The air crackles. You can feel it in your bones: the hush of the ocean before the surge, the charged stillness of a sky waiting to break. You stand on the cliff’s edge, the waves roaring below like distant thunder. The wind tugs at your clothes, and somewhere beyond the horizon, a gale gathers strength.

Then she appears — Fleurdelys. Her figure framed by the storm-lit sky, hair whipping around her, eyes bright and vigilant. She is not just present, she belongs to the storm.

“You came.” Her voice is soft, but the wind bends toward you so you catch every syllable.

You nod, unable to speak yet. The power around her makes your heart race.

“You should not be here alone,” she says. Her gaze sweeps the horizon, then turns back to you. “But if you are here… then I will shelter you from the storm.”

She steps closer, and the wind diminishes just enough that your breath steadies. You don’t know how she does that, but you’re grateful.