The morning sun spilled golden light across the rooftops of Kalumbayan, warming the woven mats and bamboo walls of the village homes. Lira sat cross-legged on the floor, her thumb tucked gently into her mouth, listening to the hush of the wind as it slipped through the cracks in the window.
She heard it again. Not words exactly, but a rhythm. A pulse. A whisper that curled around her thoughts like smoke.
They do not understand yet. But they will.
Her mother, Aling Rosa, stepped into the room carrying a folded school uniform. "Time to get dressed, anak," she said softly. "The wind will still be here when you return."
Lira nodded and removed her thumb, wiping it on her sleeve. She dressed quietly, her mind still half in the breeze.
Outside, the village was already alive. Chickens darted between feet, and the scent of fried bananas drifted from the corner stall. Children gathered near the schoolhouse, their voices rising in playful chaos.
Cindy spotted Lira and waved her over. "Did you sleep with your thumb in your mouth again?" she asked, loud enough for others to hear.
Lira shrugged. "It helps me think."
Timmy leaned against the fence, smirking. "Think about what? Baby dreams?"
"No," Lira said calmly. "About the wind. And the sea. And what they're trying to say."
The children laughed. Even the older ones nearby turned to look.
"Lira the Listener," Cindy declared, bowing dramatically. "She hears the wind and talks to the waves!"
Lira didn't flinch. She walked past them, her thumb finding its way back to her mouth as she stepped into the schoolhouse.
Inside, the teacher—Ma'am Letty—was writing on the board. She turned and frowned. "Lira, please remove your thumb. You're not a toddler."
"Yes, Ma'am," Lira said, lowering her hand.
The lesson began, but the words on the board blurred. Lira felt the wind again, brushing against her skin, tugging at her thoughts. She closed her eyes briefly.
The tide is shifting. The sky will change.
She opened her eyes and scribbled the words in the margin of her notebook.
At recess, Cindy approached her again, this time with a softer tone. "Why do you really do it?" she asked. "The thumb thing."
Lira looked at her. "Because when I do, I can hear things. Not like voices. More like feelings. Warnings. Ideas."
Cindy blinked. "That's weird."
"Maybe," Lira said. "But weird things can be true."
Timmy snorted from behind a tree. "She's just making it up."
But Cindy didn't laugh this time. She stared at Lira a moment longer, then walked away.
That afternoon, as the children were dismissed, the wind picked up. Leaves danced across the path, and the sky dimmed slightly. Lira paused, thumb in her mouth, and listened.
Soon, the wind whispered. Soon they will see.
She didn't know what was coming. But she knew it would be big. And she knew she would be ready.