Melisa awoke with a start, her face drenched and illuminated by the flash of lighting from outside. Melisa sunk back into her pillow, hand on her chest, hoping to calm her overzealous heart. The dreams were growing more vivid with every night. But dreams were just dreams. If they were capable of more, then her family's circumstances would be different. Her own conditions would be different.
Melisa knew that being sold into servitude was never what her parents had in mind for her, but they had three younger mouths to feed, and no one would just hire her. Everyone in the town and as far as three villages over knew Melisa’s dreams. There was no guarantee of a worker when they know that she would never be seen again as soon as she had the funds. Life of adventure. A Life filled with love. A Life filled with exploration. A life filled with life. Gurgenshtine was not a town known for such ideas. 
The most exciting thing to ever happen was its founding. Its forefathers settled for the night and then never left. The town only grew in the same way. These days most of the population is only the older generations; as the younger generations reach maturity, they leave if their family can support it. More often than not, those who leave never come back unless on business—only the ones employed by the town return to the town. 
Some parents try to keep their children at home so they don't disappear, but most sneak out, leaving notes of apology and promises to return. No one has kept said promise. Melisa has no intention of making such an empty promise, or rather she had no intention of doing so. That option is now removed from her. All she can do is hope that her younger siblings will make it out and live the life she wishes for. That does not mean she does not still dream of what lies beyond the town. As she falls asleep, she dreams of the world beyond the Horizon. Where the stars disappear and reappear from. Ever-changing yet always the same. Day after day, year after year, changing and regressing, movement forward and back again. The moons dancing betwixt the ever dancing stars.
Nothing beyond the hills and Mountains is a constant. Up until three weeks ago, the opposite was true about Gurgenshtine. The neighboring villages have stopped sending trades, and the economy of the town is beginning to crumble. So much relied on the imports of the other villages, and without them, everything will fall. With Melisa’s dream, she feared worse was on the way for everyone.
    “Melisa,” Bradfurd yelled up the stairs trying to be heard over the storm. “Confounded’, girl, wake up! I need your help. Waters’ gettin’ into the studio.”
Melisa sat back up slower than before, moving her legs off the bed and onto the side. She let out a shaky breath with her back hunched and hands on the edge of the mattress. With her next inhale, she braced herself and pushed off the bed. The stone of the floor was as cold as ever. She quickly found her shoes and put on her work clothes.
    “Melisa, if you aren’t down here-”
    “I’m on my way down, sir.” Melisa cut Bradfurd off before he could make an actual threat. She had tried to warn him of the coming storm, but he wouldn’t listen. She would have even prepped the studio, but out of what she figured was spite, he had kept her working well into the night. Melisa could hope that any damage that did befall the structure and works inside was minimal and easily fixed or replaced.
Melisa rushed down the stairs, careful to skip the step fifth from the bottom. This was no time to risk a bummed ankle. Not that anytime is a good time to do so, she would be made to work regardless. At the bottom of the stairs, she could see out the window to the back. It looked as if a river had formed and had placed the studio right in the center of it. Melisa still had some semblance of hope that the studio's internal damage would be minimal, but it was small and shrinking fast.
The rain had come down fast in the night and with a vengeance. There was no water build-up, leaving the ground unprepared for the amount of fluid rushing onto it—this left at least a foot of dirt to be shifted from the earthen surface. Although Melisa knew that it was morning or close to it from the tree canopies' opening, the sky portrayed nothing but darkness, with lightning being the only avenue of light from the storm-darkened sky. A lamplight eliminated the inside of the studio, casting the shadow of Genavive onto the far wall.
As Melisa stood at the back door trying to determine a safe path, Bradfurd chucked a sack filled with sand to her.
    “Take this. Create a dam at the entrance. We'll make a circle back after that.” He was difficult to hear over the howling winds and pounding rain, but Melisa knew the regular procedure for floods, even if it had been a few years.
Melisa made her way to the studio, noticing how the ground was almost gelatinous or clay-like beneath her feet. Both solid enough to walk across and, if still too long immersive. The sacks of sand she had to carry did not help with the risk of sinking into the ground. At the very least, she was glad that Bradfurd was meeting her halfway to lessen the distance. After ten minutes, two layers were done on the damn at the door.
    “Sir, I think we should add another layer to this first damn. Give extra support.” Melisa suggested.
    “We don’t have the bags for it. As it is we-”
    “What?” Melisa shouted over the storm.
    “I said, we don’t have enough for a third,” Bradfurd punctuated his words with hand gestures. First pointing to himself, then Melisa crossed his arms over each other before spreading them while shaking his head no. Lastly, holding up three fingers. “We are going to have to hope it’s enough. We need the second damn more now.”
Melisa hoped he was right, or all of this would be for not. The two got ten bags in when Bradfurd slipped and landed on his back, the sandbag he was carrying on his chest. Bradfurd is not a frail man, but he is not as young as he once was, and with the water rushing as it was, he struggled to get up and keep his head above water.
    “Sir!” Melisa cried, wadding her way over to him. He was gasping for air, trying to leverage the bag off of himself. Right as she was about to reach him, a crack of lightning struck a tree right next to the house. The force knocking her down and the flash momentarily blinding her. When she regained her vision, she noticed Bradfurd was no longer struggling to remain above the water. His head was firmly under and arms at his sides, floating in the current.
    “No!” With a shout, Melisa managed to scramble to her feet and reached him with little resistance from the water. As she got closer to him, the water dissipated from his face. He still wasn’t breathing, but it was better than it was moments before. When she arrived next to him, Melisa could easily move the sandbag with one hand, making it drift down before sinking just past his feet. Instinctively she put her hand over his chest and moved it up to his face before moving it straight up. As she did, Bradfurd sat up and coughed up all of the water that was in his lungs. Melisa quickly wrapped him in a hug. After a few moments, he returned the hug, if not a bit hesitant.
Melisa helped Bradfurd into the house before finishing the damn around the front of the studio. It went much faster as the water began parting for her. She paid little mind to what was happening, only focused on the task at hand. When she was done, she helped Genavive back into the main house, again not paying mind to the lack of water in their path and drizzle of rain on them while the storm continued to rage on around them. Genavive, for her part, had made sure to stop any leaks inside the studio.
When the two women reentered the house and closed the door behind them. Melisa promptly collapsed to the floor, nearly hitting her head on a side table by the back door. Bradfurd and Genavive both looked at her and then gravely at each other before using what strength they had left to carry Melisa to the couch in the living room.

Fog pooled around Melisa’s ankles emanating from some far unknown source. Distant calls came from right behind her, no matter what direction she faced.
 “Melisa…,” 
Echoes of people she hasn’t seen in years. Sounds of people she has never met. 
  “Come to us, Melisa…,” 
Spinning. Round. Round. Round. 
  “Find us…,” 
No breath. No sound. Gasping. 
  “Melisa…,” 
Sinking. 
Falling. 
Fog seeping into her throat. Seeping into her pours. 
Reaching. 
Clambering. 
Searching. 
  “We need you…” 
Tightness grips her chest. 
Hands climb her body. 
Darkness envelopes her.

Melisa wakes up once again with a start. Out of the window over the kitchen sink, Melisa can see that the sky was mostly cloudy with the sun setting. Genavive stood at one of the counters chopping vegetables while a large pot hung over the fire. Bradfurd looks up from his book.
    “Oh, good. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. You gave Gen quite the ol’ scare collapsing like that. Slept the day away you did. Not that any work could have been done. Only stopped raining about forty minutes ago. Don’t suppose you remember anything from this morning?” Bradfurd remained sitting as he rattled on. He only made eye contact with Melisa when he asked his remark disguised as a question.
    “No, Sir. I remember waking up and seeing all the water, but it’s a bit of a fog after that.” Melisa tried as she could to remember more, but the harder she tried to remember the denser the fog in her memory got. The stronger the phantom choking feeling around her throat got. 
    “I thought as much. Not to worry. I don’t remember most of it myself. Gen is the one who witnessed it all. I’ll let her explain over supper. With my luck, I’ll forget something and never hear the end of it,” Bradfurd looked over to Genavive fondly before turning serious eyes to Melisa. “Is there anything you want to share? You seemed agitated in your sleep.”
    “Simply a nightmare, Sir. Nothing more.” Melisa did her best to retain her gaze but ultimately looked away.
    “These been happening frequently? This why you’ve been haggard in the mornings as of late?”
    “Pardon my frankness, Sir. But all due respect, what do my dreams and sleeping habits have to do with you?” Melisa stood trying to assert a bit of dominance, but instead, Bradfurd had to rush to her side to help her lie back down.
    “Because, Girl. One, your health affects the work done in the house and the income of this household. Two, it would explain some other things, that Gen will tell you about. And three. We might have purchased your service, but I would think after the five years you have lived under this roof, you would have realized we do, in fact, care about you. As you. Don’t try and sass me saying its because you are property, ‘cause that's not the reason. Gen and I haven’t seen our children in almost thirty years now. We knew we wouldn’t, but that pain never goes away. We-” Bradfurd is cut off by Genavive, who is now standing behind the couch one hand on Bradfurd’s shoulder. Her other hand reaching out for Melisa’s.
    “We missed having someone else around the house besides our selves. You have been a joy to have around Melisa. Really brought light into our hearts.” Genavive looked down at Melisa with such love; it almost brought her to tears. Squeezing her hand Genavive walked back to the kitchen to continue making dinner.
    “This is a very sweet and again pardon my bluntness. This is also a little frightening. I’d ask if one of you is dying, but I’m the one who can’t seem to stand. Would someone please explain to me what is happening. Sir, you have never spoken to me in this manner in the five years I have lived here. Why now?” Melisa was now sitting up curled into herself furthest away from Bradfurd, who now say on the couch. 
    “Well, Melisa,” Bradfurd sat back, facing the wall across the couch, no longer looking or angled at Melisa. “You are correct in that neither Gen or I are ill. And frankly, I don’t believe you are either. To continue in my straightforwardness. I don’t think after tonight you will be here with us much longer. Gen has some theories that I can’t seem to poke holes in. And if she is right, you will finally get your wish of leaving Gurgenshtine. Though I wonder if you will be happy in the end?” Bradfurd trailed off with his final musings. Melisa’s excitement of the prospect of finally seeing the outside world slightly dimmed by such an ominous thought. Ultimately her curiosity outweighed the dread that began to build in the pit of her stomach.

The three patrons of the Wichkosk house sat around the immaculately carved wooden table done by Genavive Wichkosk herself. The wooden chairs that the three sat in were carved by the Wichkosk children. Two other chairs sat empty as they always did. During her five years in the house, Melisa helped with a few custom orders but mostly assisted in pottery change. Genavive found working with clay in her older age easier than wood. She had learned both crafts in her youth but loved the wood's beauty more and discovered a new appreciation for clay works.
The bowls that they ate their stew from were made by Melisa. They could not be sold as they did not meet the standards that Genavive had set for her clientele. After hearing their confession of actually liking her, Melisa realized that they kept the bowls in the same way they kept the chairs.
The spoons and cups they used were from a collection that Bradfurd purchased from a merchant in his youth. He took such good care of the set that they looked new. Melisa once asked why they use the collection all the time if they are so special. His simple reply, “For they are special.” He winked and went back to polishing them. To this day, she still did not understand.
The three ate in silence for a while before Melisa could stand it no longer.
 “Can you please explain to me what is going on? You guys are beginning to scare me with your sorrowful glances.” 
 “I’m sorry, dear. I figured you might want some food in you first, as you haven’t eaten all day.” Genavive reached a hand over to Melisa in an attempt to comfort her.
 “I understand that, but with all this build-up, it’s making it difficult to eat.” Melisa took Genavive’s hand to aid in her plea. Genavive gave it a light squeeze before recounting what had happened.
 “I was in the studio when the rain started. There was no warning. No, build up to the storm. Just out of nowhere, sheets of water, I began patching holes that sprang up to the best of my ability. Had to light one of the evening lamps; it was so dark. I heard a cry and rushed to the window to see if I could spot anything. Then there was a flash of lightning. I was able to shield my eyes from most of it. That's when I noticed my Bradfurd under the rushing water,” Genavive reached for her husband without looking. He took her hand in both of his kissing her knuckles before setting their hands on the table. Bradfud absently rubbing small circles with his thumb on the back of her hand, then resumed eating with the other. 
 “I was so scared. Melisa, you then got up from the water and went over to him. It was as if the water was not there with the ease in which you walked to him. You knelt next to him, blocking what view I had of him. Then the next thing I see is you hugging him and helping him into the house. You then finished both damns in no time, picking up multiple sandbags at a time. The water its self seemed to make way for you. When you helped me inside is when I noticed everything. The water did indeed part for you. And your eyes were different. They shone gold,” Melisa sat back in amazement, reaching a hand to her face.
 “When you got back inside, you collapsed to the floor. We carried you to the couch. I checked your eyes, but the glow was gone, but they were glassy. If I couldn’t see you breathing, I would have thought you dead.”
Melisa released her hand from Genavive, leaning back in her chair and wrapping her arms around herself.
 “You said,” Melisa started after a few long minutes of silence. “Sir, you told me before that there were theories.”
 “You remember how I told you how this collection of mine was purchased of a merchant?”
 “Yes, sir.”
 “Well, it was not one in our village. Genavive and I are not like the rest of the folks here. Gen is not even from Gurgenshtine. I met her while on my travels. It was only after a great injury that I returned home.”
 “But I thought no one returned from beyond the village unless for trading?” Melisa asked, bewildered.
 “That's only been in your parents' lifetime. I am the last of my lot to come back. I’m the only one, actually. By the time I had returned, all of my friends had left or died from illness or accident. Those who knew me tended to not recognize me. I left here an average-looking man and returned strong and injured with a beard on my face no less. I was unable to grow one before I left. The village had changed while I was away. There was now a fear of the outside. The council is the one who decided for only merchants to leave. Out of fear. Those damned fools never left here out of fear, and now they’ve ensured the same for their grandchildren.” Bradfurd stood up and began pacing out of frustration.
 “I’m still confused, sir. What does this have to do with me?” Instead of Bradfurd responding, Genavive did after handing him a cup of hot tea. Melisa never understood how she could just seemingly materialize a cup of hot tea for him.
 “When I was a little girl, I was told stories about an old family that hid away their greatest shame. That shame is what brought storms, fire, and the quaking of our planet's surface. Some believed that there was a way to placate this entity. But only someone with enough compassion and power would have the abilities to do so.”
 “I’m sorry. I’m still having trouble figuring out how I fit into all of this.”
 “When depictions of this person are made, the placater I mean, they have golden eyes. Considering normally yours are grey, I would call that some kind of sign.” Genavive gave Melisa a cheeky grin trying to lighten the mood.
 “But why me? There is nothing special about me.” Melisa was now out of her chair, sitting on the nearby window sill. Genavive walks over to her. 
 “My dear, I know this is hard to take in. But I saw you do things that no one from this village can do. I’ve seen it out there. People in my family have some kind of sway with the reality around them. This isn’t the first time you have shone signs since living here. You may not have noticed, but you have a way with plants, and it seems water. They respond to you when you least expect it.”
This was becoming too much for Melisa. Because sure she could tell which plants needed more attention and which were sick, but professionals could do that. She was unsure if it was a gut feeling or training that allowed this. She also always seemed to know when it would rain.
 “This is a lot to take in.”
 “I know, but this would also explain your draw to the world beyond the village.” Genavive was trying to calm Melisa down, but nothing seemed to be working.
 “Do you want to see what's out there, yes or no, Girl?” Bradfurd had set down his mug and looked Melisa right in the eyes. 
 “Yes, sir, I do, but-”
 “No buts. We are going to gather what we can and get you on your way.”
 “Sir, I-” Melisa’s objection was cut off not by Bradfurd but by Genavive.
 “Dear, here you will not get the training you need. You need to go to my home town of Fillpine. Even if you are not the one from the stories of my youth, you can’t be contained here.”
 “Is this your way of getting rid of me?” Bradfurd was already gathering things from around the house. At Melisa's question, he stopped, put everything down, and sat next to her.
 “I know I have not been the most informal with you, Melisa. The most open even. But don’t you dare think for a second we don’t want you here. I only kept my distance to protect myself from heartache like when our own children left. Not that it did a damn bit of good. If I could bring myself to be selfish, I wouldn’t let you leave. I’d keep you here to make sure you never got hurt. The biggest concern I have for my kids is that they are hurt, and I can’t help them, Or that somehow they have passed on before us, and we have no way to mourn them or say a final goodbye. I don’t want to go through that again, but as a parent, that is how this gig goes. You do what you can to prepare your kids when you have to send them out onto the real world.” By the end of his little speech, tears prickled at the edges of his eyes. For Melisa and Genavive, the tears flowed freely.
 “You’ve never used my name like that before.” Before Bradfurd could say anything in response, Melisa was hugging him. That was all it took for the tears to finally flow over as he hugged her back.