The wind was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elian stood in the middle of what used to be his home, his breath unsteady, his hands still trembling from the storm that had passed. The air no longer screamed, no longer warned, no longer spoke.
It just… watched.
Around him, Aerith had fallen.
Homes reduced to broken wood and scattered stone. The marketplace—once filled with laughter and voices—now lay in ruin, its colors replaced by gray ash and drifting smoke. The scent of burning lingered heavily, clinging to every breath he took.
"Elian…"
The voice didn't come from the wind.
It was real.
Human.
He turned quickly.
A man stood a few steps away, his clothes torn, his face marked with soot and exhaustion. It was Daren—the blacksmith.
"You're alive…" Daren said, almost in disbelief.
Elian nodded slowly. "I… I think so."
Daren looked around, his expression tightening. "Your mother… have you seen her?"
The question hit like a blade.
Elian shook his head.
"No."
They searched.
Through broken houses.
Through fallen beams.
Through the scattered remains of everything that once felt safe.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
"Elian," Daren called, his voice low. "You don't have to look alone."
But Elian kept moving.
He had to find her.
He had to.
"Mom!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Mom, where are you?!"
Only silence answered.
Even the wind said nothing.
Time blurred.
Minutes felt like hours.
Hope slowly began to fade into something colder.
Something heavier.
"Elian…"
Daren's voice again.
But this time—it was different.
Careful.
Hesitant.
Elian turned.
And everything stopped.
There, beneath the remains of a collapsed wall… was a familiar piece of cloth.
The color.
The pattern.
He knew it.
"No…" he whispered.
His legs felt weak as he walked forward, each step slower than the last.
"Don't—" Daren started, but he couldn't finish.
Elian dropped to his knees.
His hands shaking as he pulled away the debris.
Piece by piece.
Stone by stone.
Until—
He saw her.
"Mom…"
His voice broke.
She wasn't moving.
Her eyes were closed, her face still, as if she had simply fallen asleep beneath the ruins of the world that had taken her.
Elian froze.
His mind refused to accept it.
"No… no, you're just— you're just resting…" he said, his voice trembling. "You have to wake up…"
He reached out, gently shaking her shoulder.
"Please…"
Nothing.
The world felt distant.
Muted.
Like everything had been pulled away from him.
Even the wind.
Daren stepped closer but said nothing.
There were no words for this.
Elian lowered his head.
Tears fell silently, disappearing into the ash below.
"I couldn't protect you…" he whispered.
His hands clenched.
"I couldn't do anything…"
For a long moment—
There was only silence.
Then—
A faint breeze.
Soft.
Careful.
"Elian…"
The wind had returned.
But it felt… different.
Not distant.
Not powerful.
But gentle.
Almost like it was grieving too.
"I don't want this…" Elian said weakly. "Take it back…"
"We cannot."
"Then why give it to me?!" he shouted, anger breaking through his sorrow.
The wind circled him slowly.
"This was never a gift."
Elian looked up, his eyes filled with pain.
"Then what is it?"
The wind paused.
"A responsibility."
Those words stayed.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Elian looked back at his mother.
Then slowly… he stood.
His legs trembled, but he didn't fall.
Not this time.
"What do I do now?" he asked quietly.
The wind answered without hesitation.
"Move forward."
Elian took a deep breath.
The air still carried ash.
Still carried loss.
But beneath it—
There was something else.
Something calling him beyond the ruins.
He turned away.
Not because he wanted to—
But because he had to.
Behind him, Aerith remained.
Broken.
Silent.
Gone.
Ahead of him—
The wind began to move once more.