Chapter 37: The Stormcaller's Warning

The Tempest Spire loomed like a jagged fang against the storm-choked sky, lightning dancing around its peak like drunken fireflies with a vendetta. It was said that the Stormcaller had lived there for centuries, sustained by prophecy, thunder, and an unreasonable amount of tea.

I stood at the base of the tower, staring up at the endless spiral of stone and static. Behind me, the rest of the Watch argued over who had to carry the goat.

“I carried it last time,” Thess grumbled, adjusting her sword belt. “It bit me. Twice.”

“It’s a sacred goat,” Lira said, stroking the creature’s wiry fur. “It senses evil.”

“It senses snacks,” Milo muttered. “It tried to eat my boots.”

The goat bleated ominously, eyes wild, and launched itself at Zeke’s satchel.

“See?” Zeke yelped, dodging. “It’s possessed!”

“Maybe it’s just misunderstood,” Talon offered, petting the goat’s head. The goat promptly headbutted him into a puddle.

Narrin, ever the optimist, tried to wrangle the goat with a rope made of enchanted vines. The goat chewed through it with the efficiency of a bureaucrat denying a permit.

Yuel, meanwhile, was locked in a staring contest with a duck that had followed them from the last village. The duck hissed.

“Why is it still here?” Kael asked, backing away.

“It’s aggressive,” Yuel said solemnly. “It has unresolved trauma.”

Ellira, perched on a rock with her usual air of dry disdain, sipped from a flask. “We’re about to face the end of the world, and you’re all being outwitted by poultry.”

I sighed. “I’m going up alone.”

“You sure?” Thess asked. “You might need backup. Or a lightning rod.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, already climbing. “Just keep the goat from summoning anything.”

Inside the Tempest Spire, the air crackled with power. The walls hummed with ancient runes, and the scent of ozone was strong enough to curl eyebrows.

At the top, the Stormcaller waited.

She was older than time, or at least older than the tower’s plumbing. Her eyes were clouded like storm glass, her voice a rumble that made my bones vibrate.

“You rewrote fate,” the Stormcaller said, without preamble. “But fate rewrites back.”

I knelt. “I need to know what’s coming.”

The Stormcaller leaned forward and touched my forehead with a hand that felt like thunder wrapped in silk.

Visions poured in.

Armies of ash marching across broken lands. Skies torn open like paper. A figure cloaked in void, eyes like dying stars.

“The Voidborn rises,” the Stormcaller intoned. “He was sealed by prophecy. Now he is free.”

I staggered back, heart pounding. “How do we stop him?”

“You don’t,” the Stormcaller said, handing her a shard of obsidian. “You survive him.”

I stared at the shard. It pulsed with a cold light, like regret in physical form.

“Great,” I muttered. “That’s comforting.”

Back at the base of the Spire, chaos had escalated.

The goat had somehow climbed halfway up a tree and was screaming at the duck, who had stolen Zeke’s dagger and was brandishing it like a tiny feathery assassin.

“I think it’s challenging the goat to a duel,” Milo said, munching on a biscuit.

“Should we intervene?” Talon asked.

“No,” Ellira said. “Let nature take its course.”

I descended the tower, my face grim.

Thess saw her expression and immediately drew her sword. “Bad news?”

“The worst,” I said. “The Voidborn is coming.”

Everyone fell silent.

Even the goat paused mid-scream.

“Voidborn?” Kael asked. “As in... end-of-everything Voidborn?”

“Yes,” I said. “Prophecy said he was sealed. But something broke the seal.”

“Was it us?” Narrin asked, looking guilty. “Because I did touch that glowing orb in the ruins.”

“No,” I said. “It was fate. And fate’s apparently petty.”

Ellira stood, brushing dust off her cloak. “So, what’s the plan? Fight him with friendship and goats?”

I hold up the obsidian shard. “We survive him.”

“That’s not a plan,” Zeke said. “That’s a resignation letter.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” I said. “Unless one of you has a secret weapon?”

Everyone looked at Milo.

“What?” he said. “I have snacks. And a spoon.”

The duck hissed again.

“I vote we weaponize the duck,” Yuel said.

“No,” Thess said. “We’re not sending a duck to fight the Voidborn.”

“Why not?” Lira asked. “It’s clearly fearless.”

“It’s also two pounds of feathers and rage,” Talon added.

“Exactly,” Ellira said. “It’s basically me in bird form.”

They returned to the Watch’s camp, where preparations for war began.

Maps were spread. Spells were studied. The goat was tied to a post, where it glared at everyone like a furry general.

I stood at the center, the obsidian shard pulsing in my hand.

“We don’t know when he’ll strike,” I said. “But we know he will.”

“Can we trap him again?” Kael asked.

“Prophecy’s broken,” I said. “We’re off the map.”

“Then we make a new map,” Thess said. “One where we win.”

“Or at least don’t die horribly,” Zeke added.

“Optimism,” Ellira said. “How quaint.”

The duck waddled into the center of the camp and dropped Zeke’s dagger at my feet.

Everyone stared.

I picked it up slowly.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe we do weaponize the duck.”

The goat bleated in protest.

“You’ll get your turn,” Lira said soothingly.

That night, as lightning danced over the Tempest Spire and the wind howled like a banshee with a hangover, the Watch sat around the fire.

They laughed, argued, and planned.

Thess and Zeke debated battle formations using sticks and cheese.

Lira braided spells into her hair while Milo tried to teach the goat tricks.

Narrin wrote a song about the duck’s bravery, which Yuel insisted be performed at their victory feast.

Kael practiced swordplay with Talon, who kept getting distracted by the goat’s increasingly complex escape attempts.

Ellira sat beside me, watching the storm.

“You think we’ll make it?” Mo asked.

Ellira sipped her flask. “We’ve got a homicidal duck, a prophetic goat, and a team of misfits who refuse to quit. Odds are terrible. But I’ve seen worse.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ellira said. “Just survive.”