Not everyone was convinced. Among the villagers was a boy named Dario, older than Lira, proud and stubborn. He had always wanted to be seen as a leader, but now the people looked to Lira instead.
During the festival, Dario stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed. "She's just a child," he muttered. "How can we trust her over the elders?"
Later that night, he confronted her near the fire. "Do you enjoy being worshipped?" he sneered. "Everyone bows to you now, but what if the wind lies? What if you lead us into danger?"
Lira sucked her thumb, calm against his anger. "The wind has never lied."
Dario scoffed. "Or maybe you just imagine it. Maybe you like the attention."
Her mother stepped forward, protective. "Enough, Dario. She saved us twice. Show respect."
But Dario's words lingered in the air. Some villagers shifted uneasily, doubt flickering again.
That night, as the festival fires burned low, Lira sat alone by the shore. The wind curled around her, whispering: Do not fear rivals. Truth will silence them.
She gazed at the waves, thumb pressed against her lips. She knew storms were not the only battles she would face. Doubt and envy could be just as dangerous.