Echoes of the Storm

 The weather had been restless for days, the skies over Black Hollow painted in shades of bruised purple and ash. Lightning forked across the heavens, yet no rain fell, no thunder roared. It was a storm without sound—a storm that carried whispers.

Elias Carter stood at the edge of the ruined bridge, staring at the swirling clouds above. He had seen storms before, but never one that seemed to watch him back. Clutched in his hand was a faded compass, its needle spinning wildly, pointing to nowhere and everywhere at once.

"You feel it, don’t you?"

He turned. Mira, the town’s only remaining scholar, stood behind him, a heavy scroll tucked beneath her arm. She had been studying the storm for weeks, searching the old texts for answers.

Elias nodded. "It’s not natural."

Mira handed him the scroll. "Because it isn’t. This storm—it’s the same one that swallowed Black Hollow a hundred years ago. And it’s back."

Elias unrolled the scroll, scanning the faded ink. It spoke of a storm that never truly left, a cycle that returned once a century, bringing something—someone—back with it.

A ghost of the past.

Mira pointed toward the abandoned lighthouse at the edge of town. "The last time this happened, the keeper went missing the night the storm arrived. No one ever found him."

Elias frowned. "And you think history is repeating itself?"

Mira’s gaze darkened. "I think the storm isn’t just a storm. I think it’s looking for something."

---

The lighthouse loomed over the cliffs, its glass shattered, its door hanging open like a gaping mouth. The moment Elias stepped inside, the whispers grew louder.

He and Mira moved carefully through the ruined structure, their lantern casting flickering shadows along the walls. Dust-covered portraits lined the stairwell, each depicting the lighthouse keepers of the past. Elias paused before the last one—a man with sharp eyes and an expression carved from stone.

Nathaniel Crane. The last keeper. The one who had vanished.

Mira traced the outline of the painting. "His journal was never found."

Elias’s grip on the compass tightened. "Then we find it."

They climbed higher, the air thickening with the scent of salt and something else—something ancient. At the top, they entered the lantern room. The great lens, long since broken, lay in pieces across the floor.

And in the center of it all, untouched by time, sat an old book.

Elias picked it up, wiping away the dust. The name etched into the cover made his blood run cold.

Nathaniel Crane.

He opened it, scanning the entries. They began mundane—weather reports, notes on the tides. But then, the writing shifted.

"The storm is speaking to me."

"It knows my name."

"It is not a storm at all."

Elias’s heart pounded. "He knew."

Mira leaned over his shoulder. "Knew what?"

A gust of wind howled through the broken glass, flipping the pages on its own. The final entry stopped them cold.

"I will go to the sea. It calls me back."

The lighthouse trembled. The storm outside coiled, the clouds churning faster.

Mira grabbed Elias’s arm. "We need to leave."

But Elias barely heard her. His eyes were drawn to something else—scratched into the floor beneath the fallen lens. A symbol he had seen before.

The same sigil on the old bridge.

The same sigil on his family’s crest.

His pulse thundered. "He wasn’t just a keeper."

Mira’s eyes widened. "Elias—"

Lightning struck the lighthouse.

The world exploded in white.