Part 1: The First Rainy 🌧️ Windhollow Town Rainy days and a long time ago—it always begins like that. As if the sky remembers before he does. As if the clouds know the years that have passed and still return, heavy and slow, with the same wet whispers. The boy, who was now a man, stood near the river, the old boots on his feet soaking at the edges. He could still hear it—the sound of water tumbling over stones, the same way it did when he was a boy. The river hadn’t changed, but everything else had. There was sand at the edges of the path. Wet sand. It had a scent—one he hadn’t smelled in years. It was the smell of home, of monsoons, of running down alleys with soaked shirts and loud laughter. Of childhood summers and forgotten secrets buried under riverbanks. He looked up. The town of windhollow—small, wind-swept, half-asleep—was waking slowly with the rain. The shutters creaked open one by one. The street vendors, those who still remained, pulled plastic over their carts and fl...