The hall smelled of roasted boar and old stone.

Cael sat on a stool. His legs were short. They dangled. The table was high. He watched the hands of the lords. They cut meat. They wiped their mouths. They spoke little. The air was thick. It pressed down.

He was twelve. He was small. He was the King’s son. Or so they said. He felt hollow. The stone walls watched him. They were cold. They were gray. They did not blink.

Outside, the rain fell. It hit the glass. It sounded like fingers tapping. Tapping. Tapping. Cael liked the sound. It was soft. It was safe. The rain was his friend. It did not ask for anything. It just fell.

The King raised his cup. The hall went quiet. The fire popped. A spark flew up. It died in the dark.

"The storm will break the roof," the King said. His voice was low. It was rough. "The roof will fall. The light will come in. We must be ready."

Cael frowned. The roof was strong. It was old. It was made of oak. The oak was iron. The King was a fool. The King was always a fool. But he was the King. He had the crown. The crown was gold. It was heavy. It must have hurt his head.

Cael looked at his hands. They were clean. They were pale. He touched the wood of the stool. It was rough. It had splinters. He ignored them. He focused on the rain.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

A shadow moved in the corner. It was tall. It was black. It had no face. It was the Storm. Or what the Storm wore. It stood by the window. It did not move. It just watched.

Cael felt a chill. It was not cold. It was fear. It sat in his chest. It was a stone. A heavy, black stone.

The lords laughed. They did not see the shadow. They saw only the King. They bowed. Their heads touched the floor. It was a sound like dry leaves.

Cael did not bow. He looked at the shadow. The shadow looked back. It had no eyes. It had no mouth. But Cael felt it speak. The words were not words. They were wind. They were the groan of trees. They were the crash of waves.

*Let me in,* the wind said.

Cael shook his head.

*Let me in,* the wind said again.

"I will not," Cael whispered.

The King turned. He looked at Cael. The King’s eyes were blue. They were like ice.

"Boy," the King said. "What do you see?"

Cael looked away. He looked at the floor. The floor was stone. It was cracked.

"I see the rain," Cael said.

The King smiled. It was a thin smile. It did not reach his eyes.

"Good," the King said. "The rain is our enemy. It brings the rot. It brings the dark. We must drive it out. We must burn it out."

The King stood up. The hall held its breath. The candles flickered. The shadow in the corner grew larger. It stretched. It touched the wall. It touched the table. It touched Cael.

Cael shivered. The touch was cold. It was wet. It smelled of mud. It smelled of death.

"Father," Cael said. His voice shook. "The storm... it is not an enemy."

The King stopped. The hall was silent. The silence was loud. It buzzed in Cael’s ears.

"Repeat that," the King said.

"The storm is not an enemy," Cael said. He stood up. His legs trembled. He held the stool for support. "It is just water. It is just air. It does not hate us. It does not want to hurt us. It just falls."

The King’s face changed. The smile vanished. The ice in his eyes hardened.

"You are a child," the King said. "You do not know what you say. The storm takes our crops. It takes our homes. It takes our light. It must be stopped. By force. By fire."

"Fire will not stop the rain," Cael said. "Fire will only burn the house. And us."

The King raised his hand. He pointed at Cael. His finger was a sword.

"You are weak," the King said. "You are soft. You are like the rain. You drip. You leak. You are useless."

The words hit Cael. They were hard. They were sharp. They cut him. He felt small. He felt dirt. He wanted to cry. But he did not. He held his breath. He held his heart.

The shadow moved. It came closer. It was on the table now. It was on the King’s shoulder. The King did not see it. The King was blind. The King saw only power. The King saw only fear.

Cael looked at the shadow. He looked at the King. He looked at the rain.

He understood.

The King was not the King. The King was the fear. The fear was the storm. The storm was inside them. It was in the walls. It was in the food. It was in the blood. They built the high walls to keep it out. They lit the fires to keep it away. But it was already here. It was in the stone. It was in the bone.

Cael felt the stone in his chest. It was heavy. It was cold. It was the truth.

"I am sorry," Cael said.

The King frowned. "For what?"

"For not seeing it," Cael said.

The King laughed. It was a harsh sound. "You see nothing. You see nothing but water."

Cael walked to the window. The glass was cold. He put his hand on it. The rain ran down. It made lines. The lines looked like tears.

"Open it," the King said. "Open the window. Let the cold in. Let the dark in. Show them what a weak boy is."

Cael did not move. He looked at his hand. It was pressed against the glass. The cold bit him. It woke him.

He thought of the rain. It did not care about the King. It did not care about the crown. It did not care about the power. It just fell. It fell on the rich and the poor. It fell on the kings and the peasants. It was fair. It was free.

The King was trapped. The King was locked in his tower. The King was locked in his fear.

Cael closed his eyes. He let the stone in his chest grow. It was not a burden. It was an anchor. It was his weight. It was his truth.

He opened his eyes. He looked at the King.

"I will not open the window," Cael said.

The King’s face went pale. "You will do as I say."

"No," Cael said.

The hall was silent. The lords looked at Cael. They did not understand. They saw a boy. They saw a threat. They saw a mistake.

The King raised his sword. The metal was bright. It reflected the fire. It reflected Cael’s face.

"I will make you open it," the King said.

Cael did not flinch. He did not step back. He stood still. He was the stone. He was the ground.

The King swung the sword.

The sound was a whoosh. It cut the air.

Cael did not move.

The sword hit the window. The glass shattered. It burst inward. Shards flew like stars. They hit the air. They hit the table. They hit the King.

The King screamed. It was a high sound. It was a small sound. He fell back. He sat on the floor. His hand bled. The blood was red. It was warm.

The wind rushed in. It was cold. It was wet. It smelled of rain.

The shadow vanished. The dark came in. The candles blew out. One by one. The hall was black. The only light was the moon. The moon was white. It was cold. It was clear.

Cael stood in the dark. He felt the rain on his face. It was cool. It was clean.

The King was on the floor. He was crying. He was shaking. He was a child now. He was small.

Cael walked to him. He knelt down. He took the King’s hand. It was cold. It was wet.

"It is okay," Cael said.

The King looked up. His eyes were wide. They were empty.

"It is okay," Cael said again. "The rain is here. It is not the enemy. It is us. We are the rain. We are the stone. We are the storm. We are all the same."

The King closed his eyes. He let out a breath. It was long. It was slow. He was tired. He was so tired.

He let go.

He let go of the crown. He let go of the sword. He let go of the fear.

He was gone.

The storm kept falling. It fell on the roof. It fell on the walls. It fell on the lords. They slept. They did not wake. They were peaceful.

Cael stood alone. The rain washed over him. It washed over the hall. It washed over the dead. It washed over the living.

He felt light. He felt free.

The stone in his chest was gone. It had dissolved. It had become water. It had become air.

He was empty. He was full.

He was the rain.

The hall was quiet. The rain was the only sound.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

It was the sound of the world breathing. It was the sound of the world healing.

Cael smiled. It was a small smile. It was a true smile.

He closed his eyes. He listened.

The rain fell.

It fell forever.

And he was at peace.