Days passed, uneventfully on the surface. Arkin attended his classes, took notes, and nodded at the right moments. But something beneath his calm routine shifted. The book—Stormbound: A Chronicle of Lightning and Ash—never left his side. It slid into his bag each morning before he even realized he was reaching for it, and sat beside him in lecture halls like a quiet observer.
Theo and Alissa noticed, of course. The way his answers in study sessions became more distracted. How his eyes glazed over during group meetings, as if his mind were halfway across a starless ocean.
"Dude," Theo muttered during one such session, "if you bring that pirate bible out during class one more time…"
Arkin smirked, but didn't respond. Even Alissa, who normally teased him about everything, stopped joking when she saw how tightly he gripped the book's spine.
______
Then, without explanation, Arkin messaged their group chat on a cloudy Wednesday morning:
Arkin: Taking the day off. Don't wait up.
Theo: ??? Bro, we've got class today
Alissa: You good?
He didn't respond further. His phone buzzed a few more times, but he ignored it. The pull had become too strong.
______
He walked for nearly an hour, navigating city streets like a ghost, until concrete gave way to sand. The beach was mostly empty, the gray sky casting long, silver reflections across the tide. A few tourists and joggers lingered, but even they seemed muted—half-faded sketches in the background.
He sat down on a jagged rock near the shore, the kind slick with moss and time, and let the waves speak. The sea was turbulent. Not violent, but unsettled. As though it too sensed something unraveling.
Arkin opened the book.
Rain hadn't started yet, but the clouds hung low, swollen with weight. The salt-heavy wind tousled his hair as he flipped through the final chapters.
Kael was alone now, lightning-wreathed and staggering through the aftermath of battle. His crew—gone. His ship—adrift. His eyes—scanning the horizon for something even he couldn't name.
It's ending, Arkin thought, fingers trembling on the page.
He could feel something buzzing at the edge of his consciousness. The same hum that had followed him for days was now louder—like a pressure in his chest.
His phone buzzed again. It wasn't Theo or Alissa.
It was his mom.
He hesitated. Then answered.
"Hey," he said, trying to steady his voice.
"Ark? You sound far away. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I'm at the beach—the one we used to go to when I was little."
A pause. "Are you alone? And don't you have classes?"
"Yeah. I'm taking a break today, Mom."
Another silence. "You know you can come home for the weekend... we'll make curry, and Dad won't talk about politics."
"I will." A small smile tugged at his lips at the mention of his dad.
"By the way, your brother's coming back this weekend."
"Oh, then I'll be there before he leaves again." Arkin thought of his elder brother, currently overseas doing his postgrad in medicine.
"You better be. Otherwise, I'll come get you myself. You don't want your mom showing up at college in that old junkyard car, right?"
"No way. I'll be there on time—scratch that, I'll come back a day early."
"Good. I'll see you soon. Take care, Ark."
"You too, Mom."
He ended the call.
The wind was howling now.
Something was wrong. Not outside — inside him. This wasn't just a story. This wasn't just a book.
He knew something was wrong, he didn't even get this obsessed while reading his favourite novel about a certain Love Venerable.
He flipped to the final page. There, beneath the last line, was a new sentence:
> Those who follow the storm do not return.
Arkin stared at it. Then the page flashed—brilliant, blinding.
A sound rose from the book, not roar, not whisper. A pull.
From beyond.
He gasped too late. The world blurred. His body seized, then stilled.
The book snapped shut.
Lightning cracked the sky and struck the sea.
When it cleared, the rock was empty. The book was gone. Arkin lay limp beside the shore. The tide swallowed his footprints.
That day, a family lost their beloved son.
That day, two friends lost someone they could never replace.
That day, a boy followed the storm—and was lost to it.