The sky began to darken before noon.
Clouds rolled in from the west, thick and heavy, their bellies swollen with thunder. The air grew dense, damp with the scent of ozone and earth. Even the birds sensed it — their songs fading into uneasy silence as the wind began to rise.
Goran stood outside the cabin, his hand shading his eyes as he looked toward the peaks. "It's coming," he muttered, feeling the pulse of the wind shift.
Arin looked up from where he was chopping wood. "A storm?"
"Yes," Goran said, voice low. "And not a small one. Go inside, boy. The mountain doesn't play gently when it's angry."
But Arin didn't move. He watched the gathering clouds with a strange expression — not fear, but something closer to wonder.
"The mountain… feels different," he said softly. "Like it's trying to speak."
Goran frowned. "Then listen from indoors. You don't argue with thunder."
Arin smiled faintly. "I don't want to argue. I just want to understand."
---
The first drops came soon after. They were heavy and cold, striking the earth like pebbles. The wind carried the smell of rain — sharp, clean, ancient. It built quickly into a roar, bending the trees, tearing leaves free.
Within minutes, the storm had swallowed the mountain whole.
Rain lashed against the cabin roof, thunder rolled like boulders tumbling through the clouds, and lightning split the sky in jagged veins of white fire. The entire world was a blur of noise and motion.
Inside, Goran tended the fire, muttering under his breath. But Arin wasn't there.
He turned, eyes narrowing. "Arin?"
No answer.
The door creaked slightly, and cold air seeped through the cracks.
The old man's heart dropped. "By the ancestors—"
He grabbed his cloak and stepped outside, the rain instantly soaking through his robes.
---
Arin stood in the clearing.
Barefoot. Shirtless. His hair plastered against his forehead. Rain ran down his skin like molten silver. His eyes were closed, face tilted upward as the sky screamed above him.
Lightning flashed across the peaks, illuminating him in stark brilliance — a boy standing alone against heaven's fury.
Goran's breath caught. "Arin!" he shouted over the wind. "Get inside!"
The boy didn't move.
"Do you hear me? You'll be struck down!"
But Arin raised his voice, calm and steady even against the roar of thunder. "I'm listening, Master!"
"To what?"
"The storm!"
Goran stepped forward, shielding his face from the wind. "You can't listen to a storm — it only destroys!"
Arin's voice came softer, almost carried away by the rain. "Then maybe I'll learn why."
---
He spread his arms wide.
The wind howled harder, whipping the rain sideways. Lightning flashed again, closer this time — so close that the air itself seemed to burn.
For an instant, everything went white.
Goran shouted and shielded his eyes. When the light faded, Arin was still standing — unhurt. Steam rose faintly from the ground around him.
The old man froze, staring in disbelief.
Another bolt came. The thunder that followed shook the mountain itself. But again, the boy remained untouched.
He stood like a statue, the rain exploding against his skin, lightning flashing all around him. And then, slowly — impossibly — the storm began to change.
The wind softened. The lightning grew distant. The rain slowed from fury to rhythm, falling evenly, gently, as if the sky itself had calmed.
Arin lowered his arms, breathing hard but unbroken.
Goran approached cautiously, his voice low and trembling. "What… did you do?"
Arin opened his eyes. They glowed faintly in the twilight — not with power, but with reflection. "I stopped fighting it."
---
He turned his gaze toward the clouds. "At first, I thought the storm was angry. But it wasn't. It was only shouting because no one was listening."
Goran's lips parted, speechless.
Arin continued, his voice soft and reverent. "When I stood still, it stopped shouting."
The old man stared at him, the rain dripping from his beard. "You make it sound so simple."
"It was," Arin said. "Like the stream. If you fight the current, it drags you down. If you move with it, you float."
Goran looked at the sky — the same sky that had just split itself open moments ago. Now it was calm, quiet, the thunder rolling away in the distance.
The boy had not conquered the storm. He had simply endured it without fear — and in that endurance, the storm had spent its fury.
---
They walked back to the cabin in silence. The fire inside was dim, flickering weakly. Goran hung his cloak to dry and sat heavily on the floor, still trying to steady his breath.
Arin crouched beside him, wringing the rain from his hair. "Did I make you angry, Master?"
"No," Goran said after a moment. "Just older."
Arin smiled shyly. "Then I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Goran murmured. "The world needs fools who speak to storms."
Arin tilted his head. "Is that what I did?"
"Yes," the old man said, half to himself. "But worse — the storm seems to have listened."
---
Later, when Arin had gone to sleep, Goran sat alone by the dying fire. The last echoes of thunder rumbled far off in the valleys.
He stared into the flames, deep in thought.
When he was young, he had faced many things — men, beasts, disasters — and he had always believed strength was what let him survive them. But this boy… this boy had faced something that strength alone could never withstand.
He had stood against heaven's fury, not as a warrior, but as part of the world itself.
Goran whispered, "You're not learning from me anymore, are you, Arin?"
The fire cracked softly in answer.
"You're learning from the mountain, from the rain, from the sky itself…" His voice faltered. "And one day, they'll take you away from me."
He looked toward the door, where the faint sound of the wind still lingered. It had softened now, brushing against the cabin like a mother's touch.
And though the storm was gone, it left something behind — a quietness deeper than silence. The kind that settles only after the world has spoken its truth.
---
When morning came, the forest glittered with dew. The stream had risen, but its water ran clear. The air smelled of new life — that scent of soil after rain, sharp with renewal.
Arin stepped outside, stretching, his body steaming faintly in the cold. The light caught his hair, turning it gold. Karo barked playfully at his feet, running circles in the wet grass.
Goran watched from the doorway, leaning on his staff. "You slept well after defying heaven itself?"
Arin laughed softly. "Heaven wasn't angry, Master. Just loud."
The old man chuckled, shaking his head. "Loud, yes. But next time, perhaps listen from inside the house."
"I'll try," Arin said with mock seriousness.
"Good." Goran stepped out beside him, looking at the sky. "Though I suspect you'll find another reason to talk to the clouds soon enough."
"Maybe," Arin said. Then, glancing sideways, added with a small smile, "They tell better stories than most people."
Goran burst out laughing, deep and hearty, his voice echoing down the valley.
"By the gods," he said between laughs, "you'll either enlighten the world or drive it insane!"
"Maybe both," Arin said innocently.
And the old man laughed harder, his heart lighter than it had been in years.
---
That evening, as the sun sank and the mountains glowed red with dusk, Goran found Arin sitting quietly on the ridge, watching the clouds drift.
"Master," the boy said softly, without turning. "Do you think the world is alive?"
Goran took a moment before answering. "I think it's more alive than we are. We just forget to notice."
Arin nodded. "Then maybe I want to spend my life listening to it."
The old man looked at him — really looked — and for a fleeting moment, saw not a boy, but something eternal staring back through human eyes.
"Then listen well," Goran said finally, voice hushed by reverence. "Because when the world speaks to you… it's usually saying something only you can hear."
The wind stirred softly, carrying the scent of rain and pine.
And for the rest of that night, the mountain remained utterly still — as if listening too.
---