🌀 The Night the Storm Went Silent
A Forgotten Childhood Tale from The Legend of The Dìonair |📍 Now exclusively on Kornerz Social Network
A Forgotten Childhood Tale from The Legend of The Dìonair
They were seven. Maybe eight.
Too young to be trusted with scissors.
Old enough to know the difference between a lie and a story.Right in that sacred, in-between age when the veil is thinnest.
The foster house on South 22nd Street was the kind of Philadelphia twin that creaked like it remembered every tenant. Paint peeled like curled parchment. The porch slumped slightly left, as if the whole house were listening to secrets the city never told.
Lach and Callum had been there for two weeks.
Not long enough to be called family.
Just long enough to know which floorboard screamed betrayal if you stepped too hard.
That night, the sky lost its temper.
Not a storm.
A reckoning.
Thunder cracked like the Liberty Bell had been struck again. Pipes knocked inside the walls like restless spirits pacing behind plaster. The windows fogged and trembled. Even the rats in the alley knew better than to move.
Callum ducked under the blanket. “Poseidon’s pissed,” he muttered.
Lach didn’t answer. He was staring out the window.
Holding a worn copy of Calvin and Hobbes—but not reading. Just watching the storm dance and flicker across the glass.
And then... the air changed.
Not colder. Not warmer. Just... different.
Like a breath being held.
Something in the back of his neck tightened, as if someone were calling him from a place older than time.
He sat up. Nudged Callum. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Callum grunted. “That your brain’s finally snapped?”
Then the window blew open.
Not with force. Just with purpose.
And through it came a strange, dry wind. The smell of copper and tree sap. Of lightning without thunder. Of something ancient.
They both saw it at the same time.
Not fog. Not streetlight.
A spiral.
A slow-breathing shimmer of light, floating above the alley.
It flickered like stardust remembering it used to be stars.
Lach stood. So did Callum.
They didn’t plan to leave the room.
But their feet had other ideas.
They moved through the sleeping house like shadows—tiptoeing past snoring kids and moonlit hallways, the kind where your breath catches for no reason at all.
The back door was cracked.
Waiting.
Outside, the spiral hovered above the soaked bricks, glowing softly. Thunder paused. Time forgot itself.
They stepped toward it.
Callum whispered, “This is how kids get abducted in movies.”
Lach didn’t answer.
He stepped forward, and the spiral pulsed.
Not in warning. In invitation.
The alley dissolved.
The city fell away.
What came next didn’t belong to memory.
It belonged to myth.
A forest where the trees hummed like tuning forks.
A woman made of fog who whispered secrets only Callum would remember in dreams.
And a pool of still water that reflected stars that didn’t exist yet.
Lach touched it.
And the world… folded.
They woke in their beds.
Dry. Warm. Hearts pounding.
Callum sat up, wide-eyed. “That was a dream, right?”
Lach nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Probably.”
But his left wrist tingled.
As if touched by something that wasn’t finished with him yet.
Downstairs, Miss Elsie—their guardian with too many rings and too few questions—was already steeping tea.
She wore a violet shawl, edged with charms that tinkled softly as she moved. Her fingers glittered with rings carved in symbols no one else could read. A pendant of turquoise sat over her chest, pulsing faintly like it remembered things.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked without looking up.
The boys shrugged.
She poured two mugs without asking.
“Storm’s gone now,” she said.
They sat. The heat of the tea grounded them. The silence stretched.
And then Callum blurted the whole thing out.
The spiral. The shimmer. The trees. The fog woman. The silence. The stars. The impossible.
Miss Elsie just stirred her tea.
Then patted their hands—each one gently, as if feeling for something beneath the skin.
“Well now,” she said, her voice like a page turning. “Sounds like quite the dream.”
She smiled at Callum.
Then looked at Lach.
Not just at him.
Through him.
Like she was checking if the spiral had left anything behind.
And then—just as he started to wonder if maybe she hadn’t heard the whole story—she winked.
Or maybe her eye just caught the candlelight wrong.
Hard to say.
But Lach’s left wrist still tingled, faint and warm.
Somewhere, deep in the folds of the veil, the spiral waited.
From GIO’s Archive, 2125
"She wasn’t just their foster mother. She was their anchor. Their first protector. The one who knew the angel’s name.
🌒 This is the first entry in The Childhood of the Dìonair: Forgotten Years Remembered—a new illustrated lore series from The Legend of the Dìonair.