Long ago, when storms were not yet weather but voices of the unseen, four oracles gathered at the edge of the world. Each one carried a gift, and each bore the weight of a burden too heavy for one soul
The Eye was the first to arrive. She was born without lids, unable to close her gaze, destined to witness everything — beauty and terror alike. Her sight pierced the veils of time. Through her, the storm found direction, for she saw paths no one else could. But her gift was also her sorrow: she could never look away.
Beside her came The Mother of Faces. She held the children of the storm in her arms, covering them from winds that cut like blades. With her palms pressed to their eyes and mouths, she shielded them not only from the storm outside, but also from truths they weren’t ready to see. Her gift was protection; her burden,
From the shadows stepped The Hidden One, veiled and hunched, pressing their own face into their hands. Unlike the Eye, they chose not to see, not to speak. They carried the wisdom of retreat, of what it meant to survive by turning inward. The storm whispered through their fingers, but their gift was endurance — the knowledge that not all battles are fought in the
Last came The Guardian with the Crown of Hair, his face weathered, his mustache like roots anchoring him to the earth. Once, he had been soft and fluid, but the storm hardened him into form. His hair whipped like banners, carrying the force of resistance. He embodied transformation — the ability to shift from one essence into another when the winds demanded
Together, the four stood in the storm. They did not seek to end it. They did not pretend to master it. Instead, they became its council:
- The Eye, who sees.
- The Mother, who shields.
- The Hidden One, who endures.
- The Guardian, who transforms.
And so the storm itself learned balance. For every gale, a gaze. For every wound, a shield. For every terror, a silence. For every ending, a transformation.
They are still here, painted into time, waiting for those who will look closely. And when the winds rise around us, when life rips open the sky, the Oracles of the Wind return — reminding us that we are never alone in the storm.
