Chapter 14: Chapter 13: Forge of Memory

"Faster!" Flynn called, darting between trees with maddening agility. "Hunters won't give you time to catch your breath!"

I pushed myself harder, legs burning as I chased her through the forest. The afternoon had given way to early evening, the light golden and slanted through the canopy. Flynn moved like a shadow in that light, barely disturbing the leaves beneath her feet.

The storm inside me pushed outward, eager to assist, but I contained it. This training was about physical speed and reaction time—no storm-help allowed.

Flynn vanished behind a large oak, then reappeared three trees away, grinning. "Too slow, storm-girl!"

I changed direction, anticipating her next move. The forest floor was uneven, roots and rocks threatening to catch my feet, but I was learning to read it—to feel the terrain as an extension of myself, just as Daro had taught me with the staff.

Flynn darted right, but I was ready. I cut across her path, nearly catching her sleeve before she spun away, laughing.

"Better!" she called over her shoulder. "Now try this!"

She scaled a tree with impossible speed, disappearing into the branches above. I halted, scanning the canopy. The last rays of sunlight filtered through, creating dappled shadows that shifted with the breeze.

Movement to my left—I turned, but found nothing. Then, right—a flash of Flynn's trademark smirk before she vanished again.

"You're cheating," I called, turning slowly. "Using your shadow-step."

Her laugh drifted down from somewhere above. "Hunters cheat too. All the time."

Fair point. I closed my eyes, trying a different approach. Instead of looking for Flynn, I listened for the rustle of leaves, the subtle shift of weight on a branch. The storm inside me quieted, allowing my other senses to sharpen.

There—a whisper of movement above and to my right. I opened my eyes and threw the wooden training knife Flynn had given me earlier. It struck the branch exactly where she'd been a moment before, but Flynn was already elsewhere, her laughter echoing through the trees.

"Not fast enough!"

I grinned despite myself. There was something freeing about this training—the physical exertion, the focus required, Flynn's relentless teasing. For brief moments, I could almost forget the weight of what I carried inside me.

Flynn dropped from a branch directly in front of me, startling me backwards. "But you're getting there," she said, retrieving her knife. "A week ago you'd have fallen on your ass."

"Still might," I admitted, breathing hard. My legs trembled from exertion, and sweat dampened my shirt despite the cool evening air.

Flynn studied me, head tilted. "One more run. To the river and back. No tricks this time—just speed."

I nodded, gathering my remaining strength. The river lay a quarter-mile east, down a steep ravine. It would test my endurance as much as my speed.

"Ready?" Flynn asked, crouching like a cat about to pounce.

"Ready."

We burst into motion together, racing through the darkening forest. Flynn pulled ahead, her steps light and sure, but I stayed close, finding a rhythm that felt sustainable. The storm inside me pulsed with my heartbeat, not fighting but flowing with me.

The ravine appeared ahead, the sound of rushing water rising to meet us. Flynn leapt over the edge without hesitation, sliding down the steep embankment with practised ease. I followed more cautiously, using roots and rocks to control my descent.

At the bottom, the river stretched before us, silver in the fading light. Flynn touched the water's edge, then turned back toward the cabin.

"Race you home!" she called, already climbing.

I pushed hard on the return journey, muscles screaming in protest. Flynn maintained her lead, but I kept her in sight, refusing to let distance grow between us. As we crested the final rise before the cabin clearing, I summoned a last burst of speed.

Flynn glanced back, surprise flashing across her face as I drew alongside her. For a moment, we ran together, matched in pace if not in grace.

Then she grinned—a real smile, not her usual smirk—and surged ahead, crossing into the clearing mere steps before me. We both collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath.

"Not... bad..." Flynn panted, sprawled on her back. "For a... storm-bearer."

I lay beside her, too exhausted to speak. The night sky opened above us, first stars appearing as darkness gathered. For a long moment, we simply breathed together, the silence comfortable.

Finally, Flynn sat up, reaching into her pocket. "Here," she said, tossing something my way. "You earned it."

I caught it reflexively—an apple, small but perfectly ripe. The scent hit me immediately, triggering a cascade of memories: the Ashgrove orchards, harvest mornings with Mira and Lior, my mother's apple cakes cooling on the windowsill.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, voice thick with unexpected emotion.

Flynn shrugged, but her eyes were knowing. "Found a tree while scouting yesterday. Thought you might like a taste of something familiar."

The simple kindness undid me. I turned the apple in my hands, feeling its smooth skin, its weight—so ordinary, yet suddenly precious.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

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Flynn stood, brushing grass from her clothes. "Eat it before Elyra tries to brew it into one of her teas," she advised, her tone light but her eyes serious. "Some things should just be enjoyed as they are."

She left me there, heading toward the cabin's warm glow. I remained under the emerging stars, cradling the apple like a gift. It was just fruit—something I'd eaten a thousand times before. But here, miles from Ashgrove, after everything that had happened, it felt like a lifeline to who I had been.

The storm inside me settled, almost contented. I bit into the apple, its flesh crisp and sweet. For the first time since leaving home, I allowed myself to truly taste something—to be present in a simple pleasure without fear shadowing every moment.

One bite. Then another. The stars brightened overhead, and I let myself remember the orchard, Mira's laugh, Lior's smile—not with the crushing guilt that had become habitual, but with a quiet ache that felt almost like healing.

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The orchard stretched before us, autumn sunlight filtering through red-gold leaves. Mira balanced precariously on a branch above me, tossing down apples that Lior caught in his basket.

"If you bruise them, my mother will make you peel them all," I warned, sorting through the harvest pile.

Lior grinned up at Mira, sunlight catching in his hair. "Worth it," he declared, biting into one with exaggerated pleasure.

Mira laughed, the sound carrying across the orchard rows. "Kaela's right. Remember last season when you dropped half the basket?"

"I was distracted," Lior protested, his eyes darting briefly to me.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and focused intently on the apple in my hands. The storm inside me fluttered pleasantly, a gentle breeze rather than a gale. In those days, it was just a feeling, a quirk—nothing more, nothing dangerous.

"Distracted by what?" Mira teased, climbing down with practised ease.

Lior threw an apple core at her, which she dodged effortlessly. "By how slow you were picking. At this rate, we'll be here until midnight."

"We could stay until midnight," I said quietly. The thought was appealing—the three of us beneath the stars, the village asleep below, the world ours alone.

Something in my voice made them both turn to look at me. Mira smiled slowly, understanding immediately as she always did. Lior's expression shifted, softened.

"Storm's coming," he said, but not like a warning. Like a promise.

He meant the weather—there were clouds gathering on the horizon, still distant but building. He couldn't feel what I felt, the answering echo in my chest, the way the approaching storm already sang in my blood.

"Not for hours yet," Mira said, reaching for my hand. Her fingers intertwined with mine, warm and certain. On my other side, Lior's hand found my shoulder, steady and strong.

We stood together, watching the distant lightning flicker between clouds, beautiful and far away. I was safe between them, anchored by their touch, their trust. The storm inside me hummed contentedly, no more threatening than the distant thunder.

"I think I want to stay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then we stay," Lior replied simply, as if it were the easiest decision in the world.

That night, we sat beneath the old lightning-split oak at the orchard's edge. Mira braided small sections of my hair, her fingers gentle against my scalp. Lior leaned against the trunk, one leg stretched out beside mine, close enough that I could feel his warmth.

"The harvest festival is next week? What do you think of it?" I asked, glancing toward the village lights twinkling below us.

"I'm thinking about all that honey cake," Lior said with a grin. "Old Barker said this year's batch is the sweetest yet."

"You and your stomach," Mira laughed. "I'm looking forward to the dancing. Remember last year when Kaela's mother outpaced everyone?"

I smiled at the memory. "She loves the fiddle songs. Says they remind her of when she was young."

“She sure does.”

"Will you join the dance this year?" Lior asked, his voice softer now.

The wind picked up slightly, and while others might have shivered, I felt oddly at peace as it brushed against my skin.

"Maybe. If you two promise not to abandon me when faster songs play."

"I'll stick to you like tree sap," Mira promised, finishing another small braid.

"That's... not appealing," I laughed.

"Fine, like honey then," she amended.

"Better," I murmured, leaning back to look at the sky.

The clouds were beginning to cover the stars, but unlike the others who frowned at the weather's turn, I watched with quiet fascination.

"You never mind it, do you?" Lior asked suddenly. "The rain, the wind. Everyone else runs for cover, but you just... stand there sometimes. Watching."

“They are indeed…fascinating,” I remarked while extending my hand, open palm facing the stars.

Almost immediately, the breeze seemed to curl around my fingers, dancing between them like an invisible ribbon. I didn't control it—I never did back then—but it responded to me all the same.

Mira's eyes widened slightly. "I've seen you do that a dozen times, and it still amaze me."

"Right, like the wind knows you," Lior added softly, watching the way my hair lifted slightly in a breeze that somehow didn't disturb the leaves around us. "Like you're having a conversation the rest of us can't hear."

I lowered my hand slowly, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "It's nothing. Just a trick of the air."

"It's beautiful," Mira said simply, resuming her braiding. “I’ll never get tired of watching them.”

The first drops of rain began to fall, just a gentle patter against the leaves above us. Where most would scramble for shelter, we remained still, protected by the ancient oak's broad canopy. I tilted my face upward, letting a few stray droplets touch my skin. They felt like whispers against my cheeks, cool and familiar.

"Let’s go home. My mother will worry if we're not back soon," I said finally, though part of me wanted to stay in this moment forever. The rain was beginning to fall more steadily now, the distant rumble of thunder rolling across the valley.

Lior nodded, gathering our nearly forgotten baskets. "You’re right. She’ll send out a search party if you're not home for dinner," he said with a gentle smile. "And mine would have my head if I kept you both out in a storm."

Mira finished the last small braid in my hair and let her fingers linger for a moment. "There," she said, satisfaction in her voice. "Now you look like a wild forest spirit."

I touched the intricate pattern she'd woven, feeling oddly connected to something larger than myself. The wind gusted suddenly, stronger now, and I closed my eyes, breathing it in deeply.

"We should hurry. The storm’s picking up."

I opened my eyes to find both of them watching me, their expressions difficult to interpret. Was it concern? Fascination? Whatever it was, it warmed me more than any cloak could against the chill of the coming rain.

Lior offered his hand to help me up, his touch warm and steady. "Race you down the hill?" he challenged, the boyish grin returning to his face.

"You'll lose," Mira said confidently, already gathering her things. "Kaela and I have been practising."

I looked at my two friends, grinning as they gathered their things. The sudden race home was our tradition whenever we stayed out too late. "Last one home helps my mother peel all these apples," I called out, and then hurried down the path with Mira close behind.

"Not fair!" Lior shouted, struggling with the heavier baskets as he followed us. The rain was coming down steadily now, and we all picked up our pace. It felt good to run together, racing back to the village as we had done countless times before.

I didn't know then what storms truly awaited me, or how soon everything would change. I didn't know that these carefree days were numbered, that the power inside me was more than just a curiosity. All I knew was the joy of running through the first drops of rain, the orchard fading behind us as we raced toward home, together.