The creatures shrieked in surprise, their glowing eyes snapping toward Rowan all at once. With a burst of sparks, the firebats shot into the stormy air, screeching as they circled overhead. Mud clung to Rowan’s boots, each step heavy and slippery. He slipped once, arms flailing, then caught himself and slid down the hill like a runaway cart.

The rain fell heavily, blurring the world, but Rowan kept his eyes fixed on the boy tied up below. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird inside his ribs. He threw his arm out, shouting, “Wind, GO!”

A tiny puff drifted from his hand,  barely enough to stir the grass.

Rowan’s eyes widened. “Wait, that’s it? No, no, no, come on!”

Rowan waved both arms, concentrating as hard as he could. A sudden rush of wind burst from his palm, but spun off-course and slammed into a nearby bush. The branches shuddered, leaves whirled through the air, and a spray of water misted over him. 

“Uh… oops.” Rowan winced. 

One of the beasts thundered toward him with a deafening roar. Rowan answered with a roar of his own, dashing in frantic zigzags across the soaked ground. His foot hooked on a root. CRASH! He went tumbling face-first into a puddle, as water splashed around him.

Mud dripped from his chin as Rowan scrambled back to his feet, sputtering through the storm. “Hey!” he called, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Don’t worry, I’m coming to help you!”

The boy lifted his head. “You’re not very quiet, are you?”

“Nope. Never have been.” Rowan muttered with a sigh.

Rowan dropped to his knees beside the boy. The ropes twitched beneath his touch, writhing like snakes. Panic raced up his spine. His eyes darted around, then he saw an axe, its blade half-sunken in the mud just beyond the path.

“That’ll do!” Rowan lunged toward it, his boots skidding across the slick grass. His hands wrapped around the axe’s handle. He heaved with a grunt. “Come on!” The weight nearly pulled him forward, but with a final pull, he tore it free and stumbled back toward the boy.

“Okay, don’t move!” Rowan said, gripping the axe.

The boy raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t chop my arm off.”

Rowan gave a nervous laugh. “Eheh… I’ll, uh, try my best!”

Rowan’s arms trembled as he lifted the axe, rain dripping from the blade. Then he swung with every ounce of strength he had.

THUNK!

The rope hissed as it snapped, fading into steam as if it despised the break. The others clung tighter, their faint glow rippling over the boy’s soaked clothes. He grit his teeth, a quiet sound escaping through the storm.

“Watch it!” The boy shouted.

“I’m trying!” Rowan’s voice cracked as the axe slipped in his muddy grip.

“No, behind you!”

Rowan blinked. “Huh?”

He spun just in time to see the firebats diving. Their red eyes burned like coals, wings blazing with sparks that sizzled against the rain.

“AHH!” Rowan shouted, throwing himself into the mud with a messy splat!

The firebats whooshed past, heat searing his cheek. One scorched the grass; another zipped so close it knocked his hood off. As they wheeled back for another strike, the boy suddenly lunged forward. His fingers wrapped around the axe Rowan had dropped, and with one swift motion, he swung.

THWACK!

The red vines around his legs snapped with a sharp hiss. One more swing, and the last rope shredded apart, slumping into the mud like a broken snake.

The boy stretched his ankles with a wince, then gripped the axe as if it had always belonged in his hands. “Finally,” he muttered.

Rowan leaned in, rain dripping off his nose. “Are you okay?!”

The boy gave a crooked smirk. “Better than before. Nice save, wind boy.”

“Uh… thanks, I think,” Rowan muttered, swiping wet hair from his face. He tilted his head skyward, just as another screech split the storm. His stomach dropped.

“Okay, okay, new plan!” Rowan yelped. “Does anyone have a new plan?!”

“Yeah,” the boy shouted, already spinning on his heel. “Run now, plan later!”

“Good enough for me!” Rowan snatched his soggy pack from the mud and bolted after him, nearly slipping as he splashed through the rain.

They tore across the mud together, splashing with every step as rain pelted their backs. Above them, the firebats shrieked in blazing loops. One of the tall beasts pounded after them, its steps so heavy the earth seemed to tremble. Rowan’s foot slid out from under him, but before he could hit the ground, the boy grabbed his arm and yanked him forward without a word.

Behind them, the creatures clicked and chattered. The trees groaned as the monsters passed. One firebat dove, its wings glowing like burning coals. Rowan ducked on instinct, but the boy didn’t slow down. He scooped up a handful of mud, flung it skyward, and struck the bat square in the face. The creature squealed and swerved, its flame sputtering before it vanished into the dripping leaves.

“They’re still on us!” Rowan cried, his chest burning with each breath.

“We’ve gotta move faster!” the boy yelled, knuckles white around the axe handle.

A howl echoed behind them. Then another. And another. The boys leapt over a shallow creek, water splashing high around their boots, then skidded down a mossy slope, arms flailing wildly. Rowan scrambled up the other side, clutching at roots and rocks. His fingers slipped on the slick bark, but the boy reached back, grabbed his cloak, and hauled him up.

Lightning split the sky with a white flash. Thunder boomed so loud it rattled the branches overhead. Rowan glanced back, his stomach dropped as the three beasts glided effortlessly through the trees, shadows racing on the wind. His foot caught a stump, and he crashed face-first into the mud with a heavy splat. The boy skidded to a stop, pulled Rowan to his feet, and shouted, “We’re almost there!”

They crashed through the final row of trees and tumbled into a vast meadow. The storm eased at once, the rain thinning into a gentle mist. All around them, tall stones rose from the earth like silent guardians. Wildflowers stretched between them, swaying softly in the drizzle. Raindrops clung to their petals, turning the meadow into a wash of color, like strokes from a painter’s brush glimmering in the gray light.

The beasts stopped at the edge of the trees. Mist curled around their legs, swallowing their shapes until they looked more shadow than flesh. Beside Rowan, the boy gripped the axe, raising it high, ready to strike if the beasts came too close. But the creatures stayed at the edge and tilted their heads all at once, eerie as owls listening to some distant call. Then, one after another, the beasts turned and drifted back into the fog, their footsteps fading into silence.

Rowan dropped to his knees in the wet grass. “What… what were those?”

The boy stayed on his feet, rain sliding down his face, the axe heavy in his hands as his eyes lingered on the place where the creatures were standing. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “But they’re gone… at least for now.”

Rowan leaned forward with a shaky laugh. “That, uh… yeah, way too close.”

The boy lowered the axe, resting it on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “We shouldn’t stay here. In case they change their minds.”

Rowan nodded shakily and pushed himself to his feet, legs trembling but unwilling to give in. Side by side, they made their way into the meadow. In the middle of the meadow, a fallen log rested under a blanket of moss, with tiny white mushrooms. The boy sat down first, resting the axe across his knees with quiet care. Rowan dropped beside him with a long sigh and flopped onto the grass, landing with a gentle thud.

“Okay,” Rowan mumbled. “That was officially the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The boy leaned back against the mossy log, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You get used to it.”

Rowan jerked upright. “Wait, what?”

The boy didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the breeze, as if savoring the first calm moment he’d felt in days.

“Name’s Bjorn. From Mossmere,” the boy said at last.

Rowan’s eyes widened. “Mossmere? That’s way down south!”

Bjorn gave a slight nod, like it wasn’t worth fussing over.

“That’s really far,” Rowan pressed, leaning closer in curiosity. “What are you doing up here?”

Bjorn’s gaze drifted across the clearing. “My clan said I’d never become a warrior.” He bent down, picked up a small pebble, and turned it slowly between his fingers. The breeze stirred his dark hair as he went on. “So I left. I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll become the greatest warrior Althoria’s ever known.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Whoa. That’s a pretty big dream.”

Bjorn shot him a sideways glance. “And you? What’s a wind-slinger like you doing out here?”

“I’m searching for the seven Unity Koro,” Rowan said, his voice quick with excitement.

Bjorn tilted his head. “Never heard of–-”

“Wait, wait! Just listen! The legend says whoever gathers them first becomes the next king of Althoria,” Rowan interrupted in a rush.

Bjorn’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re trying to be king?”

Rowan scratched his cheek with a sheepish grin. “I know it sounds wild. But I want to do something that matters. Not just for me. But, for everyone.”

For a moment, Bjorn was silent. Then a grin spread across his face. “So… a future king and a future warrior? Sounds like a pretty unstoppable team to me.”

The two leaned back in the grass as the storm clouds slowly drifted apart. Rays of sunlight spilled through the gaps, washing the meadow in soft, golden light. The wet grass sparkled, and tiny drops clung to the mushrooms on the log, shining like little lanterns.

“I’m heading to Ashmere Hold,” Rowan said after a pause, his gaze following the drifting clouds.

Bjorn turned his head. “What’s that?”

“It’s an old library past the eastern hills,” Rowan explained. “They say someone there might know more about the Unity Koro. I’m hoping for answers or at least a sign I’m going the right way.”

Bjorn gave a short snort. “A library? Sounds peaceful.”

Rowan laughed, rolling onto his side. “I hope so. I’ve had enough creepy monster groves to last a lifetime.”

Bjorn chuckled too, though his hand drifted to the raw marks on his wrists where the red ropes had dug into his skin. He rubbed them, as if reminding himself they were really gone.

“You could come with me, if you want,” Rowan blurted. Before Bjorn could answer, he rushed on, “I mean, just for a little while! I don’t really know what I’m doing, and you’ve got an axe and actual warrior instincts. All I’ve got are wind blasts and a nasty habit of face-planting in puddles.”

Bjorn laughed, an honest laugh this time. “You’re a strange one.”

Rowan shrugged. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Bjorn pushed himself up and slung the axe over his shoulder. “Alright. You saved me. I owe you. And chasing magical stones with a wind-slinging mud magnet sounds like fun.”

Rowan jumped to his feet. “So you’re in?”

Bjorn nodded. “Yeah. Let’s see where the road takes us.” He started toward the winding path to the northwest, then glanced back with a grin. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t go tripping over every rock in Althoria.”

Rowan laughed and jogged to catch up. The trail curled uphill, winding through a grove of mossy stones and crooked old trees. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were squirrels skittering across roots and birds fluttering out of sight into the leaves above. Then the path bent sharply, and from the hillside rose a crumbling wall of stone, its surface swallowed by thick green ivy.

Beyond it rose a tall, weathered building, its crooked towers leaning toward the sky. Hollow windows stared out like empty eyes, while thick vines clung to its stone walls. Moss spilled across the roof in a heavy green blanket. From the eaves hung rows of wind chimes, with their soft clinks echoing in the stillness.

Rowan stopped in his tracks. “This has to be Ashmere Hold,” he whispered.

Bjorn gave a low whistle. “Cheery place.”

Rowan stepped closer. “Not what I pictured. I thought it’d be more library-like.”

Bjorn squinted at the leaning towers. “Looks more like a haunted barn.”

“Maybe it just has character,” Rowan offered.

“Or ghosts,” Bjorn muttered.

Rowan raised his fist and knocked on the tall wooden door.

Once.

Twice.

Thud. Thud.

Silence.

“Told you,” Bjorn said, crossing his arms. “Ghosts don’t answer doors.”

Rowan sighed and stepped back.

Then the wind chimes stilled, and the air fell strangely heavy.

CREAK…