The Weight of the Storm
The rain poured relentlessly outside, drumming against the wooden roof of the dimly lit tavern. Aelira, the warrior elf, leaned back against the rough wooden bench, her golden hair damp from the evening mist. Her armor, though strong, felt heavier than ever, as if burdened not just by battle but by the weight of her thoughts.
She traced the rim of the bottle in front of her, watching the flickering lanterns dance in its reflection. The echoes of past fights, lost comrades, and choices she could never undo circled her mind like restless ghosts. She had fought countless enemies, yet the battle within was the one she never won.
A shadow moved beside her—an old barkeep, wise and silent. He placed a fresh bottle down and spoke without looking at her. “You can carry the past on your shoulders, or you can let the rain wash it away. Either way, the sun will rise tomorrow.”
Aelira closed her eyes. The storm outside raged on, but for the first time in a long while, she exhaled. Maybe she didn’t have to carry it all. Maybe, just maybe, she could let go.
♪ The Soul of Wind
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The Soul of Wind