The storm doesn't wait.It never does.As soon as I step forward, it crashes around me with a roar that shakes the air.Each hailstone hits like a fist,sharp, cold, relentless.I stumble, barely catching myself,and the shadows of the storm stretch toward me,tentacles of darkness that seem alive,hungry for fear, for hesitation.
Flame's voice echoes in my mind,"You are stronger than you know."I hold onto it like a lifeline.It's the only thing steady as the world bends and twists around me.The storm is more than ice and wind now;it's sound, it's memory, it's every fear I've ever hidden,folded into sharp, piercing shards that slice at my chest,leaving little cuts of panic and doubt that sting with every heartbeat.
I run, or at least I try.My legs move through the haze,and each step is a battle against the storm's pull.The floor beneath me shifts like waves,glass cracking under my weight,sending shivers up my spine.I feel the echoes of every misstep I've ever made,every word I've spoken I shouldn't have,every moment I didn't act when I should have.The storm remembers.It keeps score.And it doesn't forgive.
Then I see it -a figure at the center of the chaos,shimmering, half-formed,like a reflection in broken water.It's not Flame, not exactly,but it carries the same heat, the same resolve.The voice comes again, low and patient:"Face it. You cannot hide."
I push forward.Ice bites my arms and legs,but I don't stop.The air is a thousand knives pressing against my lungs,each breath a struggle,each inhale like swallowing fire and glass.Still I move, driven by something I can't name,something deeper than fear,something that keeps whispering:I will not break.
I step into the figure,and the storm bends around it, folding in on itself.The figure reaches for me,and for the first time, I feel warmth in the freezing chaos,a spark of something I thought was lost.I try to speak,but my voice dies before it leaves me.
Instead, the storm shows me:visions of worlds I've never seen,people I may never meet,lives I've touched and lives I've ignored.It is endless, overwhelming, crushing,and yet it feels… necessary.This is the storm's truth.It doesn't want to destroy me.It wants me to see,to understand,to grow.
I remember Flame again,her calm eyes cutting through the haze."The storm is inside you," she said,"and you must face it alone, even when I cannot be there."I nod, though no one can see.I understand now.This isn't about running, or hiding, or even surviving.It's about acceptance.
The hailestorm peaks.I am lifted, tossed, torn.Pain, fear, and memory collide into a single, endless wave,until I can't tell where I endand where the storm begins.And yet, somehow, I keep moving forward.Somehow, I don't fall.
Each step forward is a fight against the pull of the storm,against every doubt and fearthat screams I am not enough.I feel the storm whispering again,closer this time,inside my head, inside my chest:"You are the silence before the hailestorm…"
And I understand:this storm has been waiting for me,but not to destroy me.It waits to see if I will break,or if I will rise.
I open my eyes.The hailestorm rages around me,but I step into it anyway,ready to face whatever waits beyond the fractured skies.