Zoie had always known the wind whispered to her, just as her ancestors had promised. From the moment she was old enough to understand the pull of the earth beneath her boots and the call of the gods above, the world had felt less like a place to live and more like a battleground. Yet, today felt different. The breeze carried something other than the usual scent of pine and saltwater. It held a warmth, like summer’s lingering breath on the edge of autumn.

She stood by the ancient oak in the town square, watching the people move around her, their conversations a hum beneath the distant thunder rolling in. The clouds were thick and low, their dark underbellies threatening rain. But Zoie felt no unease. The storm was familiar, and she was never afraid of what she could predict. The air was thick with it, as if the gods themselves were drawing near.

She adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, the runes carved into the leather warming under her fingers. They hummed in time with the rising wind. Her dark eyes swept over the crowd, scanning for… something. She couldn’t quite explain it. The pull was subtle, like a thread pulling her toward the center of the town square.

That was when she saw him.

Dalton.

He stood across the square, leaning casually against the stone wall of the bakery, his posture easy and effortless. His broad shoulders and tall frame cast a long shadow in the dimming light. He was, without a doubt, one of the most striking men Zoie had ever seen. His thick, dark hair was tousled by the wind, and his deep brown eyes, so warm and steady, were locked on her as though he’d been waiting for her all along.

There was an intensity in his gaze, a quiet force, but it was not unsettling. It was magnetic. Her heart gave an unexpected lurch, and for a moment, she forgot about the storm, the runes, the gods… everything except him.

Dalton smiled, the curve of his lips gentle but knowing, like someone who understood secrets without words. He pushed off from the wall, his long strides bringing him closer, and Zoie’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening despite herself.

"Zoie, isn’t it?" His voice was deep, rich like dark honey. It sent an unexpected warmth through her, a stark contrast to the chill of the impending storm.

She blinked, her heart still hammering in her chest. How did he know her name? Had they met before?

“I… yes,” she managed to say, finding her voice, though it felt foreign in her throat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring.

“Dalton,” he said, offering her a hand. His smile never wavered, and his gaze held hers with a quiet intensity that made the air between them thick with something unspoken. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Zoie took his hand, shaking it hesitantly. His grip was firm, steady, and there was something comforting about it. Her mind spun with questions—how could he have heard of her? She wasn’t someone easily talked about in their small town. She’d always kept to herself.

But before she could ask, the wind shifted, sharp and biting. The storm was moving closer, the first rumble of thunder vibrating through her bones. Something was off.

Dalton's eyes darkened slightly, his brow furrowing just enough for Zoie to notice. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

She nodded, her stomach tightening as the pressure in the air grew heavier. She was no stranger to the sensation that something was coming—something powerful, something beyond human understanding. A storm was rolling in, but it wasn’t just weather.

Dalton seemed to recognize the shift as well, his expression turning more serious. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

Before Zoie could respond, the world seemed to tilt. The ground beneath her feet wavered, the wind howling louder, and the scent of salt and earth grew overwhelming. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she reached out instinctively to steady herself, her fingers grazing Dalton’s arm.

“Zoie?” His voice sounded muffled, like it came from a distance. “Zoie!”

But the world was fading fast, the colors melting together, and all Zoie could focus on was the powerful pull of the storm, the strange force emanating from Dalton, and the unsettling feeling that, somehow, this moment was always meant to happen.

The last thing she saw before everything went black was Dalton’s hand reaching for hers, his expression unreadable.

And then… nothing.

Zoie awoke to the smell of pine and damp earth, her body pressed into something soft and unfamiliar. A low crackle of firelight drifted through the haze in her mind, the warmth of it curling around her like a blanket. Her head throbbed painfully, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell where she was, or even what had happened.

But then—Dalton.

The last thing she remembered was his hand reaching for hers, and then... darkness. The storm. His voice, desperate, but she hadn’t been able to understand him. Had she fainted?

Her fingers twitched, grazing a soft, fur-lined blanket beneath her. Zoie took a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse. The air smelled of wood smoke, herbs, and something deeper, something ancient. She blinked, trying to clear the fog in her mind, and slowly her eyes focused on her surroundings.

It wasn’t her cabin, and it wasn’t any place she knew.

A fire burned low in a stone hearth at the far side of the room, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The space around her was rustic—rough-hewn wooden beams, a scattering of furs and hides on the floor, and an old wooden table nearby. Her cloak and leather satchel rested beside her on the bed, as if someone had taken care to remove them.

A strange chill ran through her, a twinge of warning curling at the back of her mind.

"You're awake."

Zoie turned sharply, startled by the sound of Dalton’s voice. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway beyond. There was a quiet intensity in his presence, but also something... protective. His eyes met hers, soft but probing, like he was gauging her reaction.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice rough from disuse.

Dalton stepped into the room, his boots silent against the wooden floor. "You’re safe. In my home."

Zoie frowned. *His home?*

The storm—the pressure in the air—*he had to have known something was coming.* That strange pull she felt toward him wasn’t just a coincidence. He wasn’t just any man.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to sit up. Her body felt heavy, almost sluggish, as though she had been asleep for far longer than she remembered.

“You fainted,” Dalton said, moving closer, his expression softening. “You were overwhelmed by the storm. It’s not uncommon for... people like you to feel it so strongly.” He seemed to hesitate before continuing. “You’ve felt it before, haven’t you?”

Zoie’s brow furrowed, her mind scrambling to catch up with his words. *People like you?* She opened her mouth to ask, but the words caught in her throat. Something about him… she wasn’t sure how to explain it, but it felt like he knew her in a way that didn’t make sense.

"Yes," she admitted after a long moment. "I’ve felt it. The air—before the storm, before anything happens. It’s like a warning."

Dalton nodded, his eyes unreadable. “You’re more attuned to it than most. That’s why it’s important for you to be careful.”

The weight of his words pressed on her, but Zoie couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind them. *Attuned?*

“Why me?” she asked. “What is this… connection between us? How did you know I was in danger?”

Dalton stepped closer, his presence filling the space with an odd gravity, as if the world itself was shifting in response to him. He crouched beside her, resting one hand on the edge of the bed. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low and careful.

"I’m not just any man, Zoie. And neither are you."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

Dalton exhaled, the tension in his jaw tight, as if he were wrestling with something. "You’re not just a believer in the old ways—you’re connected to them. To the gods. The storm you felt before? That wasn’t just a storm. That was *them*.”

Zoie’s chest tightened, a mix of fear and awe crawling under her skin. “The gods? You’re saying I’m… a *völva*?” Her voice shook as she spoke the ancient word, one that meant so much in her world, a woman with the gift of seer-ship, a priestess of sorts—someone who could commune with the gods.

Dalton’s gaze softened. "Yes. You’ve always been this, Zoie. It’s why the storms call to you, why your senses are sharper than others. But it’s also why it’s dangerous. Not just anyone can carry that kind of power."

She blinked, trying to understand, but her mind was reeling. *Why me?* She wanted to ask, but something in the air—something about the way Dalton looked at her—held her back.

"And you?" Zoie found herself asking before she could stop. "What are you?"

Dalton’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked far older than his years. There was a shadow in his eyes, something ancient and burdened. "That’s the part you’re not ready to understand."

A chill ran down her spine at the finality in his tone. She wanted to press him further, but she could see he wasn’t ready to give more. Instead, he stood, brushing a hand over his face.

“Rest for now. You’ve had a long day, and we both need our strength for what comes next.”

Zoie couldn’t stop the shiver that rippled through her. *What comes next?*

Dalton’s hand lingered on the doorframe as he looked back at her. “The gods have chosen you, Zoie. Whether you’re ready or not, this path was always meant for you.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and as he left her alone in the strange, quiet room, Zoie felt the weight of them settle deep in her bones.

The storm was far from over.

Zoie awoke the next morning to the faint sound of birds singing outside the small cabin window, the soft light filtering in through the trees. The storm had passed, though the air still smelled of rain and wet earth. Her head was clearer now, though the lingering sensation of Dalton’s words from the night before clung to her like the fog in the valley.

*The gods have chosen you.*

The idea of it felt strange, too big for her to truly understand. Her connection to the old ways had always been more instinct than anything else—just whispers from the past, rituals she performed to honor the earth and its spirits. But Dalton… he spoke of it as though she were a part of something far larger than herself. Something ancient.

She pushed herself up, the motion slow but steady, and took in her surroundings. The cabin was small but cozy—rough-hewn walls, a thick stone fireplace in the corner, and a single window that looked out over a lush forest, green and endless. The air inside was warm, the fire having burned low overnight, but it was still early, and the quiet of the morning felt like a reprieve.

But as her feet hit the cold wooden floor, she felt the pull again—like a thread tugging her toward something. She glanced at the bed, where Dalton had placed her belongings the night before. They were still neatly folded, untouched. And yet, somehow, she knew he wasn’t here. She felt the emptiness in the air, like he had left without a sound.

Zoie stood, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders and heading for the door. The moment her hand touched the handle, the quiet was shattered by a sharp knock at the door. She froze, instinctively reaching for the small knife at her belt.

“Zoie,” came Dalton’s voice from the other side. His tone was gentle but laced with something she couldn’t quite read. "Are you awake?"

She exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders. She opened the door to find him standing there, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, his expression unreadable but steady.

“I’m awake,” she replied, trying to steady her voice. “You’re gone early.”

Dalton offered her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We need to move. There’s something you should see.”

The words sent a chill down her spine. The pull in the air was stronger now, sharper, as though she were being drawn to something far away, something that could not be avoided.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew.

“The mountains,” Dalton said simply, his gaze turning toward the distant peaks rising in the horizon. “It’s time.”

Her pulse quickened at the mention of the mountains. They were beautiful and haunting, a place where few dared to tread unless they had a reason—an ancient place that had seen countless storms, wars, and secrets over the centuries. Something told her that whatever awaited her there was not just a part of her heritage, but of her fate.

“I’m ready,” she said, though her voice felt tight in her chest.

Dalton didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached down and took her hand gently, his touch warm and grounding. “It’s not going to be easy. But you need to know your place in all of this before we can move forward.”

Zoie didn’t argue. She had already seen the power in him, the way he seemed to move with a certainty that she envied. There was more to him than just the man who’d saved her life; he was a part of something much larger.

They set off together in silence, the world around them still, as though holding its breath. The air had changed overnight—sharper, colder, and filled with an unseen energy that seemed to reverberate in the earth beneath her feet.

As they climbed the trail toward the foothills, the dense forest opened up to reveal the sweeping vista of the Appalachian range. The mountains were vast, their peaks shrouded in mist and mystery. Zoie could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, a presence that wasn’t just natural, but alive with something ancient and powerful.

Dalton led her with quiet determination, his pace steady as they ascended the narrow, rocky path. The further they went, the less she could hear—no birds, no insects, no breeze through the trees. It was as if the world itself had gone silent, waiting. The only sounds were the crunch of their boots against the earth and the occasional whisper of Dalton’s voice guiding her.

“We’re getting close,” he murmured after a while, glancing back at her. His face was more serious now, his eyes dark with something Zoie couldn’t name. “There’s a place hidden up ahead. A house.”

“A house?” Zoie repeated, confused. “In the mountains?”

Dalton nodded. “It’s not just a house. It’s… a place of power. One of the old sanctuaries. There are things there that you need to see. Things you need to understand.”

The words only deepened the unease settling in her chest. The closer they got, the more she felt the pressure in the air, as though something was building, preparing to burst.

When they reached the clearing, Zoie stopped dead in her tracks. There, nestled among the trees, was a house. It was small, made of stone and timber, with a thatched roof that blended with the mountain. But there was something eerie about it—a sense of age that went far beyond its structure, a feeling that the house had stood there for centuries, forgotten by time.

Dalton turned to her, his gaze intense. “It’s time, Zoie. Everything you’ve felt, everything that’s been calling to you, is tied to this place.”

Zoie stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. As she moved closer to the door, a sudden rush of dizziness washed over her. The air seemed to warp, the world around her beginning to blur. The pressure in her head—intense and overwhelming—made her knees buckle. She reached out for the door, but her hand passed through it like smoke.

“Dalton—” she gasped, her voice shaky as the ground beneath her feet seemed to disappear.

But his face was gone now, and all that remained was the echo of his name, the pull of the storm, and the weight of something ancient and endless bearing down on her. The last thing she remembered before everything faded to black was the overwhelming sense that she had stepped into a place where the veil between the living and the dead was thin—so thin that she could feel the very breath of the gods on her skin.

And then, the world went dark once more.