He strolled through the open fields, fingertips brushing the tall grass as he murmured a simple spell. Tiny whirlwinds formed at his command, lifting sunlit leaves into playful arcs. Then the leaves clustered into glowing letters that spelled his name—A N E M O I—hovering briefly before drifting back to the gorund. He laughed in delight, marveling at magic that recognized him.
"Aerin, look!" he called to his servant, who stood calmly nearby, her gaze warm. "It feels like anything could happen today."
Aerin's smile was soft but firm. "Indeed, my lord—just try not to tear your new robes."
Anemoi grinned. Today was the culmination of seventeen years of lessons and practice. On the breeze, he thought he could still hear his mother's gentle voice: "My son, let your courage guide you." His father's words followed: "Stay true to who you are, even when you face the unknown."
As they neared the waiting sky-carriage. As the carriage rose into the clouds, his parents exchanged a worried glance.
"They've just issued a proclamation—our house stands accused of treason," his mother whispered, voice trembling.
His father drew her close, wrapping her in his arms. "Then he won't see our fall," he said. "He's meant for greater things than this disgrace."
Relief washed over her tears. "At least he's safe."
He kissed her brow. "He's our hope now—trust that he will carry us forward."
Anemoi offered a bright smile, torn between his excitement and the weight of their silent fears.
When the carriage lifted off, Anemoi pressed his forehead against the cool glass. All he could see below was an endless sea of clouds, their pale tops rolling like gentle waves. He leaned closer, curiosity knotting in his chest—what lay beneath that white blanket? A longing stirred in him for a world he'd never touched.
Aerin's words reminded Anemoi of the story his nurse had told him as a child—how people once watched their homes sink into shadow before lifting whole islands on magic and hope.
He pressed his forehead to the carriage glass and murmured, "Do you think we'll ever return to the ground?"
Aerin rested a hand on his shoulder, voice steady. "Curiosity is fine, but focus on what's in front of you." She offered a small smile. "Now—do you feel ready?"
He straightened up, heart pounding. "I've never been more ready."
She nodded once, and neither noticed the tense glances exchanged by two nobles across the cabin.
Soon they arrived at the Terrace of Whispers, stepping onto stone that pulsed faintly with unseen power. Overhead, crystal lanterns tinkled. A hush fell as everyone gathered in neat rows outside the Hall of Ascension.
Inside, the air was cool and still. Vaulted glass arches refracted morning light into glittering patterns on the floor. In the center, a crystal core pulsed with a gentle glow. Anemoi's stomach tightened as the ceremony began.
Candidates stepped forward in turn, their voices echoing against the glass arches. With each verse, Anemoi's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and the weight of expectations pressed upon him. He glanced at the rune etched along his forearm—a symbol of the kingdom's original founder, blessed only once every six hundred years—and felt it pulse beneath his skin. A bead of sweat slid down his temple as he stepped forward.
He lowered his arm into view for everyone to see, fingertips tracing the intricate lines of the founder's rune. Under the torchlight, it blazed to life in warm gold, the air humming with sudden energy. A hush fell over the hall as every gaze fixed on the glowing emblem.
At once, a pulse of power rippled outward. The crystal lanterns flickered, and loose scrolls skittered across the polished floor. Whispers became gasps, then startled cries—some guests stumbled backward, others reached for support pillars. The Council Cantor's voice cracked as he tried to restore order: "Remain calm! Now, let us move on with the next candidate."
Anemoi's heart thundered. The rune's magic thrummed through his veins, unfamiliar and overwhelming. He clutched his arm, breath catching in his throat as the glow flared higher, then bent to a soft pulse—its secret had been revealed at last.
Anemoi's chest swelled with pride. He stole a glance at Aerin, whose bright smile grounded him.
Later, under paper lanterns in the courtyard, well-wishers crowded around him. Yet beneath the congratulatory chatter, he heard a whisper: "Such pride could invite disaster." He forced the warning aside—this was his moment.
The sun dipped low as Anemoi and Aerin boarded the carriage for home. Eager to share his triumph, he leaned forward—only to freeze at the sight of thick black smoke curling into the sky.
"The manor," he breathed.
The acrid scent of burning wood stung his nose as the carriage landed on cracked stone. A flash of memory struck him—the warm glow of his family hearth, the scent of pine logs and soft laughter—only to be swallowed by the rising flames before him. Flames licked the roof of his family's home. Anemoi bolted from the carriage, Aerin at his side, but the courtyard lay in ruins.
Aerin grasped his arm. "They'll come for us next."
Anemoi swallowed hard, heart pounding with fear and determination. Flames danced higher as he saw the Valoria banner burn to cinders on the ruined gate, its proud colors drifting away in sparks. Aerin yanked him back, her eyes darting toward the darkness."
She met his gaze. "We need shelter—Wincroft Village is closest."
He nodded. "Then that's where we go."
Together, they melted into the gathering shadows, the distant shouts of their pursuers echoing after them as they disappeared into the night.