Oliver was still on the road when the storm hit.

The caravan quickly pulled to the side of the road as the wind started to kick up and the skies rapidly transitioned from gray to black. Hugo hustled towards the three young gifted in the last wagon while the rest of his staff went to work securing the other wagons for the incoming weather.

“It’s looking like a rough one!” the stout merchant called over the wind as he approached. “I don’t suppose any of you have a gift that might be able to help?”

Oliver and Rose shared a thoughtful look, and he knew the girl was thinking the same thing he was. At higher levels, their shared gift of wind might grant the sort of fine control Hugo was hoping for, the ability to produce a bubble of calm within the fierce winds already whipping up, but at Novice level, they could do little more than protect themselves from the savage gusts.

“No luck, Hugo,” Oliver called back. “We’re too low level for that.”

The man sighed. “Aye, I thought as much, but it never hurts to ask.” He turned to check on the other two wagons and his bustling employees. Harriet had already pulled two of the draft goats out of their hitches, her gift of the rancher keeping them calm as she staked them down and hobbled them so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves or run away during the furor of the storm. Meanwhile, Hugo’s two laborers were tossing ropes over the bonnets of the wagons, pounding deep stakes to tie them off, locking the wheels in place, and otherwise ensuring the wagons wouldn’t get damaged, while the two fledgling merchants covered and bound the supplies that could be damaged by the weather.

“You need anything to batten down with?” Hugo asked.

“We’re all set,” Beryl replied. The muscular girl was already moving around the wagon, using one of her earth abilities to produce thick stones from the ground and bracing the wheels and side of the wagon with them. The storm would need to get truly vicious to overwhelm their weight, but Hugo still seemed doubtful.

“I’ll send one of the boys over with some stakes and ropes. Can’t be too safe in weather like this.”

Once the wagon was as secured as it was likely to get, Oliver grabbed the attention of the two girls. In low tones, he warned, “I think we should be ready for a fight.”

“The cat?” Beryl asked.

“I spoke to Hugo yesterday. We’re just over a week out from the end of the Flax Road, and we still haven’t been attacked. But with a storm like this coming in, I think it might be forced to make a move.”

“Unless it has a den it can lay low in,” Rose pointed out.

Oliver shook his head. “If it’s been following us, waiting for its chance, then it’ll be far away from any den. Our wagons will be the best place it can hide during the storm.”

The area of the road they were passing through was thoroughly uninhabited. Steep hills, rocky soil, and tough trees made the ground too difficult to be worth settling, and they hadn’t seen a village in days.

“It’ll be fine,” Rose said, unconcerned.

“Is that so?”

“Of course. A storm like this means training for you and me.”

#

They got settled just in time for the sky to open up. One second, the horizon was an ominous black. The next, a flash of lightning and a booming peal of thunder heralded a downpour so heavy that it was nearly a solid wave. With it, the already gusting wind picked up to a proper gale. Inside the wagon, the rain struck the canvas sides of the bonnet with such force that Oliver began to doubt even the integrity of the magically-enhanced fabric. It made for a rhythmic cacophony, broken only by the occasional boom of more thunder.

Rose peeked out through a crack in the canvas, and nodded. “Okay, it’s really going now. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver asked for the fifth time since she had suggested using the storm for training.

“Of course. How else do you think we’re going to get experience for our gifts?”

Oliver frowned and muttered “gift of wind” under his breath.

[Gift of Wind]

Level: Novice

Experience: 12%

Push your limits to grow closer to the wind

His gift had barely grown since he first obtained it, even as he used it more and more often in training. Rose claimed that, in addition to pushing his abilities with the gift, Oliver needed to better experience and understand the nature of the wind, and that only came from very specific types of danger. Unfortunately, his own experiences bore that out. Leaping from a spire right after he had gained his gift had earned him more experience than nearly two months of constant training and combat.

“We have to go watch out for the cat either way, remember?” Rose reminded him.

“Okay, okay,” Oliver relented. “Let’s do this.”

“You two have fun with that.” Beryl had piled a few blankets and sacks into a rough cushion that she was reclining against, her eyes half-closed.

“Not gonna join us?” Oliver asked with a frown.

“Not a whole lot earth-y about a storm like this,” she pointed out.

“And if we need your help against the hexhunter?”

“Just give me a shout.”

Oliver gave the girl a flat look, as the storm outside raged all the harder. There was obviously no way she’d be able to hear them.

“It’s fine, Oli.” Rose rested a hand on his arm, as if he needed to calm down. “It can just be some time for the two of us.”

Oliver huffed. “Sure. Let’s go then.” He turned and pulled open one of the canvas flaps of the wagon, holding it open a moment longer than he perhaps needed to–and letting a bit of the rain splash Beryl.

The tall girl started and shot Oliver an enraged look, but he smirked and hurried out into the storm in time for the wind and rain to drown out her invectives. As quickly as he could, Oliver activated his Mantle of Wind.

[Mantle of Wind] - Active, Utility - Conjure a small cloak of swirling wind around yourself. Reduces fall speed. One minute duration. Minor quintessence cost.

The length of his traveling cloak swirled about him, and the savage force of the gale winds abruptly tapered off, directed around his body by the effect. Oliver briefly hoped that it would do the same for the pounding rain, but that ultimately proved futile. It felt like he was soaked to the bone in a single moment, and even with the protection both his wind and fabric cloaks offered against the worst of the elements, he was quickly freezing cold.

Rose moved to his side, her own clothes rustling briefly with her Mantle of Wind effect before they rapidly soaked through as much as his. She gave him a sour look, which Oliver took to be referring to his little spat with Beryl. He responded with a helpless shrug. Trying to converse at any volume short of shouting over the storm was pointless, and neither of them bothered. Instead, Oliver turned his attention to the storm raging all around them.

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It was a truly vicious summer squall. The sky was black overhead, lit in brief but frequent bursts by lightning, briefly displaying the intricate layers of the clouds before returning to sygiant darkness. The rain pounded straight down on them with enough force to make Oli’s knees buckle one second, then would suddenly get picked up and sent flying sideways by a random gust. On either side of the road, ephemeral streams were forming amongst the rocky hills, and the sparse trees and bushes waved wildly about, as if attempting to leap into the blowing winds.

This wasn’t the first great summer storm he had ever seen, but Oliver had always been tucked safely inside for the previous ones. It was the perfect weather to settle by the fireplace with a warm cup of tea and a good book. Never before had he set foot outside in a storm like this, and he was forced to acknowledge both the danger and beauty inherent to it. And contrary to what he had always thought, it wasn’t the rain that made the storm dangerous, nor even the flashing lightning and booming thunder overhead.

It was the wind. The wind that was shaking even the heavy, well-secured wagons side to side. The wind that turned the rain into an ever changing threat, that was attempting to uproot the surrounding plants, that blew the pitch-black clouds in vast inexorable patterns. In fact, Oliver reflected, the only thing constant about the wind was its ever-changing nature. Immutable mutability.

Suddenly, something twinged in the back of Oliver's head, like a sense he couldn’t quite place, and he took a sharp step to one side. Rose looked up, startled by the sudden motion–and then a full tree branch, leaves still waving wildly, blew through the space he had just been occupying. The full weight of the branch barely missed him, but even with his last second reaction, he was struck by some of the smaller off-shoots and leaves, staggering him for a moment. Of course, that was the moment his Mantle of Wind ran out, and Oliver suddenly found himself exposed to the full force of the storm.

The squire couldn’t catch his balance, his training and boons alike unable to compensate for the savage storm. Another gale carried more loose leaves with it, and Oliver flailed wildly, trying to get them out of his face even as the wind blew to the side, then backwards, then pushed him forwards, never letting him get his feet under him, until he slammed into the side of the wagon he shared with Beryl and Rose. Splitting pain shot down his arm and cut through the whirling confusion, allowing him a brief moment of crystalline focus, just enough time for him to activate his Mantle of Wind again.

Suddenly protected from the wind again, Oliver collapsed on the ground, and the agony hit him full force. He must’ve hit the wagon at a bad angle. His left arm wouldn’t move right, and sickening waves of pain washed out of it and through his body. It was like a savage cramp, but any attempt to move his arm to relax the muscle just brought more pain. By the time Rose joined him on the ground, amusement and worry mingling on her face, he had figured it out.

He had dislocated his shoulder.

Oliver didn't waste time or energy attempting to shout over the clamor of the storm. He pointed at his left shoulder with his good hand, miming a sudden popping motion, and Rose gave a sharp nod of understanding. She reached out gently, and even through his waterlogged clothes, the touch of her fingers was agony. He couldn’t help flinching–which only brought more pain. And still the rain fell and pushed and soaked, forcing a thousand tiny movements of his balance that Oliver had never noticed when they didn’t shatter his consciousness into slivers of pain.

A small warmth suddenly kindled in him, a tiny but significant comfort. Oliver forced his attention back to Rose, who was still squatting in front of him calmly, as if they weren’t in the middle of a raging storm, and to the soft green glow surrounding her hand. He recognized the steady nature of the glow as one of her more potent healing spells. It took longer to do its work, but would be more effective than just repeating one of her simpler spells on him over and over.

Oliver relaxed and focused on his Mantle, refreshing it periodically as it neared its end. Each time, he would poke Rose, who would nod and pause her healing for the moment she needed to do the same. Each time she stopped, the pain would return in full, but each time, it was also a little better, a little less painful. By the fifth time she paused, the dislocation felt more like a deep set bruise. But he let her keep going, and as he did, he looked his friend over.

When he first met Rose, he had thought she looked frail. She was a tiny girl, barely five feet tall, slender and petite. Combined with her remarkably fair complexion, Oliver had been reminded of a porcelain doll, beautiful but fragile. He regretted that now, as he looked at her, her bright red hair and simple clothes matted down by the driving rain. She was resilient, and strong. She wasn’t porcelain, she was marble, a sculpture made all the more beautiful by its combination of delicateness and solidity.

A small smile turned up his mouth at the thought–and then he saw a shape in the rain behind Rose.

The faint luminosity around the shape was the only reason he could make it out through the nearly opaque curtain of the falling rain. It was floating several feet in the air, a skull nearly the size of Oliver’s body, glowing a faint shade of dark blue. Even as he watched, it shot through the air towards them–and Rose, focused on her healing, still hadn’t noticed it.

“ROSE!” Oliver shouted, loudly enough to carry over the roar of the storm. His shoulder still twinged with the movement, but he forced his way up anyways, standing and pushing Rose to one side to stand in the way of the apparition, whatever it was. As he threw up a hand in a desperate warding gesture, he felt the tug of one of his vanguard abilities triggering.

[Reinforced Defense] - Triggered, Defense - When blocking an attack, your equipment is treated as one tier of potency higher. Each time this is triggered, there is a minor focus cost.

Even without a shield, Reinforced Defense passed its benefit onto the arming jacket Oliver was wearing beneath his traveling cloak. As the monster lashed out with a skeletal hand, there was a sudden flash of bright blue sparks, the potency increase apparently enough to fend off the attack, even if the lingering force of it sent Oliver staggering back a step.

The apparition was similarly repelled, and Oliver got his first good look at it. It was indeed some kind of massive, spectral skull, but it was definitely not human. The eye holes were too large, the jaw too low, and a pair of thick horns wound backwards from its brow. Below the main mass of the skull, a pair of hands floated in the air, just as skeletal and just as inhuman, four fingers and ending in gleaming, sharp claws.

Oliver sprung forwards even as he pulled out his sword, activating his special attack and sending a savage slash at the monster.

[Reckless Strike] - Active, Attack - Make a special attack with potency increased by two tiers. Major stamina cost.

The central shape of the skull bobbed upwards and backwards to escape the attack, but it was too slow for Oliver’s improved speed. His magically charged weapon cut effortlessly through the spirit being, leaving a ragged slash in the apparition's immaterial form.

The spirit rocked back and let out a horrible wail of pain at the attack, but it didn’t disintegrate the way he hoped–and he could already feel his arm twinging, the sudden motions too much for his barely healed shoulder. If he kept fighting, he could very well injure himself beyond Rose’s capacity for healing–but it didn’t appear he was going to have much choice. Oliver raised his sword to a ready position, refreshed his Mantle of Wind, and held his place, staring the being down, trying not to let the exhaustion of his Reckless Strike’s cost show on his face.

The apparition itself seemed confused despite the apparent inexpressive rigidity of its shape, bobbing in place and looking down at him. Oliver found a fighting grin forcing its way through his grimace of pain. The immaterial being likely wasn’t used to anyone successfully defending themselves against it, and Oliver proving that he could not only block its attacks, but harm it in return, had made it wary.

Oliver again felt warmth blossom across his chest, and turned slightly to see Rose standing behind him, one hand glowing softly. She must’ve known as well as he did that he was risking himself fighting the monster, and was doing what she could to strengthen his shoulder. He nodded a small thanks, and the moment of distraction nearly cost him his life.

The ghostly monster gave another keening wail, and suddenly dove forward. While the skull itself was sluggish, its hands clearly weren’t, and they darted forward ahead of the main body of the monster.

Rose reacted more quickly than he did, and the rain suddenly turned into a water funnel as she released the Gust Blast ability they both shared.

[Gust Blast] - Active, Attack - Manifest a gust of wind straight in front of you. Inflicts little direct damage, but can disorient or physically move enemies. Moderate quintessence cost.

Used properly, Gust Blast could send a heavily-armored enemy flying backwards, but as Oliver feared, the apparition was wholly unaffected, moving through the swirling winds as if they weren’t there. He lifted his sword in an awkward parry, and he felt his shoulder twinge from the motion, but his Reinforced Defense held up again and forced the first attacking hand backwards in another show of blue sparks. He pivoted wildly in an attempt to catch the second, but it was too close already, inside of his sword’s reach. Rather than strike his armored body, the disembodied hand flicked upwards at the last second and dragged its claws over his face.

Cold shot through Oliver. It was like a brain freeze combined with an icicle slicing his flesh, and for a moment, every muscle in his body locked up. He dropped to his knees in the mud with a groan of pain. He knew it wasn’t actual cold that effected him–that was just his mind’s attempt to understand the damage the spirit monster’s death-aspected magic had dealt to his soul.

Finally, it clicked. He knew what the apparition was. Its inhuman nature, its immunity to attacks that lacked their own potency, its clear intelligence–and the fact that, both times it had struck, it had been in response to Rose’s animism.

“IT’S AN UNDEAD!” he shouted to Rose, his voice scarcely audible over the raging storm. “HEAL IT!”

Rose blinked in surprise at the instructions, but she didn’t have time to doubt him. Without Oliver to block its way, the undead was now free to attack her, its clawed hands shooting forward. But before they could get close, the very air around Rose seemed to sparkle and glow. The undead recoiled with another wail of agony, and though the skeletal face couldn’t convey emotion, Oliver knew that it was frightened.

Again, Rose threw a hand forward, using her Gust Blast, and this time, the wind that she conjured glittered as if there were a thousand tiny gems mixed into it. The undead let out the same horrible shriek it had made when Oliver used his special attack–but this time, it couldn’t float away to escape further damage. Even as it tried, Rose corrected her aim, no doubt draining her quintessence in an effort to sustain the Gust Blast. It shrieked more and more loudly, but within moments, it could no longer maintain cohesion. The hands dissolved first, then its horns, and its jaw, as if it was being seared away from the outside.

Then, finally, it was gone.