Chapter 1 – Whispers of the Wind
The world returned to her in fragments.
A throbbing ache in her skull. The taste of salt thick on her tongue. The sharp sting of rain-soaked wood against her back. Kasturi's lashes fluttered open to a sky veined with lightning, then shut again when the brilliance seared her vision.
She coughed hard. The air filled with brine burned her lungs, and for a moment she thought she was still drowning in the storm. But no—she was lying sprawled across the deck of the research vessel. The rain had calmed to a drizzle. The ship floated, battered but alive, against waves that no longer threatened to consume it.
"Kasturi! Kau okay?!, aku fikir kau dah mati tadi bah"
The shout dragged her fully awake. A pair of rough hands helped her sit up. It was Hafiz, one of the interns. His lips trembled as he scanned her face, as though half expecting to find her ghost instead of her body. Behind him, other crew members bustled, tying down loose crates and checking damaged equipment. Their voices wove a chorus of disbelief: How are we still afloat? The storm should've broken us apart.
Kasturi blinked past the blur in her vision. For a fleeting heartbeat, she thought she could still feel it—the cyclone of wind that had risen around her, wild yet strangely… obedient. It had answered her touch. Protected her. Protected them all.
But when she glanced down at her palms, there was nothing there. Only trembling fingers slick with seawater. The glowing stone she had seen—white, radiant, alive—was gone.
"...I'm fine, hidup lagi " she lied. Her voice cracked.
Hafiz frowned but didn't press her. "Rehat dulu. rupanya Kau pengsan tadi. We thought we lost you. jangan main mati-mati bah"
"..mati kepala hotak kau " replied slowly and She nodded, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. Something had changed in her body, in her very breath, and she couldn't explain it. Not to Hafiz. Not to anyone.
Scene 1 — Homecoming Shadows
Two weeks later.
The fishing village in Terengganu smelled of salt, timber, and history. Houses stood on stilts, their wooden beams weathered by decades of storms. The river ran brown and patient, feeding into the vast South China Sea. And in a small workshop filled with the steady tok-tok of hammer against wood, Kasturi's father carved the rib of a boat as if the sea would claim his hands if they stopped moving.
"Assalamualaikum, Bapak."
Her voice was soft, but it carried. He didn't look up. His broad shoulders, hardened by years of commanding vessels, hunched stubbornly over the timber. His hands, scarred and callused, guided the chisel with precise strokes.
Kasturi placed a thermos of hot water and two plates of rice on the table nearby. The scent of fried ikan masin and cencaluk hung in the air. She tried for normalcy. "Semester Turi dah habis. Turi dapat internship kat Sabah, hari tu nak bagi tau bapak tapi bapak kat laut"
Her father finally paused. His eyes, dark and heavy with years of silence, flicked up to her.
"Pergilah," he said simply. "Itu masa depan kau."
Then he turned back to his work. knocking the woods like before. Period
Kasturi swallowed against the lump in her throat. Since her mother's death years ago, her father's love had become an unspoken thing—buried beneath wood shavings and stubborn pride. He never said much, never showed much, yet in the smallest gestures, she glimpsed it: the way he always left tools sharpened for her, the way he cooked rice when she forgot, the way he pretended not to wait up when she came home late.
She sat with him in silence, the sound of his carving like a heartbeat filling the room. At last, he wiped his hands, sat down, and ate the rice she had set before him. No words passed between them, but their eyes met. That was enough.
When she finally slung her backpack over her shoulder, she lingered at the door. "Bapak, jaga diri. internship ni lagi tiga bulan je. Turi balik nanti.Turi masak masakan kegemaran bapak "
He lifted his hand in a simple wave, his profile lit by the fading sun. No goodbye. Just that gesture. But it was enough to anchor her heart.
Scene 2 — Across the Sea
The journey east felt like a pilgrimage.
From Kuala Terengganu's small airport to Kota Kinabalu, then onward to Tawau, and finally by speedboat skimming across turquoise waters toward Semporna. Kasturi sat by the window whenever she could, pressing her forehead to the glass as clouds and islands drifted past.
The South China Sea stretched endlessly, dotted with fishing boats and the dark silhouettes of islets. Each horizon line reminded her of her father's old lessons: how to read wind from the ripples, how to listen to the ocean's moods, how to respect the storms.
But now, those lessons resonated differently. The storm that had nearly killed her had also… chosen her. She remembered the way the winds had curled around her body, like loyal wolves bowing to a new alpha. The sensation haunted her still, tugging at the edges of her thoughts.
By the time she arrived at the research station in Mabul island, exhaustion had dulled her nerves, but anticipation sparked in her chest.
Scene 3 — The Station
The research center was modest but functional—a wooden structure raised above the water, with labs filled with blinking monitors, sensor equipment, and stacks of scientific journals. The sea stretched in all directions, its voice constant, its moods shifting with every gust of air.
Dr. Rahman, the project supervisor, welcomed her. He was young for a scientist in charge, his glasses perpetually slipping down his nose, his beard neatly trimmed. His smile, though kind, carried authority.
"We're studying monsoon patterns," he explained. "How the winds interact with currents, how they shape ecosystems. You'll join the data collection teams. Out at sea, installing sensors, recording changes. Simple tasks at first. Think you can handle it?"
"Yes, Doctor." Kasturi nodded, masking her eagerness.
The dorm was humble—rows of bunk beds, a creaky ceiling fan, the constant perfume of sea air mixed with damp clothes. Her fellow interns were a mix of locals and students from other universities. They chattered in excited tones, exchanging backgrounds and ambitions. Kasturi mostly listened, her thoughts drifting elsewhere.
That night, as the dorm quieted, she couldn't sleep. The creak of the fan above became a lullaby, but the wind outside whispered in rhythms too deliberate to ignore. She sat up, staring through the wooden slats of the window at the moonlit water.
The whispers grew louder. Not in her ears, but in her chest. As if the air itself wanted to speak.
Scene 4 — The Pier
On her third night, Kasturi slipped outside while the others slept.
The pier stretched like a fragile spine into the dark sea. The tide lapped against its posts, gentle and steady. The air was cool, scented with salt and seaweed. A lone lamp flickered at the far end, casting ripples of gold across the black water. She inhaled deeply, her heart slowing as she listened to the chorus of waves and crickets.
And then she felt it again.
The wind shifted suddenly, spiralling around her, tugging at her hair and clothes. Not violent—playful, curious. Like a hand brushing against her skin.
Kasturi closed her eyes. Her father's words echoed from an old journal he had once shown her: "The wind gives signs. Respect it."
"Am I… imagining this?" she whispered.
The wind answered with a stronger gust, swirling the surface of the sea into tiny whirls. The pier creaked under its touch. Kasturi staggered back, startled.
And then she tripped.
Her foot caught on a loose plank, and she pitched sideways—over the edge, toward the dark water below. Panic surged. Her arms flailed. She braced for the icy plunge.
But it never came.
The air beneath her thickened, cushioning her fall. Invisible hands caught her, slowed her, and nudged her back onto the pier. She landed on her knees, gasping, staring at the water that should have swallowed her whole.
Her chest heaved. The wind whipped around her, insistent, almost scolding—We're here. We saved you. You belong with us.
Kasturi's pulse hammered. She clutched the wooden railing with trembling fingers.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "This isn't real. It can't be real. Aku ni… dah gila ke?"
But the wind didn't care for her denial. It circled her one last time, rustling the lamp's flame, stirring the surface of the sea into shimmering patterns. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw shapes in the air—like wings unfolding—before they dissolved into the night.
The sea calmed. The wind retreated, leaving only silence and the slow roll of waves.
Kasturi sat there for a long time, her mind racing, her body trembling. Her breaths came shallow, uneven. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to anchor herself to something familiar. But no matter how she fought the thought, two truths carved themselves into her heart:
One—whatever had happened on that storm-tossed night was not a dream.
Two—the wind had chosen her.
And whether she wanted it or not, her life was no longer hers alone.
Above her, the stars glittered coldly, as if bearing silent witness. The sea kept its secrets, but the air… the air had already claimed her.