In The Wind Book Novels & Stories

PS: The main story has ended in the last chapter. The next ten chapters are just bonus chapters to keep you interested, thanks! ~RIYA The wind changed the moment we crossed into Inadu. It wasn’t just colder—it felt alive, like it remembered things long buried and was whispering warnings we couldn’t yet understand. Twisted trees lined the boundary, their branches arching like claws. The land was still scorched in places, remnants of the great fire war between wolves and witches from centuries ago.

The hints from the fragments would never be wrong, which meant that Wendis definitely had a road facing the sea. Just as Wilbur was riddled with confusion, a gust of wind blew in from the windows and flipped through the pages of the library. They let out a series of swishing sounds before stopping on a record of a mirage.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Zeke turned to find Merlin on her knees, her head thrown back and her arms open wide, just as an icy blast of wind howled through the library, ripping books from the shelves and scattering them across the walls and floor. The bookshelves teetered precariously under the force of the wind, only barely remaining upright while the lights flickered, almost going off completely.

I nodded at him, like it was our final farewell. “Mommy, does that man know you?” She looked back curiously after we had walked a bit further. “I’ve met him before. I don’t know him well, though,” I answered gently. “Why is he crying?” I did not look back. The sunset shone on the street. Our shadows were stretched. “Maybe...” I smiled and tucked the little teddy bear into my daughter’s arms. “Maybe the wind was too strong. It just blew something into his eyes.”

Morning in Dawson’s house has learned how to be gentle, but it still walks on tiptoe. The sun comes through the blinds in thin pale strips and lands across the bed like quiet warnings. Dawson wakes with a careful inhale, like his ribs are a door he has to open slowly so the hinges don’t scream. He doesn’t complain, not out loud. He just goes still for a second and lets pain pass through him the way he was taught to let weather pass: by refusing to fight the sky.

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 first true winter storm arrived with a roar, hurling rain against the windows and turning the Tidewater Trail into a wind-lashed no-man's land. Inside, the world felt small, safe, and deeply ours. A fire crackled in the hearth, Hank's painting glowed in its light, and Eleanor's paperweight sat solidly on the desk, holding down the first batch of congratulatory cards for my book.

The breeze eddied in front of her face. It did not caress. It did not slap. It just hovered, cool and implacable. “We carry news,” the wind said. “Not choices. But we’ve watched you, storm-wolf. Since the first night you screamed at the sky. Since you walked out alone instead of folding in.” Snow swirled around her in small, tight spirals, not enough to blind, enough to wrap her in a moving veil. “We saw you call cloud and crack earth,” it went on. “We saw you *turn back.* We saw you *heal.*”

It wants to push me off the edge. I stayed there, shivering and exposed, letting the wind scour me. I let its fury wash over me, the noise, the pain, the cold. And as I stopped fighting it, a different thought occurred to me. The wind wasn't supposed to be an angry beast. It was the life-breath of the world. It was the movement of everything. It carried the scent of rain, the warmth of the sun, the quiet rustle of leaves in a peaceful forest. This was not the wind; this was a broken wind. This island wasn't pure; it was a place of elemental imprisonment, holding the chaotic essence of the element.

The wind was fierce and unyielding, but they pressed on, knowing the importance of their mission. Standing on the edge of the cliff, Luna raised her arms, calling out to the spirits of the wind. She felt the air swirl around her, lifting her hair and filling her lungs with its invigorating presence. With a chant, she captured a portion of the wind's essence in a crystal vial, which glowed with a vibrant green light. --- The final element, fire, awaited them in the heart of a dormant volcano. This was the most dangerous part of their quest, but they faced it with unwavering courage.