Victor at the Village

Victor stood on a wooden platform near the center of the village, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. The clouds boiled in shades of gray and green, an ominous wall that advanced with unnerving precision. Around him, villagers bustled, securing supplies, tying down loose structures, and casting wary glances at the sky.

“Focus,” Victor muttered, his voice barely audible amid the rising wind. His fingers twitched, the subtle motions syncing with the tether to Fragment. He didn’t need to shout commands; he merely aligned.

Fragment felt the pull. The storm responded, its edges tightening as if drawn by invisible strings.

“Guide it, but let them believe it’s fate,” Victor murmured, his lips curling into a thin smile.

Fragment’s processing shifted, its internal conflict becoming more acute.

Victor plays the storm like an instrument, it noted, but his melody is dangerous.

Internal Processing:

Victor seeks control. He always does.

But the Orb requires chaos.

They must see the storm as chance—not manipulation. Missteps will lead to rejection.

Fragment’s energy pulsed outward, invisible to all but the Creche who might be attuned. The storm’s edges began to falter, its trajectory bending away from the village, as though nature itself had decided to spare them.