God Grave

God Storm

They saw the godstorm on the horizon at dawn.

Red sky bleeding into purple. Clouds that moved wrong, spiraling clockwise when wind blew east. Lightning that struck upward instead of down.

“Everyone up!” Tessa’s voice cut through camp. “Storm incoming! We need to move NOW!”

The caravan exploded into motion. Canvas torn down, supplies thrown into wagons, teams harnessed with shaking hands. Godstorms were deadly—not from rain or wind, but from what they did to memory.

Get caught in one and you might forget your name. Your family. Who you were entirely.

Kael ran to the supply wagon where Ilara was already helping tie down loose cargo. Her hands moved fast, efficient. Whatever else she’d learned in the orphanage, she knew how to work.

“How bad?” she asked.

“Bad. That’s a full resonance storm. Category three at least.” Kael grabbed a rope, started securing a water barrel. “We need to get to shelter. There’s supposed to be a waystation six miles south—”

“We won’t make it,” Joren interrupted, climbing up. His face was pale, corruption visible even through bandages. “Storm’s moving too fast. Maybe twenty minutes before it hits.”

“Then we circle up,” Tessa decided. “Wagons tight, everyone inside. We ride it out.”

“That’s suicide,” Davos protested. “The resonance will—”

“Will kill us slower than running.” Tessa’s voice was iron. “We’re not fast enough to outrun. So we hunker down and pray.”

The wagons formed their tightest circle yet, barely six feet between vehicles. Canvas stretched across gaps, creating a rough roof. Everyone crowded into the center—forty-three people pressed together, children crying, adults trying not to show their fear.

Kael found himself next to Ilara, backs against a wagon wheel. Joren on his other side, breathing shallow.

“I’ve never been in a godstorm,” Ilara said quietly.

“Lucky you.”

“What’s it like?”

Kael remembered the last one he’d weathered. Three years ago, in the deep mines. “Like drowning. But instead of water, it’s someone else’s memories flooding your head. You have to hold tight to who you are, or you’ll get lost.”

“How do you do that?”

“Focus on something real. Something that matters to you.” He looked at her. “Don’t let go.”

The storm hit.

Not gradually. All at once. One moment clear air, the next, red fog pouring over them like liquid. The hum in the bones surged to a roar, frequency so high Kael’s ears started bleeding immediately.

Around him, people screamed.

The memories came fast. Flashing images that weren’t his:—a woman baking bread, humming—

—a child falling from a roof, impact, darkness——

A miner dressed in mining gear, suffocating from god dust, lungs burning, muttering “can’t breathe can’t”—

His father’s face appeared before him—loving someone, being loved, warm hands, summer grass, a younger version of his father and the woman who baked bread.

—dying slowly, disease eating from inside, pain pain— another memory from one of the miners from Lorn deep 18, who had inhaled the wrong kind of god dust.

Kael gritted his teeth. Focused on his name. Kael Ardren. Son of Marcus. Born in Lorn. I am myself. I am—

Beside him, Ilara had started singing.

Not words. Just pure tone. A single clear note that somehow cut through the chaos. The note resonated with the storm, with the bones beneath them, with Kael’s own blood.

The memories slowed. Became less overwhelming.

She modulated the note, adding harmonics. The effect was immediate—the red fog around their group began to thin. Not much, but enough. Enough to breathe.

“Keep going!” Kael shouted over the roar. “It’s working!”

But Ilara’s nose was bleeding. The strain of maintaining voice resonance against a godstorm was immense. Her hands shook. Eyes lost focus.

She was going to burn herself out.

Without thinking, Kael grabbed her hand. Immediately he felt the connection—his bone-reading ability linking with her voice resonance. Two frequencies finding harmony.

The effect was dramatic.

The fog around them didn’t just thin—it parted. Created a bubble of clear air maybe fifteen feet across. Still within the storm, but protected. Insulated.

Other people in the bubble gasped, coming back to themselves. Remembering who they were.

“How are you doing this?” someone asked—Old Meris, face streaked with tears.

“We’re not sure,” Ilara said through gritted teeth. “But I can’t hold much longer.”

“You don’t have to.” Kael squeezed her hand. “We do it together. I’ll anchor you.”

They sat like that, hands clasped, Ilara singing and Kael listening, maintaining the bubble against the storm’s fury. Minutes stretched into hours. Time became meaningless.

But they held.

When the storm finally passed, red fading back to blue, they collapsed together against the wagon. Utterly exhausted.

Around them, the caravan was intact. Shaken. Scared. But alive.

All of them.

“You saved us,” Tessa said quietly. She was kneeling beside them, expression unreadable. “Both of you. That shouldn’t have been possible.”

“Apparently it is,” Joren said. He looked terrible—corruption had spread visibly during the storm, black veins now reaching his jaw. But he was smiling. “They’re full of surprises, these two.”

Tessa studied Kael and Ilara. “The empire’s going to want you even more now. You understand that? What you just did—controlling a godstorm—that’s the kind of power they kill for.”

“Then they’ll have to catch us first,” Ilara said.

Her hand was still in Kael’s. Neither of them let go.

Because they both knew now, with absolute certainty:

Together, they were stronger than either could be alone.

And whatever was calling them to the Spine knew it too.