The Breath of Change: Śri and the Wind Element-Ch. 1.2

We began to move—Drakos leading, his glowing fur casting faint patterns across the snow as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The mountains around us seemed larger now, the peaks towering like silent sentinels watching our every step. I stumbled more than once, my boots slipping on the uneven terrain, but Drakos stayed close, his steady presence keeping me grounded.

“Where are we even going?” I asked, my voice edged with frustration.

“To the Master,” he said simply.

I froze. “The Master? What does she have to do with this?”

Drakos turned to me, his gaze steady. “She has been preparing for this longer than either of us. She will help you understand what lies ahead.”

Something about his tone made me uneasy. “And what if I don’t want to understand?” I asked, crossing my arms. “What if I just want to go back to how things were?”

Drakos’s expression softened, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made my chest ache. “You can’t,” he said gently. “The world has changed, Śrī-verā. And so have you.”

By the time we reached the Master’s location since we parted during the avalanche—a small cave perched precariously on a cliffside—the stars had begun to appear, their light faint against the lingering glow of the horizon. The wind had picked up, biting at my exposed skin and carrying with it a faint, almost musical hum.

Drakos nudged the entrance with his snout, his movements as graceful as ever despite his newfound size. Inside, the warmth was immediate, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something faintly metallic.

The Master was waiting for us, her form silhouetted against the firelight.

She was older than I remembered—not that it could have happened in the past few hours, her silver hair tied back in a loose braid, but her eyes were as sharp as ever.

“You’ve brought her,” she said, her voice low and measured. It wasn’t a question.

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Drakos inclined his head. “She is ready.”

I bristled at his words. “Ready for what?” I demanded, stepping forward. “I don’t even know what’s happening!”

The Master’s gaze shifted to me, her expression unreadable. “Patience, child,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “All will be revealed in time.”

The hours that followed were a blur. The Master spoke in riddles, her words weaving a tapestry of history and prophecy that I struggled to keep up with. She spoke of the Cosmic Path, of the Senders and the Vehicles, of a world teetering on the edge of transformation. And she spoke of me—of a girl plucked from obscurity, thrust into a role she neither wanted nor understood.

“You are not here by chance, Śrī-verā,” the Master said, her eyes piercing.

“The forces that called to you are ancient and deliberate. They see something in you that you have yet to see in yourself.”

I shook my head, my hands clenched into fists. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No one ever does,” the Master replied. “But the path is not chosen by those who walk it. It is simply… revealed.”

As the fire burned low, the Master turned her attention to Drakos. “And you,” she said, her tone softening. “You have taken the first steps toward your true purpose. But there is still much for you to learn.”

Drakos lowered his head, his expression one of quiet humility. “I will do whatever is required,” he said simply.

The Master smiled faintly. “That remains to be seen.”

I watched their exchange, a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. They spoke as if the world rested on their shoulders—as if the fate of everything depended on them. On us. And for the first time, I felt the weight of it all pressing down on me, threatening to crush me.

When the Master finally dismissed us for her Chants of Escaping-Living-and-Dying Practice, the night was deep and still.

Drakos led me to a small alcove carved into the cliffside, where the stars seemed impossibly close, their light bright and unwavering.

I sat down, my back against the cold stone, and let out a shaky breath.

“Do you think she’s right?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “About me? About all of this?”

Drakos settled beside me, his fur brushing against my arm. “I think the path is rarely clear at the beginning,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth walking.”

I stared up at the stars, their light blurring as tears filled my eyes. “I’m scared,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Drakos turned his head, his amber eyes meeting mine. “Fear is a part of the journey,” he said gently. “It is what drives us to grow. To become more than we are.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “But what if I fail?”

Drakos’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then you will learn,” he said simply. “And you will try again.”

As the night deepened, I found myself leaning against Drakos, his warmth a small comfort against the chill of the mountain air. The stars seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic energy, as if they were alive and watching us. I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the night wash over me—the wind, the distant crackle of the fire, the steady rhythm of Drakos’s breathing.

For the first time since the avalanche, I felt a sliver of peace. It was fragile and fleeting, but it was enough. Enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone. That, no matter what lay ahead, we would face it together.

And for now, that was all I needed.