The world beyond Mirana was vast and quiet.The hills rolled endlessly into mist, and the wind spoke in whispers through the grass. Amara had never traveled farther than the village fields, yet she walked beside Lori without hesitation, her faith the only compass she needed.
Days stretched into weeks. They crossed rivers, slept beneath trees, and followed the stars when the road disappeared. Lori rarely spoke unless necessary. He seemed to listen — to the earth, to the wind, to something far beyond her understanding.
At night, when Amara grew cold, he would hold out his hand, and warmth would spread around their small campfire even without wood. When her feet bled from walking, he would touch the ground, and the path ahead would soften beneath her.
"These things you do," she asked one evening, her voice low against the crackle of firelight, "where do they come from?"
Lori looked into the flames. "From the same place as breath and thought," he said. "From the light that is in all of us."
"But not everyone can summon fire from nothing," she said gently.
"Not everyone listens," he answered.
One morning, they reached a valley that smelled faintly of dust and sorrow. A small settlement lay at its heart — Hollow Wind, a village once green but now dry and cracked like old parchment. The people moved slowly, their faces gray with hunger.
A child, thin as reeds, watched them from a doorway. "Are you wanderers?" she asked.
Amara smiled kindly. "Travelers, yes. We seek rest and water."
The child hesitated. "There's little of either here."
Inside the village, Lori learned that the stream that once fed Hollow Wind had vanished after a long drought. Wells had dried. The crops had withered. People had begun leaving in search of better land.
That evening, the village gathered to meet the strangers.A weary man named Ranen, the headman, said, "We prayed for rain, but none came. If you bring hope, you are welcome. If not… forgive us, but hope has cost us too much already."
Lori's voice was calm. "Hope is never lost. It only hides when hearts grow heavy."
The people murmured. They had heard such words before — from priests, travelers, and liars alike.
Still, Lori walked toward the dry riverbed that night. Amara followed, holding a lantern that barely flickered in the wind. He knelt, placing both hands on the cracked earth.
"Why here?" Amara asked.
"Because the earth still remembers," Lori whispered.
For a moment, nothing happened. The air was still. Then, from somewhere deep below, a low hum began to rise — a sound like distant thunder, soft but growing. The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.
Amara gasped as a faint shimmer of light ran through the cracks. The hum turned to a rush, and water burst forth, clear and cold, spilling through the old river path.
The villagers came running. Children laughed, splashing in the new stream. Women cried with joy. Ranen fell to his knees. "The gods have returned to us!"
But Lori shook his head gently. "No gods — only the light that never left."
For the first time in weeks, Amara smiled freely. The glow from the water reflected in her eyes. "You've given them back their life."
Yet Lori's face was distant. "Every light leaves a shadow. Remember that."
In the days that followed, Hollow Wind flourished again. Crops were planted, wells refilled, and laughter returned to the air. Lori and Amara were honored as saviors, given food and shelter.
But Amara began to notice something strange. Each time Lori performed a miracle, his light grew dimmer — as if the glow that once radiated softly from his presence faded a little more.
One night, when the village slept, she found him sitting alone by the water, his reflection faint in the moonlight.
"You're weakening," she said quietly.
He smiled sadly. "Every gift asks for something in return. Mine takes what I do not need — until I have nothing left to give."
Amara's throat tightened. "And when that happens?"
"When the last of my light is gone, I will return to where it came from."
"No." Her voice trembled. "You can't just fade away. You're not meant to."
"I was never meant to stay," he said softly. "Only to remind the world that light still exists — even in darkness."
Tears burned in her eyes. "Then let me share it. Let me bear some of it with you."
Lori looked at her for a long time. "You already do, Amara. You carry light without even knowing it."
The wind stirred the water, breaking their reflections apart.
By dawn, they prepared to leave Hollow Wind. The villagers begged them to stay, but Lori refused gently. "There are others who still walk in shadow," he said.
As they left, the children followed them to the edge of the valley, waving and shouting blessings. The sky glowed gold with sunrise, and for a moment, the world seemed at peace.
But far behind them, unseen, dark clouds were gathering again — not of rain, but of men. Elder Taren's messengers had reached neighboring lands, spreading word of "the false light" and his companion.
The hunt had begun.