Today, I went to the meadows to collect herbs and flowers for my little shop back in Wisteria Village. It was a calm day—until I fell into a trap. A leaf trap, no less. In the middle of a meadow. Really?
I groaned as I pulled myself out, brushing off my robe. Someone was watching me. I could feel it. I glanced casually toward a strange, tiny window nestled into the side of a distant hill.
Eyes. I swear I saw them. Watching.
I skipped forward, pretending I hadn't noticed. I hummed to myself, stopping here and there to smell flowers, pick berries, listen to the wind. As I moved, I traced the outline of the hidden house in my mind. It was buried well, but not perfectly. Whoever lived there… they were observant.
When I finished gathering what I needed, I stood on the tallest stone, turned to the breeze, and whistled.
The wind wrapped around me like an old friend, lifting me skyward.
It's always been this way. Since I was young.
Wind magic saved me, over and over. My parents taught it to me, taught me how to speak to the wind like it was alive.
They always said, "You must have the will to be powerful to become powerful. Size means nothing if your will is weak."
I still hear Father's voice in my head during training.
But they're gone now.
Taken from me by the kingdom they once protected.
It was thirteen years ago—but the pain still feels fresh.
We were celebrating my birthday. I was turning eight. Mom had baked a vanilla bean cake, tiered high and decorated with berries and nuts. I remember giggling, eyes wide as the candlelight danced.
Then—
WHOOSH.
BANG.
The wind howled without warning. Our walls trembled. The candles snuffed out. I never saw the enemy's face—just the red eyes. The teeth. The smell of iron.
Ringggggg!
My alarm clock rang.
I sat up in bed, soaked in sweat, gasping for air.
Thirteen years, and I still wake up from that nightmare.
Thirteen years since I last saw them.