Chapter 1: Storm Warning
Altair liked the quiet moments on the farm, before the sun burned away the dew and before he knew the truth about himself.
That morning, Pa had spotted fox tracks near the chicken coop—small, precise prints in the soft mud. "Keep an eye out," he'd warned. "Foxes are crafty."
Altair scanned the treeline while he worked, his gaze drawn to the rustling leaves. Farm life had taught him vigilance. The sky was a clear blue, a few wisps of cloud drifting lazily over the hills. Perfect plowing weather, Pa would say.
Altair sighed, glancing toward the barn. Endless chores. The sooner he finished this field, the sooner he could rest.
The plow caught on something hard, and Altair furrowed his brow. He initially thought of the fox. Maybe it had dragged something into the field overnight. Altair knelt to dig it out, fingers brushing smooth metal. Pulling back the dirt, he uncovered it: a golden band, curved and thin, like the handle of a broken tool. Except it gleamed as if it had been forged yesterday.
It wasn't a tool. It was a small slingshot, flawless and warm. "Doesn't belong here," he muttered, hefting it. It was light, the smooth gold gleaming against the dark earth. He tested it, pulling back the band a little too hard. It snapped back with a sharp twang.
"Not much use without ammo," he said, inspecting it before stuffing it into the pocket of his overalls.
He continued working, occasionally glancing toward the woods. Twice more he thought he saw movement—a flash of red fur, a rustling in the underbrush. But each time, nothing was there.
The chickens squawked and fluttered against the coop walls, their beady eyes darting nervously. The lead hen kept looking toward the far field.
"Weird," he muttered.
Altair rolled his shoulders and was about to push the plow forward when a sudden chill swept over him. He looked up and blinked. The clear sky was gone, swallowed by a wall of dark gray clouds rolling in faster than he thought possible.
"Storm's coming," he muttered to himself, abandoning the plow and jogging toward the farmhouse. But something about the clouds unsettled him. They didn't just look dark—they churned, writhing like smoke trapped in a jar. And they weren't moving across the sky—they were falling, spiraling downward as though they were being pulled toward something.
A low rumble of thunder shook the ground, and Altair stumbled. His heart raced as a sharp gust of wind howled through the fields, bending the stalks of wheat nearly flat.
The first gust of wind nearly knocked Altair off his feet, but it was the second one that sent him running. "Pa!" he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth as he sprinted toward the barn. "Storm's coming in fast!"
His father emerged from the chicken coop, a crooked cane in one hand and a wire basket in the other. "I see it, boy," the old man called back, his voice steady despite the growing howl of the wind. "You focus on the barn. I'll handle the hens."
Altair hesitated, watching his father shuffle toward the coop door. The man had spent his whole life on this farm, and he'd weathered more storms than Altair could count. But the sight of him now—frail and stooped, his face lined with age—sent a wave of unease through Altair's chest.
"Be careful, alright?" Altair said, before turning toward the barn.
The wind hit like a hammer, and Altair barely had time to secure the barn doors before it kicked up again, rattling the wood on its hinges. Inside, the horses whinnied, stomping nervously as the storm grew louder.
"It's alright," Altair said, his voice low and steady as he approached the nearest stall. He ran a hand down the neck of the bay mare, her coat slick with sweat. "Just a little noise. Nothing to be afraid of."
He didn't know if the horses believed him, but the words calmed his own nerves. He checked each stall, making sure the latches were tight, before hurrying back toward the goat pen. The smaller animals were already huddled together, their cries sharp and frantic.
A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a thunderclap so loud it made the barn shudder. Altair flinched but didn't move until he was sure every latch was secure. Then he sprinted outside, his boots slipping on the wet grass.
"Pa!" he called, his voice nearly drowned by the wind. "Where are you?"
The old man's voice came from the chicken coop, faint but clear. "Here, boy! Help me with these hens!"
Altair skidded to a stop outside the coop, his chest tight as he spotted Jeb, his father, inside. The man was bent over the nesting boxes, his thin frame swaying as the wind tore at the walls.
"You should be inside!" Altair shouted, grabbing the door and pulling it open.
"And leave my girls out here to fend for themselves?" Pa shot back, tossing a squawking hen into a wire basket. "Not a chance!"
Altair stepped inside, his head ducked against the wind. "I'll get the rest. You go!"
Pa hesitated, his face lined with stubbornness, but Altair didn't wait for him to argue. He moved quickly, scooping up the remaining chickens and herding them into the basket. "Go!" he said again, his voice firm.
The old man gave him a sharp look but nodded, shuffling toward the house as Altair finished with the hens. By the time he slammed the coop door shut and followed, the rain was coming down in sheets, cold and stinging against his skin.
Inside, Pa was already by the fire, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. "You didn't have to do all that," he said as Altair slumped into a chair.
Altair glanced up, his breath still coming hard. "And you didn't have to be out there in the first place."
Pa chuckled. "Fair enough, boy. Fair enough."
The wind howled, shaking the windows. Altair's mind was on the animals, their restless sounds echoing in his ears. He stared into the fire, feeling that same itch he always did when something didn't sit right.
The rain lashed against the windows like it was trying to get in, and the wind howled through the cracks in the old farmhouse, shaking the walls with every fierce gust.
Lightning lit up the room in sharp bursts, each flash followed by deafening thunder. Altair flinched as a particularly loud crack split the air. From outside came the unmistakable sound of a tree snapping in two and crashing to the ground.
Pa cursed under his breath, setting his mug down with a thud. "That was close. If it took the old oak, there'll be work come morning."
Altair didn't respond. His heart was racing, his senses prickling. He swore he could hear faint noises cutting through the wind, just at the edge of perception. A howl, long and low, sent a chill down his spine.
"Did you hear that?" Altair asked, sitting upright.
Pa paused, tilting his head toward the window. "The wind, boy. Nothing more."
Altair rose from his chair and moved to the window, peering out into the storm. The farm was barely visible through the downpour, but his eyes caught movement—something darting just beyond the tree line. His stomach tightened. The horses in the barn whinnied, their nervous cries audible even over the storm.
"I don't like this," Altair murmured, his hands gripping the windowsill. "Something's out there."
"Something's always out there," Pa replied, his tone gruff. "Foxes, coyotes, maybe wolves, if we're unlucky."
"This isn't wolves." Altair's voice was barely above a whisper.
Another flash of lightning lit up the yard, and Altair's heart nearly stopped. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw something standing outside the barn—too large for any local predator.
Then came the knock. Sharp and insistent.
"Who the hell's out in this weather?" Pa muttered, already grabbing his cane.
The knock came again, louder this time, accompanied by the muffled voice of a man. "Hello? Please, I need shelter!"
Altair and Pa exchanged a wary glance. The storm made it impossible to see who was at the door, but the voice sounded desperate.
"Stay here," Pa said, moving toward the door.
Pa opened the door just enough to see a figure standing on the porch, drenched and hunched against the wind. The man's clothes were strange—layers of roughspun cloth and leather. His face was pale, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.
"I'm sorry to bother you," the man said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of urgency. "The storm… I just need a place to wait it out."
Pa grunted, pulling the door open wider. "Come in before the wind carries you off."
The stranger stepped inside, water pooling at his feet. He gave a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then his gaze flicked past Pa, locking onto Altair. It lingered a moment too long.
"Thank you," the man said, "You've no idea how far I've traveled."