The village had begun to heal, but Dario's bitterness grew sharper. Each time the people turned to Lira, his pride burned. He gathered a small group of villagers in secret, whispering doubts into their ears.
"She has led us through storms, yes," he said, his voice low and urgent. "But what if she fails? What if the wind falls silent? Will we follow her blindly into ruin?"
Some nodded, fear gnawing at their hearts. Others shook their heads, remembering the times she had saved them.
One evening, Dario confronted Lira in the square. The villagers gathered, sensing the tension.
"You claim to hear the wind, the sea, even the mountain," he said, his voice sharp. "But what if it is only your imagination? What if you are wrong?"
Lira sucked her thumb, calm against his anger. She listened, and the whispers curled around her ears: Truth does not need to shout. Silence will prove itself.
She removed her thumb, her voice steady. "If I am wrong, then I will bear it. But the wind has never lied. It speaks, and I listen."
Dario sneered. "Then prove it. Tell us what danger comes next. If you fail, the people will know you are nothing but a child with a habit."
The villagers murmured, torn between fear and faith. Elder Ramos raised his staff. "Enough, Dario. She has saved us too many times to be dismissed. If danger comes, we will see who speaks truth."
Dario's face twisted with frustration. He turned away, but his defiance lingered like a shadow.