Alden pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders as the wind picks up, carrying with it the unmistakable charge of magic in the air. His dark eyes flick toward the storm in the north, watching the swirling clouds with growing unease. He suspects it has not just the natural fury of an oncoming tempest, but the raw, shifting energy that marks a true Border Storm. The magic in the air is erratic, like the currents of a river suddenly thrown into chaos, and that is never a good sign.
He glances at his companions. Cass is still admiring the wildflowers, speaking to them in that gentle, reverent way of hers, while Des walks ahead. Alden clenches his jaw. They need to move faster. If this storm is what he fears, the settlement’s walls may not be enough. A Border Storm changes things—it reshapes land, warps creatures, pulls things from one world into another. And if this one is strong enough, not even the strongest stone might keep them safe.
That’s when he sees movement ahead—a figure stepping onto the track from the woods. Alden instinctively tenses, one hand hovering near his weapon. But as the man draws closer, Alden relaxes slightly. A traveler, a warrior by the look of him, clad in chainmail and half-plate. He whistles as he walks, his sword at his hip and his pack heavy with supplies. He doesn’t seem hostile—if anything, he seems relieved to have found the road.
Still, there’s no time for pleasantries. Alden steps forward, raising a hand in greeting.
"Greetings traveler! You’re heading for the settlement, right?" he calls out, his voice urgent. "You should pick up the pace. That storm isn’t just wind and rain—it’s something worse. We need to find real shelter, underground if possible, before it hits."
His gaze flicks back toward the darkening sky, feeling the magic churn. He doesn’t know what might come with this storm, but he knows one thing for certain: they don’t want to be caught in it.
