Cuốn Theo Chiều Gió Novels & Stories

Gemma let herself inhale deeply, savoring the moment, the delicate tension, the infinite possibilities. And somewhere, in the hum of the cicadas, the creak of the porch boards, and the gentle stir of the wind, Gemma whispered to her self, a quiet, reverent acknowledgment of what the night had become: “This is where the summer wind blows.”

Prudence was better counsel to follow. Abruptly, as it often did in the mountains, the wind shifted and with it came the smell of carrion and death suspended in the cold air. The odor washed over him refusing to cease. An ill-omened wind, he thought. Looking down from the gates in the direction from which the wind had come, he saw a coach approaching.

The wind had died completely, leaving behind an eerie, suffocating pressure that made every breath feel heavy. "The frequency is getting louder," Soren murmured, his voice a low, smooth cadence as they began their rapid ascent up the rocky crags toward the highest vantage point overlooking the eastern sea cliffs. He pulled a silver hunting horn from his belt, its surface carved with the ancient runes of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

' He asks calmly. Hmm, a different reaction, was I wrong perhaps, maybe I should dig deeper about this Lune guy. "Oh, isn't that your name. Am I wrong." At that moment, I could feel a gently breeze blow through my skin, I could tell this wind was his doing, considering the circumstances, my hair is swept by the wind, and moving according to the direction of the wind blowing, did what I say, have that much impact on him.

I didn't reply to the message from my girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher. My eyes were locked on the photo. I knew that car-interior decoration all too well. It was the gift I had given Sienna after her promotion. In the passenger-side glove compartment hung the lucky charm I had personally gotten for her. I tapped the unfamiliar account's profile and opened its playlist. The pinned playlist was titled "Belated Love". The description read, "You're the joy I waited for and the only one I'll ever need for the rest of my life."

CHAPTER 145: THE WHISPER WAR RHEA'S POV: SONG OF THE CHAPTER: "CONTROL" BY HALSEY ~~~ The wind is no longer my friend. I used to feel comfort in its caress, like a warm hand brushing through my curls, tugging playfully at my coat as I wandered through Warrenvale’s enchanted fields. But today, it howls. Low, hollow and hungry. I’m walking alone through the western courtyard, where vines dangle lazily off the towers and fae magic makes the flowers hum lullabies, when I hear it again.

Only Robin, Kaze, and Hannah remained unfazed by the attack. “Amid the sweeping wind, the flute’s song echoes in the night. The desert sun descends for the crescent moon above. “To the sound of camel bells, I long for my home. I hold onto my sword, leaving letters where I lay my head.” The wind danced along the melody of General’s Order played by the harp, dropping the temperature down on the ninth floor. Robin’s clothes and hair fluttered against the wind, his face unreadable through it all. His eyes remained cold and distant.

He stood again and continued along the rise instead, skirting the edge of human presence without entering it. Late afternoon brought wind. Stronger this time, insistent, pulling at his clothes and hair. Arthur leaned into it slightly, letting it shape his movement rather than resisting. The wind did not care about direction. It moved because movement was what it did. He thought of how often he had mistaken resistance for strength.

The bulging muscles are tense as if rigid and still. The breeze slowly swirls around him in a fixed rhythm. He slightly turns his head to the right and the wind blows in that direction. Then he tilts to the left, taking the wind in the opposite route. A gentle whirlwind of wind starts to form in front of him, spinning like a small tornado but fixed to one place. He is about to multiply the intensity of the win when the familiar scent of cocoa comes his way. Suddenly, the wind stops and vanishes, leaving him there. Even though she is far away, he can still smell her.

Magnus held his broadsword, its blade etched with ancient runes meant to ward off dark magic. The wind picked up suddenly, howling through the trees like a ghostly wail. It tore through the forest with such force that the three of them had to brace themselves, the gust nearly knocking them off their feet. Leaves and debris swirled around them, creating a cyclone of movement that obscured their vision. The howling grew louder, almost deafening, until it felt like the forest itself was screaming in warning.