The Calm Before the Storm

Before them, the twilight belt stretched endlessly, a band of dim light threading through the eternal dusk of Duskara. Above, the sky shimmered in shades of ash and amber, where shadow and substance blurred.

The caravan moved steadily—a procession of wind-hardened wagons creaking under steady gusts that carried voices from the dayward and nightward edges: tales of scorched deserts and frozen wastes. At the front, the lead wagon glinted faintly, its reinforced panels catching what little light the belt offered.

Inside, Kael Thornvale sat still. His face was a map of scars, the kind earned by men who made too many hard choices. He scanned the horizon, every instinct honed by years of danger in places no map reached. Beneath his calm, something stirred—a familiar tension crawling up his spine. He’d felt this before. Too many times to ignore.

Behind him, the caravan breathed in rhythm.

On the flatbed, Arden Vynn, the weatherworker, studied the sky. His pale eyes flicked between shifting wind currents, fingers making slow, precise motions to ease the gusts rocking the wagons. Beside him, Mara Zelos tightened the straps on her mechanical arm, tossing a wry comment that earned tired chuckles. Her irreverence was as much a tool as her blades.

Traders swapped stories over rattling wheels, voices carried on the wind. Iven Rask, the caravan’s builder, moved with unhurried purpose, lifting a crate with ease. His apprentice struggled to keep pace, rewarded with a faint smile of approval.

Then, something shifted.

A tin charm hanging from a wagon’s edge began to spin. One of the older traders muttered a warding phrase under his breath. Another traveler glanced skyward, making a quick sign against the wind.

Kael’s gaze narrowed. That crawling instinct surged again—like a scar torn open. The air pressed against his skin, heavy and metallic. He could taste it.

He caught Arden’s eye. The weatherworker’s fingers froze mid-motion. A silent exchange passed between them.

“Something’s coming,” Kael said quietly, but it cut through the noise like a blade. He whistled sharply, calling attention. “Keep pace, but be ready. Arden—eyes open.”

Arden nodded, already closing his eyes, his hands resuming their dance. Around them, movement slowed. The caravan sensed it. Travelers tied down packs. Conversations died. Even Mara, quick with a joke, gripped the wagon’s edge in silence, her sharp gaze scanning the hills.

Nights in the wilderness had taught her to trust those quiet whispers. And tonight, they whispered warnings she couldn’t name.

The storm wasn’t here yet—but it was coming.

The caravan moved on, fragile unity pulling them forward as the first unseen tendrils of danger rode the wind.

—–

The caravan pushed deeper into the twilight belt, wagons groaning under the weight of wind and worry. Kael Thornvale held the reins with steady hands, but his jaw was tight. Ahead, the horizon churned with thick, inky clouds, twisting like smoke in water. The air pressed against his chest—too heavy, too still—as if the storm itself was watching.

Arden Vynn sat high on the lead wagon, unnaturally still. His milky eyes flickered, twitching with each shift in the wind. His fingers, usually dancing with practiced precision, hovered in hesitation.

Then came the shift.

Subtle. Invisible. But Kael felt it in his bones.

Arden’s fingers stilled, then moved again, slower, sharper—like a musician tuning a string just before it snaps. His head turned toward Kael, voice low and clipped.

“It’s unstable. Wind’s pulling hard from the nightward side. And the temperature’s dropping fast. This isn’t just a storm. It’s building—fast.”

Kael leaned forward, scanning the churning dark ahead. A low vibration hummed through the air, almost like a growl. Every breath tasted metallic.

“How long?”

“Maybe hours. If we’re lucky.” Arden’s brow furrowed. “But it’s not like the others. This feels… wrong.”

Kael didn’t wait. He stood up in the lead wagon and blew a sharp whistle. The sound cut through the creaks and murmurs like a blade.

“Mara\! Front and center\!”

She appeared quickly from the second wagon, sprinting up the path with sure footing despite the loose gravel. Her mechanical arm gleamed under the muted light, but her eyes were sharp with rising concern.

“You’ve got that look,” she said. “We in trouble?”

Kael pointed toward the clouds twisting in unnatural spirals. “Big storm, moving fast. We need cover. Windbreak, cave, anything solid. Get out there and find it.”

Mara gave a tight nod. “I’ll bring something back. Or we improvise.” She flashed a grim smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Without another word, she disappeared into the rocks, cloak flaring behind her like a banner of defiance.

As the caravan rolled on, unease spread like frost. Whispers passed between wagons—old tales of lost caravans, of storms that weren’t just weather. Someone clutched a wind-charm carved from bone. Another muttered a prayer to the edge gods. Even the horses snorted and fidgeted, their ears flicking at sounds no one else heard.

Then came the voice Kael expected.

“Why keep pushing?” Dren Callos strode forward from the third wagon, voice sharp as a snapped cable. Wiry and sunburnt, the trader’s face wore a permanent scowl. “We set camp now, we might ride this out. Better than charging into the teeth of it.”

Kael halted his wagon and stood tall, facing him. “Camp here, we get buried alive. This isn’t guesswork, Dren. It’s survival.”

Dren stepped closer. “And if there’s no shelter ahead? We’ll be caught in open ground with nothing. You’re gambling lives on wind and gut.”

Before Kael could answer, Arden’s voice cut in.

“It’s not a gamble. The patterns are wrong. If we stop now, the storm overtakes us—guaranteed.”

Silence fell heavy, broken only by the flapping of a loose tarp and the faint groan of a wagon wheel. The air smelled of iron and dust, too thick for comfort.

Kael’s gaze swept across the caravan, noting the fear in their eyes, the flickering resolve. He forced his voice steady.

“Comfort won’t save us. Movement might.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Turning to Arden, he said, “Keep reading the wind. Signal if anything shifts.”

Arden nodded, already reaching for the air with twitching fingers.

Kael sank back into his seat. Around him, the wagons creaked and groaned under tightened ropes. Gear was secured. Voices dropped to whispers. A child cried, muffled quickly by a mother’s arms.

The storm hadn’t arrived yet—but it was coming. And Kael could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

They weren’t racing the wind anymore. They were racing fate.

—–

The sky split open with a scream.

One moment, the caravan trudged onward beneath the dim light of the twilight belt. The next, a wall of wind slammed into them, shrieking like a wounded beast. Dust and shards of gravel tore through the air, slicing visibility down to a few jagged feet. The scent of scorched ozone and churned earth filled every breath.

Kael Thornvale felt it like a punch to the chest—a drop in pressure, followed by an oppressive weight that pressed on every inch of his skin. He shouted over the rising maelstrom.

“Brace\!”

His voice barely carried above the storm’s banshee howl. Around him, travelers scrambled to tie down cargo, hunch low, or cling to the wagons, but the gale moved faster than instinct.

Near the front, Arden Vynn stood atop the lead wagon, his hands trembling as he reached toward the heavens. His eyes were wide, unseeing, locked in a silent battle. Psychic energy shimmered faintly around him as he tried to bend the wind, to calm the chaos—but it struck back like a predator. A surge of raw force hit him squarely, and he crumpled, unconscious before his body even hit the deck.

“Arden’s down\!” Mara’s voice rang out from the side of a wagon, her mechanical arm buried into the wood for grip. Her hair whipped around her face, dirt streaking her cheek, but she didn’t blink.

Kael gritted his teeth and yanked at the reins as his own wagon bucked under the force. “Secure him\! Rear wagons—now\!”

Behind them, the caravan unraveled. Horses screamed, eyes rolling in terror, fighting their harnesses. The rear wagons, caught on the slight incline of a rocky slope, shuddered. One jolted sideways with a sharp *crack* as a wheel exploded, spilling crates and sacks into the wind. A container of geothermal crystals burst open, scattering shards like falling stars across the ground.

“No\!” Iven Rask shouted, already lunging after them. The builder’s instincts warred against the survivalist’s. He saw the apprentice—curled and frozen near the debris—and stepped between the boy and the storm. His body was a shield, arms thrown wide, eyes locked on the tumbling crystals.

“Let it go\!” Kael called, hoarse and desperate. “Iven\! Fall back\!”

But Iven stayed rooted. One step forward. Then another.

Another wagon shrieked as its frame buckled. Horses reared and screamed, the wind wrapping around them like chains. Mara ran toward the chaos, her arm hissing with effort as she slashed a harness loose. The wagon toppled behind her with a shattering crash—but the horses bolted free.

“Kael\!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the roar. “We can’t hold this line. We need shelter—now\!”

Kael turned in a tight circle, mind spinning. Arden—out. Iven—too deep in. Supplies—bleeding into the wind. The gale surged again, lifting canvas and slamming it against wagons like claws.

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then—steel.

“Form up\! Salvage what you can\!”

He pointed to Mara. “Scout team. Take five. Get us out of this hell.”

She didn’t wait for acknowledgment. She was already moving, her orders barked to the few caravaners still on their feet and able to run.

Kael dropped from the driver’s seat, boots crunching into shifting gravel, and pushed through the torrent. The air tasted like metal and grit. Each breath scraped his throat. A wagon groaned above him, and he ducked beneath it to pull a traveler to safety, dragging them behind a toppled crate.

The storm gave nothing back. It screamed in every language: wind, stone, cold, panic. Overhead, a tattered scrap of canvas sliced through the air, catching Kael across the cheek. Blood welled, thin and hot, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

This wasn’t just a storm—it was a reckoning. Something bigger. Hungry.

Kael paused, just long enough to glance behind him. Wagons lay overturned like children’s toys. Supplies gone. Bodies scattered. And still, the wind didn’t stop.

A flicker of doubt lanced through his chest.

*What if I led them wrong? What if this is where it ends?*

Then someone screamed for help. The moment broke. Kael moved again.

The storm didn’t care about doubts. Only survival mattered now.

And they would survive—if anything of them was left to crawl out the other side.