Chapter 1389: Story 1389: The Wind Knew Our Secrets
They say the wind can carry voices.
I think that’s true.
Because even now, when I walk the ridge above the dead town, I hear her.
Not screaming.
Not crying.
Just… whispering.
Like she’s still telling secrets no one else can hear.
We used to co up here, before the fall.
Before the infection turned cities into feeding grounds and silence into suspicion.
Her na was Liora.
She was a storm in a body—wild, laughing, always barefoot.
She said the wind spoke to her even then.
I never believed her.
Until I had to.
She told sothing just before the fever took hold.
Out in that field where the wheat was golden and the sky too blue to be real.
“I buried sothing out here,” she said.
I asked what.
She only smiled. “A part of .”
The fever hit hard.
She went quiet.
Then violent.
Then quiet again.
We locked ourselves in the observatory near the cliff edge—windows smashed, telescope cracked, the sll of ash in every breeze.
I begged her to let tie her down when the convulsions started.
She refused.
“Promise ,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
She looked dead in the eyes:
“If I turn, don’t bury . Burn . Let the wind have .”
She never turned completely.
Not like the others.
She floated in and out of lucidity.
Sotis she’d sing. Sotis scream.
Sotis whisper things only the wind could understand.
Once, I caught her tracing sothing in the dust with her fingertip—over and over again.
A word: “Forget.”
She died during a thunderstorm.
Didn’t scream. Didn’t twitch.
Just… exhaled.
Like her last breath was ant for the sky.
I kept my promise.
Built the fire.
Held her cold hand as the flas caught.
Turned my back when the smoke rose—because I couldn’t watch her disappear.
And then the wind began to howl.
Fierce. Alive.
It whipped around like her arms had.
Pulled at my coat.
Howled through the telescope lens like a voice distorted by mory.
I heard her.
Just a whisper: “I rember you.”
I keep returning to that ridge.
The town below is long dead, overrun, collapsing into moss and bone.
But up here, where the sky still opens wide and unashad, she’s alive.
In the rustle of leaves.
The groan of the telescope.
The hush between gusts.
She never needed a grave.
She beca sothing freer than flesh.
I never told anyone what we shared.
How we kissed under lightning.
How she made promise to set her soul loose in the sky.
Only the wind knows now.
Only the wind rembers.
And on nights when the air stands still, I ache for it to rise.
So I can hear her again.
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