They had been walking for hours when the air seemed to change. Rowan couldn’t explain what he felt. It wasn’t a noise or a chill; it was like the wind leaned in close, pressing softly against his chest and encouraging him forward. Something unseen was guiding them across the hills of Ardentia.

Rowan flipped open his compass. The needle spun in a lazy circle, then snapped with a click.

“Still west,” he said, shading his eyes against the sun. “Hasn’t changed since Whistlebend Crossing.”

Bjorn walked beside him, his axe bouncing on his back with every step. His boots crunched through dry grass, and every so often, he swung at floating tufts of seed-fluff that clung to his fur cloak.

“This fluffy stuff is starting to get on my nerves,” Bjron grumbled.

“Don’t worry, Bjorn. Your axe still looks scary enough, even if fluffy seeds cover you.” Rowan said with a chuckle.

The path climbed higher up the hill, where weathered stones lay scattered across the slope. Their surfaces etched with spirals and flowing wave-marks. Some leaned crooked in the grass, half-swallowed by time, while others stood tall, watching like soldiers from the hillside.

“Whoa,” Rowan blurted out, brushing his fingers across one of the carvings. 

Bjorn’s brows lifted. “What are these? Koro signs?”

“Maybe. My dad used to tell me about waystones. Before maps, travelers followed these.”

Bjorn gave a quick whistle. “That was a long time ago.”

Rowan didn’t reply. The air felt heavy here, and even speaking seemed to disturb something. The breeze threaded between the stones, and a steady hum vibrated from the ground. Rowan felt it through his boots, tingling in his bones, and raising goosebumps along his arms.

Bjorn looked around. “You hear that?”

Rowan nodded. “Yeah. Feels like a storm is close by.”

As they climbed, the stones multiplied, arranging themselves in crooked rows and loose circles that all seemed to point ahead. The wind blew harder, snapping Rowan’s cloak and whipping his hair into his eyes, as dust swirled into little whirlwinds at their feet.

“Look…” Rowan said, pointing toward the top of the hill.

Light rippled as though a hundred stars flickered just beyond reach. 

Rowan’s chest tightened with excitement. “We made it to Windwake Hill.”

But Bjorn’s eyes never left the hilltop clearing.

“Huh,” he whispered. “That’s… not right.”

Rowan slowed down. “What is it?”

Bjorn lifted a hand against the sun, squinting. “I think… someone’s already up there.”

As they reached the top of Windwake Hill, Rowan saw a camp sat in the middle of the clearing: two small tents, a few wooden crates, and a fire for cooking. Four figures stood around a flat stone.

“That’s… not good,” Rowan whispered.

One of the figures turned.

He looked close to Rowan’s age, but something about him carried danger, like the calm before lightning strikes. His hair was white-blond, spiking straight up. A long coat snapped in the gusts, and across his chest there was a crest shaped like a jagged bolt of yellow, catching the sun in fierce flashes.

The boy grinned. “Well, well. Looks like the wind finally caught up.”

Rowan glanced at Bjorn. “You know him?”

Bjorn shook his head. “Nope. And I already don’t like him.”

The boy stepped forward. “Name’s Lucas. Lightningnaru. From Stormholt.”

A spark leapt to life at his fingertips. It crackled up his arm in a bolt of energy, skittering across his sleeve without leaving a mark. He didn’t even flinch.

Behind him, the other three finally turned to face them. The first was a tall girl, whose eyes locked onto Rowan’s. A cloak the color of sunlight billowed behind her, and a neat braid swung down her back. In her hand, she held a polished staff that shone as if it carried a piece of the sun inside it.

“I’m Sonny. A Sunnaru.” She said softly.

The next person said nothing. He was shorter than the others, wrapped head to toe in layered gray. A hood shadowed his face, and a cloth mask hid everything but the whites of his eyes. He gave a slight bow, then vanished.

Rowan’s eyes got big. “He… he just disappeared!”

“That’s Jax,” Lucas said, not even glancing back. “Shadownaru. He likes making an entrance or an exit.”

The last boy was the scruffiest of the bunch. Over his striped shirt, he wore a brown vest, and strapped across his back was a long scroll case. In his hands, he was holding an unfurled paper that glowed faintly. The markings moved, sliding around like a living map across its surface.

He tapped it twice, mumbled something too fast to understand, then smiled.

“His name is Tarn,” Lucas added. “The brains of the operation.”

Tarn’s fingers drummed against the glowing paper. “And I’m guessing you’re the wind-swirl. The map’s been buzzing ever since you stepped onto the hill.”

Rowan looked over at the paper. “You have a map that can read Koro energy?”

“Of course I do,” Tarn said proudly, puffing out his chest as if it were obvious.

“And you made that yourself?” Rowan asked.

“Sure did!” Tarn’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Doesn’t always work, though. Sometimes it tells me I’m a goat.”

Sonny sighed, like someone who had heard that joke a hundred times before.

Lucas snapped his fingers. A spark leapt to life, crackling in the air. “Now that introductions are out of the way… what brings you to Windwake Hill?”

Rowan’s smile faded. “I’m searching for the seven Unity Koro to become the King of Althoria.”

Lucas laughed and stared at Rowan. “You really think you can be the King of Althoria?”

“I don’t just think it.” Rowan met his gaze. “I know it.”

Lucas’s laugh was soft. “Isn’t that cute?”

The breeze picked up, and Rowan’s cloak tugged at his shoulders, and sparks danced lazily across Lucas’s fingertips. 

Bjorn stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

Lucas tilted his head. “Then why are you standing in my circle?”

Rowan’s eyes flicked around. Whoever placed the stones didn’t do it at random. They formed a perfect circle.

“I don’t think this belongs to anyone,” Rowan said.

Lucas’s eyes sparkled like stormlight. “That’s the problem with people like you. You dreamers are all the same. You think the Crown is about peace. About unity. About hugs and happy endings.”

Rowan’s fists curled at his sides. “And people like you think it’s only about power. To you, it’s just taking and breaking, even if it hurts everyone else.”

“Tell you what,” Lucas said, almost laughing. “Let’s duel. You and me. Let’s find out what the wind’s really worth.”