The fire and hunger had left the village shaken, but Lira's guidance had carried them through. Most of the villagers now looked to her with trust, yet one pair of eyes still burned with resentment—Dario's.
He had always wanted to be seen as a leader, but each storm, each warning, each whisper proved Lira's gift true. His pride could not bear it.
One evening, as the villagers gathered in the square to share what little food remained, Dario stepped forward. His voice rang sharp against the quiet.
"Are we to follow a child forever?" he demanded. "She sucks her thumb and claims to hear voices. Is this what we call wisdom?"
The villagers murmured uneasily. Cindy rose to her feet. "She saved us twice from storms, and once from fire. Without her, we would be gone."
Timmy added, "She hears what we cannot. That is not weakness—it is strength."
But Dario sneered. "Then let her prove it again. If she truly hears the wind, let her tell us what danger comes next. And if she is wrong, we will know she is nothing but a child with a habit."
The villagers turned to Lira. She stood calmly, thumb pressed against her lips, listening. The wind curled around her ears, whispering: The mountain speaks. Its voice is deep. Its heart is restless.
She removed her thumb. "The danger will not come from the sea or the fire. It will come from the mountain."
Gasps filled the square. The mountain loomed far beyond the village, silent and immovable. No one had ever feared it.
Dario laughed. "The mountain? It has stood for centuries. She invents tales now."
But Elder Ramos raised his staff. "We doubted her before, and we paid dearly. If she says the mountain speaks, then we must listen."
The trial of trust had shifted. Lira's gift would be tested once more—this time against stone.