.
The Awakening Memory
As the last monster fell, she sank to her knees, chest heaving. The wind tugged at her hair and clothing, and for a moment, the chaos faded from her mind.
Memories came rushing back—her first awakening, days ago, when a mysterious portal appeared near the windmills, almost at the same time as the gate in Solsona.
The town had been in panic. Smoke and rubble filled the air. Cries rang out as people were trapped beneath collapsing beams. She had run toward the chaos, her body moving faster than it ever should. Her steps were light, as though the wind itself carried her forward.
A monster had threatened a small child, its claws raised high. She remembered the blur of her sprint, the invisible force pushing her faster, sharper, until she snatched the boy into her arms just before the beast struck.
The boy clung to her, trembling. "T-thank you…"
Her chest had heaved with terror and awe. The wind… it had answered her.
It wrapped around her, responding to her every movement, making her faster, stronger, and untouchable. She darted between collapsing beams, dragging survivors to safety, and evading monsters in streaks of speed too swift for human eyes to follow.
The villagers had stared, wide-eyed—some with fear, others with reverence. And in that moment, as her pulse thundered, the words of the elders surfaced from memory:
"The wind chooses its heir, and the wind protects those who cannot protect themselves."
From that moment, she understood her purpose. The gusts, slicing currents, and swirling wind that surrounded her during battle were not just weapons; they were extensions of herself, tools to shield others from harm.
And in the chaos of that first awakening, as she guided survivors to safety and struck at approaching monsters, she felt both fear and determination intertwine. She was a child no longer; she was the heir of the Wind Clan, and the storm had chosen her.
"Over here! More are coming!" A villager's cry snapped her back to the present. Her grip tightened around her Storm Daggers, the wind answering once again, ready to fight.
"Lady Laine—this way!" another voice shouted.
And for the first time, her name echoed across the battlefield, carried on the gusts swirling around her.
The Call of the Wind
The present blurred. The clash of steel and the shrieks of monsters dissolved into the howl of an older wind—one she had known since childhood. It pulled her back to the northern plains.
"Do not fight the wind," a calm voice said. Her grandfather stood against the gale, arms outstretched. "You are Wind Clan. Hangin. They also call us Amihan, but we are more than a name—we are freedom itself."
Laine stumbled trying to mimic him, muscles burning. He pressed a silver spiral pendant into her palm. "This is the mark of our people. Not power, but promise. Our ancestors wore it to guard these coasts and honor the wind."
The breeze lifted her hair; for a moment, she felt as if the wind itself watched her. "Move with the wind, not against it. Learn its rhythm. One day, it may answer you… but not today."
Hours passed with footwork and leaps, her grandfather correcting her stance, reminding her to let the gusts guide her. "Freedom is not running from danger," he said, eyes on the sky. "It is knowing where to stand, when to act, and when to let the wind carry you. The Wind Clan does not rely on brute force. We rely on balance, swiftness, and instinct."
Laine nodded, panting, sweat and sea spray stinging her eyes.
By evening, Laine crouched on the cliff edge, the amulet heavy in her hand. "Do you believe the legends?" she asked.
Her grandfather smiled. "Legends are only stories… until they are not," he replied. "The wind answers those who honor it, child. One day, the wind will remember those who honor it.
She stared at the horizon, feeling a connection to something larger—a legacy stretching back generations. The training, the stories, the rituals—these were the seeds of what she would become. Long before the Gates appeared, before monsters tore through the lands, the Wind Clan had already chosen her. And when the day came, she would finally understand what it meant to move with the wind.
Rising Threats Beyond Bangui
Back to the present, when the clash finally stilled, Laine stood amid rubble-strewn streets, daggers still gleaming in her hands. Around her, villagers stirred—some helping the wounded, others staring hollow-eyed at what they had endured. Fires smoldered in ruined houses, smoke curling into the twilight sky. She steadied an elderly woman, lungs burning from exertion, yet her mind was sharp, unshaken.
The echoes of monsters' screams had faded into uneasy silence, leaving Bangui's outskirts scarred and tense. Laine's chest heaved, daggers still in hand, blades catching the dim light as villagers moved cautiously around the wounded and the fallen. Some whispered prayers, others helped neighbors to their feet, all eyes wide with lingering fear. Fires smoldered in ruined houses, smoke curling into the twilight sky.
She scanned the distant hills, where faint plumes of smoke marked other settlements. Low, guttural growls carried on the wind, hinting at monsters on the move, heading toward places she had never seen. A child clutched their mother's hand, wide-eyed, while a villager muttered, "They're not stopping here… they'll reach the next town… and maybe more after that."
Laine's grip on her daggers tightened. Her heart beat with both exhaustion and resolve. The wind swirled around her, echoing the first day she had moved faster than thought itself, saving a child from a monster attack. That memory—fear, adrenaline, and the sudden, wild clarity of power—reminded her that her strength was bigger than Bangui.
She straightened, letting the gusts tug lightly at her hair and clothing. Each breath, and heartbeat, grounded her. The monsters were spreading, and someone had to stand in their way. I won't let them reach anyone else. Not while I can fight.
Turning back toward the windmill, Laine cast one last glance at the smoke-filled horizon. The elders waited, and the council would decide the next steps. But for her, the path was already clear. She would protect the town and, beyond it, anyone in danger. The wind had chosen her, and she would answer its call.