12-12-2024, 09:28 PM
Kemala’s reaction when the storm bringer referred to Sören as "Alvis" was sharp but silent, her expression hardening like stone. Judgment flickered in her dark eyes. Which name was the truth? Sören or Alvis? And if he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about? The questions churned in her mind, but there was no time to voice them. The storm was still raging, and it was growing fiercer by the second.
Kemala clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing. She wanted—needed—to confront him, but this wasn’t the moment for arguments. Her focus turned instead to the storm, its ferocity so overwhelming that she began to doubt whether she could do anything to stop it at all.
The clash between the storm bringer and Sören was nearly as violent as the tempest itself. Tension crackled in the air, raw and electric, as the two exchanged words and willpower in equal measure. Kemala closed her eyes and centered herself, drawing deep into the core of her tenaga dalam. The ancient oneness filled her, threading her soul to the earth, to the sky, to the energy humming in the air around her. She raised her arms, trying to seize the invisible threads of the storm and bend them to her will. But it was like trying to push a boulder uphill—an impossible, grueling effort against a force far stronger than she anticipated.
Her breath hitched when the storm surged again. The wind screamed, the rain pelted down like needles, and the waters churned with a relentless hunger. Kemala threw everything she had into holding the forces back, gritting her teeth as she fought the escalation. But it wasn’t just a battle with the natural world anymore—this was will against will. Hers against his. And the storm bringer was winning.
When the boat overturned, the scene unfolded in a horrible instant. Kemala’s sharp eyes caught the sight of a girl tumbling into the water, her arms flailing before the icy waves swallowed her whole. Her chest tightened in anger, and her frustration boiled over. He did this. The storm bringer’s recklessness had pushed everything too far. Kemala’s glare shot toward him, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction as his expression faltered.
Still, she focused on the towering wall of water that rose like a monstrous tidal wave, ready to crash down and obliterate them all. Summoning all of her strength, she redirected her efforts, forcing the water to hold its place. Her power pushed against his, barely keeping the deluge at bay. Cold seeped into her bones. She was drenched, exhausted, and shaking from the strain.
And now there was an injured girl to deal with.
When the waters finally calmed and the winds died down, Kemala was trembling—not just with fatigue, but with fury. She shot Sören a glare, one that spoke volumes, assuming he was not innocent in all this. She didn’t need words to convey her thoughts: This is your fault. All of it. For now, though, she swallowed her anger. There was no time for it. She had no choice but to follow the others toward whatever shelter they could find.
The hostel was too far, and the roads were clogged with storm debris. Eventually, they came across a small inn. The storm’s fury had left its mark here as well—shingles were scattered across the ground, and part of the roof sagged dangerously. A worker stood outside, inspecting the damage when they approached.
“We need a room. Right now!” Kemala shouted up at him. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the muffled drizzle of leftover rain. The man didn’t respond beyond a lazy wave of his hand, clearly indifferent to their plight. Kemala didn’t wait for an invitation. She stormed ahead, shoving the door open and searching until she found an empty room. It was small, damp, and smelled faintly of mildew, but it would do.
“This will work,” she called back to the boys. “Get in here.”
When they entered, she was already in action. “Put her on the bed,” she commanded, nodding to the injured girl in their arms. Her voice brooked no argument. “I need to get her dry. If one of you two fool-headed men has any sense, you’ll start that fire. Then get out. Decency, remember?”
Neither of them moved quickly enough for her liking. “Go!” she snapped, her glare like daggers. “And when you’re done playing with matches, find a doctor. She could have water in her lungs, and I’m no miracle worker.”
The storm had dissipated, but Kemala’s frustration had not. She fixed both men with a look that could have stopped the storm itself. “And no more temper tantrums from either of you along the way,” she warned. “We don’t have time for egos.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention to the girl on the bed, peeling away the drenched layers of fabric and replacing anger with determination. If no one else was going to do the right thing, Kemala would.
Kemala clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing. She wanted—needed—to confront him, but this wasn’t the moment for arguments. Her focus turned instead to the storm, its ferocity so overwhelming that she began to doubt whether she could do anything to stop it at all.
The clash between the storm bringer and Sören was nearly as violent as the tempest itself. Tension crackled in the air, raw and electric, as the two exchanged words and willpower in equal measure. Kemala closed her eyes and centered herself, drawing deep into the core of her tenaga dalam. The ancient oneness filled her, threading her soul to the earth, to the sky, to the energy humming in the air around her. She raised her arms, trying to seize the invisible threads of the storm and bend them to her will. But it was like trying to push a boulder uphill—an impossible, grueling effort against a force far stronger than she anticipated.
Her breath hitched when the storm surged again. The wind screamed, the rain pelted down like needles, and the waters churned with a relentless hunger. Kemala threw everything she had into holding the forces back, gritting her teeth as she fought the escalation. But it wasn’t just a battle with the natural world anymore—this was will against will. Hers against his. And the storm bringer was winning.
When the boat overturned, the scene unfolded in a horrible instant. Kemala’s sharp eyes caught the sight of a girl tumbling into the water, her arms flailing before the icy waves swallowed her whole. Her chest tightened in anger, and her frustration boiled over. He did this. The storm bringer’s recklessness had pushed everything too far. Kemala’s glare shot toward him, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction as his expression faltered.
Still, she focused on the towering wall of water that rose like a monstrous tidal wave, ready to crash down and obliterate them all. Summoning all of her strength, she redirected her efforts, forcing the water to hold its place. Her power pushed against his, barely keeping the deluge at bay. Cold seeped into her bones. She was drenched, exhausted, and shaking from the strain.
And now there was an injured girl to deal with.
When the waters finally calmed and the winds died down, Kemala was trembling—not just with fatigue, but with fury. She shot Sören a glare, one that spoke volumes, assuming he was not innocent in all this. She didn’t need words to convey her thoughts: This is your fault. All of it. For now, though, she swallowed her anger. There was no time for it. She had no choice but to follow the others toward whatever shelter they could find.
The hostel was too far, and the roads were clogged with storm debris. Eventually, they came across a small inn. The storm’s fury had left its mark here as well—shingles were scattered across the ground, and part of the roof sagged dangerously. A worker stood outside, inspecting the damage when they approached.
“We need a room. Right now!” Kemala shouted up at him. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the muffled drizzle of leftover rain. The man didn’t respond beyond a lazy wave of his hand, clearly indifferent to their plight. Kemala didn’t wait for an invitation. She stormed ahead, shoving the door open and searching until she found an empty room. It was small, damp, and smelled faintly of mildew, but it would do.
“This will work,” she called back to the boys. “Get in here.”
When they entered, she was already in action. “Put her on the bed,” she commanded, nodding to the injured girl in their arms. Her voice brooked no argument. “I need to get her dry. If one of you two fool-headed men has any sense, you’ll start that fire. Then get out. Decency, remember?”
Neither of them moved quickly enough for her liking. “Go!” she snapped, her glare like daggers. “And when you’re done playing with matches, find a doctor. She could have water in her lungs, and I’m no miracle worker.”
The storm had dissipated, but Kemala’s frustration had not. She fixed both men with a look that could have stopped the storm itself. “And no more temper tantrums from either of you along the way,” she warned. “We don’t have time for egos.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention to the girl on the bed, peeling away the drenched layers of fabric and replacing anger with determination. If no one else was going to do the right thing, Kemala would.