The Name Of The Wind By Patrick Rothfuss の小説・ストーリー

She could feel the worms wriggling in her heart, the squirming of the worms made her stomach queasy. However, her attention was suddenly diverted as a gust of cold wind swept across her face, and blew her long hair. The gust of wind carried voices whispering in her ear, not the whispers of the surrounding leaves, but other whispers that she could understand. Leah looked left and right, it seemed that no one felt the gust of wind and whispers except for her. Even Mia and Grace who were standing so close to her didn't feel what she felt. The whisper called her name, she was sure. Not the sound of the wind, or the voices in her head, someone called her name

“It’s over, Khalid, your men are dead. Hand the kid over.” Slater’s voice came over the comms. “Wind is screwing with accuracy. No shot.” “Get out of my way or the boy is dead!” “You’d kill your own son?” Max shouted over the wind. “If I have to, he’ll be a casualty of war, and I will be in Jannah.” Max doubted the terrorist would grace the pearly gates in any realm after the atrocities he’d caused. “Murdering your child won’t get you there.” The fucker wouldn’t stop moving, and sand whipped at open skin. Gabe squeezed his eyes shut against the blustery assault and started to cry.

The silver sliver of moonlight streaming through the window seemed to taunt me with its calm beauty, so at odds with the storm brewing within my mind. "Elara Windrider," I whispered, the name carrying both hope and dread. My fingers trailed over the spines of aged leather-bound books that lined the shelves, filled with lore and secrets of our kind-knowledge that may soon prove vital, should Elara choose to grace us with her presence.

Intrigued, I gently pulled the book from its resting spot and dusted off its faded cover. As I opened the book, a faint scent of old parchment mingled with the musty air, creating an atmosphere that spoke of forgotten wisdom. The pages were yellowed and brittle, telling tales of countless hands that had turned them before mine. I began to read. “The Winds of Change,” it began, “are the invisible forces that shape our destinies. They whisper in our ears when we least expect it, urging us to question, to explore, and to forge our paths. When tradition meets resistance, the Winds of Change stir, seeking brave souls who will challenge the existing state of affairs.”

The page she’s opened to has a title scrawled in ink that glimmers with remnants of ancient wards: THE WHISPER WAR: A Forgotten History of Windborne's Fall. My chest tightens. The name Windborne has been appearing too often lately—in whispers, in scrolls, in dreams and Elen is literally one too. I begin to read aloud. "The Whisper War was the final and most devastating battle in the Age of Splintering. A sentient force, born from the Veil’s deepest tear, rose through the winds, infecting magic-users with madness and despair..." I pause. The ink ripples like it’s alive. I blink and it stills.

The phrase echoed deep inside me, striking a place I thought long dead. I looked at them—these wolves who had been cast aside, hunted, broken, forgotten. Every scar, every hollow stare, was a story of survival. The air seemed to stir, whispering faintly through the trees. It wasn’t divine. It was older than gods. "Duskwind." The word slipped from my tongue before I could think. Cassian frowned. "What?" "Duskwind," I repeated, louder. "The wind that carries dusk into night. The last breath before darkness, and the first before dawn. That’s what we are."

"I found the same bread at the Wind Catcher's altar just when I arrived." Flashback of himself running his life out to reach the forest before lunchtime to offer his baked goods to the Wind Catcher's altar crossed his mind. The Wind Catcher, as the myths say, is the protector of the forests and its inhabitant. She was said to be of the Fairy race and is chosen by the Gods to execute the said duty. Believing she could be a Fairy who lives among the forest creatures, he thought doing such deed would let him see her once more.

Although it has the name 'spirit crystal,' it didn't object shaped like a piece of crystal. For example, Wind Spirit Crystal, Vitruj, belonging to Weather Goddes, Alina, Having a form of robes worn by wanderers in the desert. This heirloom has the power to control the wind and weather. What an incredible power, I thought. Another heirloom had different effects on each other. Suddenly my eyes fixed on one spot on the page.

" I looked around and realised that the winds blowing made all the leaves surround me in a circular manner Like they were engulfing me to soothe me The water in the lake looked a lot more blue Like blue lights were being emitted by the water The old man passed me a reassuring smile "She is here son watching you....telling you she is here with you...." I found an unknown courage inside me and got up on my feet "Don't worry Ezra your mate is coming ....you can't die unless your wolf defeats me.....the thunder wolf may have power of thunder but I have power of love.."

Power will change, Revenge will change But the only thing that will not change will be . . . The Resurrection of the Thunder wolf. Next book titled : Thunder wolf ( book 2)