Chapter 4
The Sky's Fury
A terrifying storm descends upon the village, unlike any they've seen. Winds howl, and the sea churns. Bartholomew's fears are realized, but Zion sees his invention not as a folly, but as a potential salvation for his home.
The air, usually so crisp and alive with the scent of salt and distant pines, grew heavy and still. A bruised, purplish hue bled across the western horizon, swallowing the cheerful blues of the afternoon sky. Zion, his fingers stained with grease and his brow furrowed in concentration, paused his meticulous work. He’d been trying to attach a salvaged metal fin to the main body of his contraption, a delicate dance of balance and leverage. But the unnatural quiet, the palpable tension in the atmosphere, pulled his attention away.
Below, in the village square, a hushed unease was spreading. Children, usually boisterous, clung to their mothers’ skirts. The fishermen, their faces etched with a familiar worry, squinted at the darkening sky, their usual banter replaced by low, anxious murmurs. Even Elder