Echoes In The Wind Novels & Stories

"We have come this far. We will confront whatever comes our way together. However, a chilly wind blew through the ruins as they entered the open air, and a voice in the distance murmured on the wind. “Your journey has only begun.”

I opened my mouth to continue pleading but that was as far as I got, for at that exact moment she raised her hands above her head and screamed at the top of her voice, cutting me short. For the briefest of moments,it seemed like time froze and everything went deadly still, but it was only for a few seconds, for no sooner did I notice this strange phenomenon than a great rustling wind came from goddess knows where and attacked everything; I fell flat on my face, Vimon fell to her knees, the trees began to sway like drunk dancers with its leaves and branches making whistling noises as the mighty wind tossed them back and forth. Out of this wind came the softest voice I had ever heard.

MEREK The air in the north tower was thin and smelled of old starlight. I stood by the stone window, my hands resting on the cold ledge. To a human, the wind sounds like whistling. To a wolf, it sounds like a howl. But to a spirit, the wind is a library. It carries the voices of everyone who has ever lived on this mountain. Tonight, the voices were loud. They were whispering names I hadn't thought of in a hundred years.

The night wind blew heavy, the trees swaying as if trying to hold on to their roots their last lifeline to the earth. Each gust roared like an angry spirit, and yet, they stood firm, gripping the soil as thunder cracked across the sky. "Wrecking Ball" played faintly in the background its echo carried by the wind through the thick forest as Riven's car sliced the darkness like a shadow on a mission. The music blended with the storm, a strange melody of heartbreak and violence.

The mountain wind howled across the high stone arches, carrying the crisp scent of pine and distant snow. Stopping at the edge of the vertigo-inducing drop, Maeve drew a deep breath. She closed her eyes, tilting her chin up toward the grey mountain clouds, and let out a low, melodic, and vibrating vocal hum. The sound didn't echo; it seemed to slice directly through the rushing wind, vibrating on a unique, magical frequency that belonged strictly to the old hearth arts. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, out of the thick mountain mists swirling above the western canyons, a silent, ghostly shape materialized.

My ears rang, and my head felt like it was about to burst. "Get out!" A woman rushed in, travel-worn and fierce. She pushed them aside and helped me up.

Stones cracked apart, roots tore free from the soil, and the incline ahead split wider, revealing a faint glow beneath. The earth was reacting to the presence of the Echo-Binder — or to the vault itself. Kael grabbed my hand. “We’re leaving. Now.” But the Echo-Binder raised one hand — a slow, fluid motion. And the storm hit. Wind exploded through the trees, violent enough to bend thick branches sideways. Leaves and dirt spiraled upward, stinging my cheeks and forcing me to squint. The pressure in the air doubled, then tripled, crushing against my ribs until breathing felt like work.

Like the woods were holding their breath. “Kai?” she called. No answer. Only the wind slipping through the trees. Snap. A branch cracked behind her. Lena froze. Slowly, she turned. Dark trees stared back at her. Empty. Then the Echo burned again. Stronger. Her heart began to pound. Footsteps. Heavy and careful. Not one. Several. Shapes moved between the trees, barely visible in the darkness. Closing in. Lena stepped back. The leaves crunched under her shoe.

Lira (POV) The storm has a voice—not a scream or a howl, but a low, steady gnashing that grinds against the cabin walls like teeth on bone. Wind worms through every crack in the timber, hissing secrets I’m too tired to translate. Inside, the air is thick and sharp, soaked with the scent of pine sap, old ash, and sweat—the kind that comes from restraint, not exhaustion.

~Eira The wind tore through the Hills of Trepidation, lifting the edges of my cloak, whispering warnings I no longer cared to heed. The horse beneath me shifted restlessly, her hooves crunching over brittle, frostbitten ground, but I didn’t stop riding. Not for the cold. Not for the ache in my bones. Not even for the sob locked in the back of my throat like a secret I refused to voice.