The rain didn't let up.
It came down in heavy drops. Water slid off the roofs, jammed into seams, seeped under the boards. Underfoot, a slurry barely distinct from the soil, with a warm stench of rot and wet ash. The wind came in jolts. Each gust hit in short shifts, always from the same point. At the far edge of the village a sign was torn loose, a beam over the well snapped. A board was swept up and carried off behind the houses.
The funnel already hung over the fields. Visible from any side, closer than in the morning. Its edges moved unevenly. The space nearby was drawing tight.
There were hardly any villagers in sight. Windows were shut, doors opened rarely and only a crack. Those who stepped out never stayed longer than a few seconds. A glance upward, cautious, and straight back under a roof. No conversations, no roll calls, none of the usual shouts across the street.
At the edge of the village stood a two-story house. Its wide terrace was empty. The boards had buckled, water pooled in the corners. Beyond it lay a sodden garden—once well-kept, now torn up, flowerbeds smashed, the soil heaved. Flowers shaved off at the root, scattered across the plot, petals stuck to the walls here and there.
A crack—lightning struck. The tree jerked upward, split down the middle, and went down with a rending crunch, breaking branches as it fell. The roots came up from the ground trailing mud and stones. One of the splintered halves clipped the roof, shifted the tiles, and crashed through a corner.
The house was spared, but one side of the roof now hung at an angle. One of the beams had punched inward, straight through the attic.
Paul clenched his jaw, staring at the fallen tree.
"Well, shit," he muttered, watching the muck slide down the boards.
Zenith took in the wrecked yard with a silent sweep of her eyes.
A sigh.
"The garden's gone… No beds, no roses, even the lavender I planted for three years has gone to hell."
"Don't say that," Paul answered without looking away from the trunk. "It's just in a different place now… Somewhere on the neighbor's plot."
"Are you going to clear that tree?" Zenith folded her arms. "Or wait for it to rot on its own?"
"I'd love to," Paul leaned back in his chair. "But it looks like it came calling. Through the roof there. Guests, you know. In weather like this, you don't throw them out."
"Polite guest. Just mixed up the threshold…"
Footsteps sounded behind them. Lilia approached, a tray with mugs in her hands.
"Hot infusion. With mint. For headaches and irritation," she said evenly.
Zenith took a mug, sniffed it, eyes on the storm beyond the window.
"And where's the wine?"
Lilia only shook her head.
"Fine… if it helps with irritation, Lili, bring it by the bucket."
"I'll keep that in mind, my lady," Lilia answered softly, setting the tray at the edge of the table. "Shall I add chamomile? Or something stronger?"
"No," Zenith took a sip without taking her eyes off the murky glass. "Where's Rudy? He's not home?"
Lilia tipped her head slightly.
"No, my lady. He left with Roxy this morning. Toward the woods."
Paul didn't even turn his head.
"See? That's why I don't go easy on him in training. The boy's responsible…"
"It was quiet in the morning," Zenith kept her gaze on the window. "The sky was gray and calm. And now this. A funnel. Lightning. This isn't just rain, Paul."
He shrugged, sinking deeper into the chair.
"Roxy's with him. She wouldn't have taken him if she'd felt anything."
"Or she thought they'd make it back," Zenith cut in. "But they didn't."
Paul was silent for a moment, then flicked his hand.
"If anyone can slice a storm open, it's her. Don't worry…"
Zenith didn't answer at once. Her eyes were still fixed on the branches swaying beyond the pane. Lightning split the sky, and she didn't even flinch.
"Wind is wind. It howls today, calms tomorrow. Don't dramatize."
"I'm not dramatizing," Zenith's voice dropped lower. "I feel it."
Paul froze for a beat, but said nothing. Then he let out a short breath.
"Fine. If they're not back in an hour, I'll go."
"In an hour?" she echoed without turning. "You think hurricanes wait their turn on a schedule?"
Lilia stood in the shadows, hands folded.
"My lady… do you have a premonition?"
Silence settled in the room.
Another lightning strike flooded the room with a harsh burst of light. Almost at once came a lashing gust. The glass couldn't take it. It shattered with a chime and scattered the sill and floor with fine splinters.
Zenith's head snapped up. Paul was already on his feet, stepping to the window with his sleeve pressed to his face.
"Shit…" he breathed. "Now we're having fun."
Unfazed, Lilia went to the dresser, took out a folded coverlet, and draped it over the window opening, holding the fabric in place with her hand.
Zenith whirled on Paul.
"Get your ass up and go find our son!"
Paul turned.
"Now?"
"No, fucking tomorrow! When there's nothing left and the roof's on the floor. Of course now!"
He ran a hand down his face and turned for the door.
"All right. I'm going. I just have to find anything that'll keep me from getting soaked to the bone."
"Move!" Zenith turned to Lilia, not raising her voice, but all patience gone from it. "Give him a cloak. Now."
Lilia was already opening the wardrobe in the corner. She took out a heavy cloak, dark, with a wide hood, and handed it to Paul without losing a second.
"This one sheds water." Her voice was steady, her motions precise.
Paul swung it over his shoulders, fastening as he went.
"If any of us gets sick, it's not going to be my choice…"
"If anything happens to Rudy," Zenith said slowly, "your choice will be that you didn't go sooner."
Paul had the door open. A slap of wind burst through the gap, drowning everything for a second.
"…I'll find him…" he threw over his shoulder, and stepped into the rain.
For a heartbeat the sky seemed to part. Between the strikes—there was a violet flash. It held for the span of a breath and vanished. The very air shuddered. At the very center of the funnel a barely discernible bead appeared. Black—no gleam, no light. Almost invisible. It didn't move. It simply hung there in the heart of the funnel. And even the mana around it began to draw in.