The wind had not faded. If anything, it had become more aware of Kael.
His grip on Nimrisa was steady now—no longer cautious, but assured. The spear felt like an extension of him, not just a tool. The battle with the Zephyrhound still echoed in his bones, but so did the rhythm he had found. That rhythm pulsed through the veins of the weapon and within his steps.
Seren Vaelwyn led him out of the Whisperhall at sunrise. They ascended the ridge path, cliffs yawning beneath them. The sky bled pale gold, and wind brushed the cliffside grass into waves. A distant chorus of howling gusts whispered through the valley, like voices speaking in riddles.
Seren stopped atop a rocky platform overlooking a thousand-foot drop. Her robe billowed wildly—teal and silver dancing in the gales—revealing the black combat leggings beneath, tightly woven with wind-resistant fabric. Her long silver-blonde braid shimmered under the rising sun, catching glints of orange and white. Her olive skin glowed faintly, and her storm-gray eyes were half-lidded, as if always listening to something just beyond sound.
"Again," she said. "But this time, I am your opponent."
Kael blinked. "You want me to fight you?"
She raised her hand and whistled sharply.
The wind answered.
It spiraled around her in tight funnels, twisting her braid into the air. The ground beneath her vibrated. With a light step, Seren rose into a combat stance, Nimrisa's twin cradled in her hand—identical in design, but its shaft glowed blue rather than turquoise.
"You've danced with the wind. Now try dancing against it."
Kael's fingers tightened around his spear. The memory of the previous fight with the Zephyrhound surged in him. Grace. Movement. Breath. That was how the wind wanted to be treated. But Seren... she was the master of it. Her aura crackled with pressure, but there was no heat, no weight—only momentum waiting to explode.
Without warning, she launched forward.
Kael barely parried the thrust. Their spears clashed with a high-pitched chime, and she spun mid-air, her cloak sweeping wide as her leg struck out. He ducked just in time, pivoting on his heel and sliding back across the slick stone.
She pressed in with a flurry of piercing jabs—fast, controlled, elegant. Kael twisted away, deflecting, letting the wind guide his reactions. His body began to move instinctively. Nimrisa flowed like liquid silver in his hands.
But she was faster.
Her spear struck his ribs—not deep, not brutal, but precise. A warning.
"You follow," she said mid-movement. "But can you lead?"
Kael growled and flipped Nimrisa behind him. He dashed in, sweeping low, and launched into a full-body spin. The wind surged with him, and the tip of his spear whistled just past Seren's thigh. She leapt, twisting in mid-air, and landed behind him.
"Better," she said. "Now stop thinking."
Kael exhaled. The wind caught his breath and flung it skyward.
He closed his eyes for just a moment—then moved.
A forward dash. A feint left. A twisting jab to the right.
He struck. She blocked. He reversed, pivoted, and swept low. She jumped—but not fast enough.
His spear kissed her ankle.
She didn't fall. She smiled.
"Well done."
The fight didn't stop. The wind howled again—and they began to dance.
The platform became a stage for a storm. Two figures—one cloaked in gold and gray, the other in silver and teal—moved with elegance and violence alike. Spears twirled. Gusts exploded. Dust flew. The rhythm grew faster.
And then—Kael moved ahead of her.
He struck first. She deflected.
He twisted mid-air, letting the wind carry him over her guard.
A downward strike.
She raised her spear—and staggered.
Kael landed behind her, one foot sliding back into stance, chest heaving.
Seren stood slowly. She glanced at her shoulder, where a shallow tear in her cloak fluttered.
"You've danced," she said, smirking. "Now you lead the wind."
Kael's shoulders trembled. "I... didn't think. I just felt it."
"That's the secret." She walked toward him, resting her spear on her shoulder. "Fire tests the soul. Wind listens to it. You've passed both."
The moment settled.
Kael felt the spear pulse in his hand—soft, gentle. The wind coiled around his legs like a cat seeking warmth. It no longer pushed him. It accompanied him.
Seren gazed beyond the cliff, toward the east. "Your journey doesn't stop here. There's more than wind and flame."
Kael asked, "What's next?"
She smiled, wind stirring her braid. "Stone."
Kael furrowed his brows. "Earth?"
Seren nodded. "There's a master waiting in the southern basin. Grak of Drellstone. He trains in the Caves of the Thirteen Pillars."
"What's he like?"
Her smirk vanished. "Stubborn. Brutal. Strong. He'll break your bones before he praises you."
Kael exhaled slowly. "Can't wait."
She handed him a small carved token—gray stone etched with a symbol: a mountain split in two.
"Take that to the basin. He'll know I sent you."
Kael took it, slipping it into his belt. His eyes met hers.
"What if I fail?"
Seren's gaze grew calm. "Then you'll fall. But that's the lesson of stone. Even the strongest must learn to rise again."
As Kael descended the mountain path alone, Nimrisa across his back, wind curling around him like a protective spirit, he realized something.
He no longer feared the journey.
He wanted it.
And the wind, now a friend, carried his name farther than it had ever traveled before.
Kael of the Spear. The boy who moved with the storm.