That evening, Lira stood in the square, the villagers gathered before her. The air was thick with unease, the people divided into clusters—those who believed, and those who doubted.
She pressed her thumb against her lips, closing her eyes. The wind curled around her, steady and clear: Speak not with anger, but with silence. Show them unity, not fear.
She removed her thumb and raised her voice. "The storms, the fire, the mountain—they did not choose me. They chose all of us. I only listened. But it was your hands that carried water, your strength that rebuilt huts, your courage that endured the ash. Without you, I am nothing."
The villagers murmured, surprised by her words. Cindy stepped forward. "She's right. We survived because we worked together."
Timmy added, "She listens, but we act. We are strong because we are united."
Even Elder Ramos bowed his head. "Her gift is not hers alone—it belongs to the village."
Dario scowled, but his voice faltered. "And if the wind falls silent?"
Lira looked at him calmly. "Then we will listen to each other. Unity is stronger than doubt."
The villagers fell quiet. Slowly, they began to nod, their fear easing. The seeds of division shrank beneath the light of her words.
That night, as the stars glittered above the ash-stained land, the wind whispered softly in her ears: You have given them more than survival. You have given them each other.