The morning after the storm, the village of Cliffhaven awoke to a sky washed clean of thunder. The sun shimmered on the waves like scattered gold, and the air, though damp, carried a strange stillness—as if nature itself had paused to take a breath. But Myrene knew something had changed.
The stranger was gone.
Not a footprint remained on the muddy path outside her home. No name, no trace—only the faint scent of ozone and the ghost of his voice echoing in her memory. She didn't speak of him to anyone. The gods were not subjects lightly discussed, and the villagers already whispered that her gift for healing was unnatural.
Weeks passed, then months. Life in Cliffhaven moved on. Boats left each morning for the sea, and Myrene tended to the sick and wounded, though her own body grew weaker with each passing day. She knew the signs. She was not ill—she was with child.
And the child was not ordinary.
Her dreams were haunted by lightning and vast shadows. She heard whispers in the wind, strange tongues she didn't recognize. Her body glowed with warmth when storms approached, and animals watched her with knowing eyes. Even the old priest, blind and near death, told her in a low voice, "Your child does not belong to this world. Be careful, Myrene."
She gave birth on a moonless night, alone in her cottage, with thunder rumbling far in the distance like a forgotten lullaby. The labor was long and grueling, and as the final cry tore from her throat, a gust of wind burst through the windows, extinguishing every candle.
Then, silence—until the baby cried.
She looked upon her son for the first time, and her breath caught.
His eyes were not the blue of the sea nor the brown of the earth, but the silver of lightning in the heart of a storm. His hair, black and soft, clung to his forehead, and on his back was a faint birthmark shaped like a swirl of clouds and wind—a storm sigil.
She named him Kaelos, after an ancient word for silence before thunder.
And from that moment, she knew the gods would not ignore him forever.
Years passed. Kaelos grew fast and strong, with a calm intensity that unnerved the villagers. They kept their distance. Whispers returned—of unnatural storms when he cried, of birds falling silent when he walked by. Myrene sheltered him as best she could, hiding his powers, teaching him love, healing, and patience.
But Kaelos was curious. One night, at age seven, he asked, "Mama, where is my father?"
Myrene's heart cracked. She knelt beside him, brushing his wild hair from his face.
"He lives far away," she said gently. "In a place where clouds never sleep."
"Is he a god?" Kaelos asked.
Myrene froze.
"…Yes," she whispered.
The boy said nothing, only looked out the window as the wind stirred.
In the distance, clouds gathered.
And the first bolt of lightning struck the sea.